I had no desire to argue with her anymore. In just over half a moon's cycle, I would be completely free.
The Matriarch had promised me that when the time came, she would release the scent-records to prove my innocence. What they thought of me no longer mattered.
I stared at her with an empty expression, let out a long breath, and turned to lie down on the sleeping furs.
"Do as you please. Whatever you want."
She thought I was going to lunge at Dorian Frostclaw the way I used to, claws extended. Her muscles tensed with fear, and she planted herself firmly in front of him as a shield.
But when she saw me simply turn my back and settle onto the bed, all her defensive instincts ground to a halt.
After a long silence, she spoke in a voice thick with disbelief.
"You're... you're not angry?"
My voice came out flat and even.
"Isn't this what you've always wanted? For me to accept him peacefully?"
She relaxed and actually laughed.
"You've finally learned to behave. I knew you weren't truly cold-hearted. I'll make it up to you someday, I promise."
I didn't respond. Even as they left the chamber, I never once looked at her.
Much later, I pressed my hand against my chest where my heart beat steady and unmoved.
So this was what letting go felt like.
Over the following days, she seemed driven by guilt. Every few days she would send gifts to my quarters. When I refused them, she didn't grow frustrated—she simply kept telling me about the wonderful life we would share in the future.
It wasn't until she mentioned the pup's First Moon Feast that her tone turned hesitant.
"Dorian will never be able to publicly claim his own blood-born pup. So I thought... while the little one is still too young to understand, I could let him stand openly as the father during the feast."
"It would give him some closure for his regret. Don't you think?"
My hands didn't pause in their work. I didn't even lift my gaze.
"I told you to do as you please. This pup was never mine. Whatever you choose has nothing to do with me."
Her breath caught. Red crept into her eyes—part hurt, part rising anger—and she snatched away the offerings I had prepared for Noah's memorial.
"Why have you been acting like this lately? Do you understand what it means if he attends? It means the pack will see him as the Valeheart heir-consort. You never would have allowed that before."
I paused, then gave her a bored glance.
"And that's a problem? Two moons ago, when you were helping him through his rut-fever, didn't you say it was a shame you could never give him a proper place at your side?"
I watched her face drain of color until she stood frozen like a statue carved from pale stone.
I took back the memorial items, my emotions so steady it was as if nothing had happened.
She hovered at my ear, babbling explanations—claiming she didn't love him, that she only felt responsible because they had shared a rut-bond. Her sickening words crumbled against my silence.
After that day, she stopped visiting me.
But I often saw Dorian's posts on the pack's message board. He was showing off images of them together—the three of them posing for portrait after portrait in every style imaginable. A perfect little family.
On the day she emerged from her birthing confinement, the entire Valeheart household gathered to celebrate the bastard pup's First Moon Feast.
The Matriarch sent word that my Bond Severance documents would be finalized by tomorrow.
When I returned to collect my belongings, I found that the cozy den we had once shared as mates had been completely transformed to match Dorian's tastes.
Even the portrait that used to hang by the main hearth—the one where I cradled her swollen belly—had been replaced with a new image. Her, Dorian, and the pup. A perfect family portrait.
In that photograph, Selene Valeheart was smiling radiantly.
More beautifully than she had smiled on our mating day.
I went to the sleeping chamber, intending to pack the few garments I had brought before our bond was sealed.
But no matter how thoroughly I searched the storage chests, I couldn't find the hand-stitched ceremonial suit my mother had made for me before she passed.
I was about to call and ask when I saw a new image on the pack message board—Dorian wearing that very suit at the First Moon Feast.
Rage boiled through my veins like molten silver.
I called for a transport and rushed to the feast hall. There he stood, one arm supporting Selene, both of them laughing graciously as pack members showered them with praise and congratulations.
When Selene spotted me, guilt flickered across her face—but beneath it lay a smug satisfaction, as if she had expected this all along.
