Olivia POV:
Recovery was an agonizing crawl.
For three days, I lay in the medical wing, sipping herbal broths that tasted of deep roots and ancient loam.
The Healers worked in relentless shifts, pouring warm, golden energy into my womb to anchor the fragile life within.
My mother brought me the book on the fourth day.
It was bound in pale, cracked leather, heavy with the weight of centuries.
"Read," she commanded gently.
I ran my fingers over the vellum pages.
They told the history of the White Wolves—the direct descendants of the Moon Goddess's personal guardians.
We were rare. We were powerful. And above all, we were dangerous.
"I always thought I was just... sensitive," I said, tracing a drawing of a massive white wolf standing sentinel on a cliff.
"That's why I became a photographer. I could see things others couldn't. Shadows that moved against the wind, light that lingered too long."
"That is the Sight," Mom explained, her voice filled with quiet pride. "But you buried the rest. To be the perfect wife for a mediocre Alpha."
I closed the book with a heavy thud.
The anger that had been simmering in my gut began to boil over.
It wasn't the hot, chaotic rage of a lover scorned.
It was the cold, calculated fury of a ruler betrayed.
I closed my eyes and reached inward, past the pain, past the grief.
*Wolf?*
A massive white head lifted in my mind's eye.
She shook her fur, shedding the dust of years of suppression.
She didn't growl. She didn't need to.
She just radiated absolute, terrifying power.
I opened my eyes.
The room seemed sharper, drenched in high-definition clarity.
I could hear the steady, rhythmic heartbeat of the Healer in the next room.
I could smell the acrid tang of fear radiating from a servant three floors down.
"Jennings," I called out.
The Beta appeared instantly, stepping from the shadows.
"Yes, Luna?"
He called me Luna. Not Miss Olivia. The title settled over me like a heavy cloak.
"Update me on the Thorne Pack," I said, sitting up.
I ignored the protest of my stiff muscles; pain was irrelevant now.
"It is... chaotic," Jennings reported, his hands clasped behind his back.
"With the funds frozen, the suppliers have pulled out. Michael missed payroll yesterday. His Warriors are restless. Several Gamma-ranked wolves have already defected."
"And Serena?"
"She is spending money he doesn't have," Jennings said, a flicker of distaste crossing his face.
"She ordered a new wardrobe on credit, claiming she is the new Luna. The pack members hate her. She smells of... wrongness."
I inhaled deeply, letting my new senses expand beyond the walls of the estate.
"She's a Rogue," I said, the realization hitting me with the clarity of ice water.
"The herbs she uses... they mask the scent of decay. Sulfur hidden beneath lavender."
My Wolf rumbled in agreement, supplying the ancient knowledge I had long denied.
"And the 'Fated Mate' pull Michael feels? It's a lust potion. The metallic taste of nightshade and crushed pearls."
I swung my legs out of bed.
"Mom, I need a secure line to the Council."
Elizabeth smiled, a predatory curve of her lips that mirrored my own.
"What are you planning?"
"Michael cares about two things: his reputation and his legacy," I said, standing up.
My legs were shaky, but my spine was forged of steel.
"I'm going to take both."
I walked to the window, looking out over the vast expanse of the Hayes lands.
"Spread the word," I told Jennings, my voice dropping an octave.
"Tell the Council that Michael Thorne has been harboring a Rogue who uses forbidden magic. And tell the trade partners that anyone doing business with Thorne is an enemy of Hayes."
My Inner Wolf stretched, her claws digging into the mental earth.
*Burn it down,* she whispered.
"I want him isolated," I said softly, pressing my hand against the cool glass.
"I want him to look around his empty empire and realize he traded a diamond for a piece of cheap glass."
