Sarah POV:
The silence was the loudest thing I had ever heard.
For twenty-three years, my mind had been a shared space. My wolf was my instinct, my strength, my constant companion. Now, there was just a hollow cavern where she used to be.
I lay in the master bedroom of the Alpha's mansion. Marcus was asleep beside me, his breathing deep and even. The arrogance of the man was astounding; he slept soundly next to the woman whose soul he had just mutilated.
It was 2:00 AM.
I slid out of bed. My body felt heavy and clumsy without the supernatural grace of the wolf. Every joint ached. The burn scars on my arm from the "accident" pulled tight against my skin.
I crept toward his study. The floorboards creaked, and I froze, my heart leaping into my throat.
Marcus didn't stir.
I reached the heavy oak door of his office. I didn't need a key; I knew where he hid the spare. But inside, I went straight for the wall safe behind the painting of the pack's founding Alpha.
The keypad glowed blue in the dark.
I didn't bother with anniversaries or sentimental dates. Marcus was pragmatic to a fault, but his ego was his blind spot. He wouldn't use our anniversary. He would use the date he secured his "legacy."
I typed in Oliver's birthday. The date the bastard child was born.
Beep. Click.
The heavy door swung open. I almost laughed. Predictable.
My hands shook as I pulled out a stack of documents. I didn't have much time. I sat on the floor, using the moonlight filtering through the window to read.
The first paper was a prenatal check-up report from three years ago. Patient Name: Rachel Miller.
The second was a DNA paternity test. Father: Marcus Blackwood. Probability: 99.99%.
I covered my mouth to stifle a sob. Three years. He had proposed to me two years ago. He had been sleeping with Rachel, a woman with no wolf blood, a simple human who hung around the pack borders, while he was courting me.
I swiped through the unlocked iPad stored in the safe. The cloud photos synced automatically.
There were hundreds of them. A little boy with Marcus's dark eyes and Rachel's sharp chin. Pictures of them at the zoo, at a private beach, in an apartment I didn't know existed.
Then I found the chat logs.
Rachel: When are you going to get rid of the bitch? Oliver needs his father publicly.
Marcus: Soon, my love. The fire is set for Tuesday. If she survives, the silver will handle the rest. She'll be a useless Omega. The Elders won't let a cripple be Luna.
Rachel: She better not be pretty anymore. I want her ruined.
Marcus: Anything for you.
I felt sick. I wanted to vomit right there on the expensive Persian rug.
I didn't just put the documents back. I took photos of everything with my burner phone. Every document, every damning text message. I also found the access keys to an untraceable offshore account and transferred a substantial sum—enough to disappear forever. He would assume it was part of a corporate hack; he would never trace it to me. Then, I accessed his email on the iPad. I drafted a scheduled email to the Council of Elders and Beta Thomas—Marcus's second-in-command, a man who valued honor above loyalty. I attached every file.
