Rejected Luna&#x27;s Final Escape

After My Abuser Planned Our Death Together

Chapter 1 of Rejected Luna's Final Escape

"Virginia is still young," Marcelo said, his voice cold and detached. "She’s inexperienced with pregnancy. As the Luna of this pack, it’s your duty to guide her."

He paused, his dark eyes narrowing as he studied my reaction. "Since your pregnancies have all ended in tragedy, we’ll claim Virginia’s pup as ours once it’s born. It’s for the good of the pack."

For the first time, I didn’t cry or argue. I simply nodded, my expression blank. Marcelo seemed almost pleased by my compliance, offering a rare moment of false kindness. "If you do well, I might consider giving you another chance."

I smiled faintly, masking the storm brewing inside me. He had no idea that in seven days, I would leave this pack forever, carrying the ashes of my seven pups with me.

“Yes, Giovanna, I’ve made up my mind. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.” I ended the call, my voice steady despite the turmoil in my heart.

Marcelo strode into the room, his Alpha aura filling the space. "What’s happening the day after tomorrow? Who are you meeting?"

I didn’t answer, my gaze fixed on the bathroom where I had lost my seventh pup just hours earlier. The memory of the blood staining the tiles made my stomach churn. Marcelo’s irritation flared as he noticed my distant stare.

“Alyssa, Virginia says she’s hungry. Go make dinner! If she or the pup go hungry, you’ll answer to me!”

I wiped away the tears that threatened to fall and, despite the weakness from my miscarriage, dragged myself into the kitchen.

The summer heat made the kitchen unbearable, and by the time I finished cooking, I was drenched in sweat. The blast of cold air from the living room sent shivers down my spine as I stepped out.

Virginia lounged on the couch, her head resting on Marcelo’s lap, basking in his attention. A bowl of her favorite strawberries sat on the table, and Marcelo peeled them one by one, feeding her with a tenderness he had never shown me.

My hand instinctively touched my belly, now empty and silent. Just a few days ago, my pup had been alive inside me. Watching Marcelo dote on Virginia’s unborn child felt like a dagger to my heart. In five months, my own pup would have been born.

But because I was seen as an unfit Luna, and because I had failed to win Marcelo’s affection, even my pup was discarded. I couldn’t help but wonder how different things might have been if I hadn’t called Marcelo immediately when I fell, or if he had rushed home to take me to the pack’s healer.

But he hadn’t. He had simply hung up, his voice cold and dismissive. “I’m busy with Virginia’s prenatal checkup. We’ll talk later.”

So, I had lain there, alone and bleeding, watching as the life within me slipped away. It was a pain worse than death, and it still haunted me.

Perhaps my gaze was too intense, because Marcelo glanced at me with a sneer. “What is it, Alyssa? Are you thinking about your pups again? I’ve already told you, it’s not in the cards for you. Consider it a blessing that I’m letting you look after Virginia’s pup.”

I shook my head. That pup wasn’t mine. Beside him, Virginia giggled softly, her voice dripping with mockery. “Marcelo, don’t upset Alyssa. After all, it’s not her fault she’s like a barren wolf.”

Marcelo chuckled, tapping her nose affectionately. “Our Virginia is lucky—she succeeded on the first try.”

They spoke as if I, his mate and Luna, were invisible. In the past, such scenes would have shattered me. But now, they only felt hollow and exhausting.

I retreated to the bedroom, only to find my clothes scattered on the floor and my belongings tossed in the trash. In their place were boxes of contraceptives and revealing lingerie, alongside an array of brightly colored dresses that belonged to Virginia.

Marcelo appeared in the doorway, his arms crossed. “Oh, I forgot to mention, Virginia needs to sleep with me since she’s expecting. You’ll move to the spare bedroom. Misfortune clings to those who miscarry, and I don’t want any bad luck affecting Virginia.”

Virginia appeared behind him, her smile sickeningly sweet. “I hope you don’t mind, Alyssa. This house has seen the deaths of your seven pups. It’s unsettling. Marcelo’s presence is needed to keep any restless spirits at bay.”

Marcelo wrapped his arms around her, kissing her gently on the head. “Don’t worry, Virginia. I’ll handle any restless souls that come along.”

I couldn’t hold back the retort that bubbled up. “Those aren’t spirits, Marcelo. Those are our pups!”

Marcelo laughed, a cold, cruel sound. “Pups? I don’t recognize them as such! Virginia’s pup is the one I’ll acknowledge and place in the pack’s lineage.”

“Even if your pups had been born, I wouldn’t accept them! Better they’re gone, wandering souls, never to trouble me.”

Tears welled in my eyes as I looked at him. The Marcelo I had once loved, the vibrant and ambitious Alpha, seemed to have vanished. After that accident, the Marcelo who survived was a monster, devouring every ounce of my love, bit by bit.

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“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “She won’t come up.” I did. I stopped breathing. Thinking. Existing. The voice came from inside my bedroom—our bedroom. My sanctuary. I stood frozen in the hallway, dinner still warm downstairs, candles flickering in a room that no longer mattered. The scent of truffle butter still clung to my sleeves. Through the door—left carelessly ajar—I saw enough. A woman with auburn hair and wine-colored nails was curled into my husband's side, her lipstick smeared across his throat like a bruise. Her fingers skimmed down his back, possessive, practiced. Oliver moaned softly. A sound I hadn’t heard in months. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I turned. Through the adjoining bathroom, I slipped into the walk-in closet, hiding behind the luxury he insisted I needed. Dresses lined in neat rows. Shoes in pyramids. A fortress of silk and leather and betrayal. I sat down, gripping the hem of my dress, listening. “I don’t know why you’re still stalling,” Lily said, her voice languid and confident. “She’s not stupid, Oliver. She’s suspicious. You said she keeps asking questions.” He sighed. “Let her ask. She won’t do anything. Not until it’s too late.” A beat. “She’s planning something tonight,” he added, almost amused. “Made some kind of fancy dinner. Probably filet again. It’s sweet, in a tragic way.” Lily giggled. “You think she’s figured out we’ve been using her?” “Scarlett sees what she wants to see. She’s desperate. That’s what makes it easy.” There was movement on the bed. Sheets shifting. “She still has no idea about the inheritance?” Lily murmured. “None,” he said. “Her father’s trust releases next month. Once the money hits the accounts, I’ll serve the papers. I’ve already started moving things offshore.” My throat closed. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. So this was what I got from our five-year marriage.

Just like the evening breeze leaves no trace

Chapter 1 It was their seventh wedding anniversary. Carolyn found the divorce agreement in Roger’s nightstand. The pages were covered in scribbles and corrections, as if he’d agonized over them for years. *"If, during the marriage, I fall in love with another person, I voluntarily relinquish all assets and leave with nothing. Asset details as follows…"* His first impulse had been to walk away empty-handed. But the asset section told a different story—a mess of revisions. First, he’d crossed out the property he intended to give her. Then, the fifty million earmarked for her was scratched out and replaced with five hundred thousand. Finally, as if in penance, he had written a single line. *"Better to have Carolyn leave with nothing. No choice, Catherine is pregnant."* … Carolyn sank onto the bed, disbelief washing over her. On the agreement, Roger’s signature was clean and decisive, without a hint of hesitation. And the document had been drafted seven years ago—the very year they married. That year, Roger had been willing to give up everything for her. Yet every year after, he had crossed out another piece of their shared life. Now, seven years later, the one leaving with nothing would be her. Her phone buzzed abruptly. A message from Roger. *"Urgent business. Won't be back."* She called, only to find his phone already switched off. Another notification flashed—a screenshot from a friend. Catherine, the student she sponsored, had posted on social media. *"Wow, got praised! To commemorate my first period without a leak, the big boss said we should celebrate properly!"* In a nine-photo collage, Roger gazed at her, eyes crinkling with affection as he fastened a dazzling gemstone necklace around her neck. The post was tagged at a couples-themed hotel. Carolyn’s breath caught. He couldn’t remember seven years of marriage, of weathering storms together—but he could find the energy to celebrate Catherine’s… leak-free period. And that pendant… she’d seen it at an auction just last week. It was her mother’s lost heirloom. She’d been ready to bid when her bank card was frozen. She’d asked Roger why. A long time later, he finally texted back, telling her not to waste money on such impractical things. Clutching her bidding paddle, she’d sat helplessly in the auction hall. In the end, she resolved to sell one of her own designs to raise the funds. But someone on the phone swooped in with an unbeatable offer and took it. For weeks afterward, Carolyn hated herself—hated that she couldn’t protect her mother’s last keepsake. She never imagined the one who snatched it away was Roger. He knew exactly how much that pendant meant to her. Yet he gave it to Catherine. Even on their seventh anniversary, Roger had lied about being busy with work, while wining and dining the girl she’d sponsored. The anniversary gift he left her was a divorce agreement demanding she leave with nothing. Seven years of marriage. Seven years of infidelity. And Carolyn had known nothing. She’d even introduced the other woman to him herself. Catherine was the impoverished student Carolyn sponsored. The first time Catherine came to their home to give thanks, Roger found her intrusive and disliked her on sight. *"That girl has no manners. Tracked mud all over my cashmere rug."* *"If her grades aren’t up to par, cut the sponsorship."* Back then, Carolyn had teased him, saying not to be jealous—it was good the girl had a grateful heart. She never once suspected Roger and Catherine. For seven years, everyone in their circle believed Roger never played around. That he loved only Carolyn. But by their next meeting, Catherine had become Roger’s personal assistant. Roger explained, *"The girl’s had it tough. You’ve sponsored her for years. Giving her a job is just helping you out."* Carolyn had laughed it off. Now, hands trembling, she opened Catherine’s social media feed. Catherine had always hidden her posts from Carolyn. Now, she seemed desperate to flaunt everything. While Carolyn drank until her stomach bled to secure a deal for Roger, Catherine was using Roger’s card to buy her first Louis Vuitton. While Carolyn changed bedpans for Roger’s bedridden grandmother, Roger was taking Catherine to a perfume atelier for a blending class—calling it a business trip. Catherine had even complained online. *"Your wife is such a pampered princess. Can't handle the tiniest thing without you running back. Can she not live without a man?"* And Roger had replied beneath it. *"If she were half as independent as you, I’d have an easier life."* But that day… Carolyn’s mother had lost her battle with cancer. She’d cried until her heart felt shredded, scrambling to handle the arrangements. All the while, Roger kept checking his phone impatiently, eager to leave. Not for work, she realized now—but because he was desperate to get back to Catherine.

My Husband Made Her Son His Heir

In the fifth year of our life in America, my husband, Benjamin Sanders, brought Nora Burke and her son straight to our home. "Nora and her son are new here. They'll stay with us for a while." We had a huge fight over this. On my birthday, Benjamin handed me divorce papers, saying, "Sign it quickly, Nora needs a visa, and it'll only be a temporary divorce." I frowned, trying to understand. But Benjamin pointed at me and accused me of being heartless. Not long after, I saw Nora's post on Facebook: "Ben is divorcing for me and the child! Finally, we have a place to call home." Without a word, I liked the post, signed the divorce papers, and applied to return to the UK. When my manager, Arlette Hernandez, saw my application, she seemed surprised. "Kiara, you worked so hard to move here. Why do you want to go back now?" I lowered my head with a bitter smile.

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