Hera’s POV
It had been two months since Lyra’s funeral, but the gaping hole in my heart refused to heal. Grief wasn’t the worst part; it was the truth gnawing at me from the shadows. Lyra hadn’t been my daughter, and Rowan and Seina had orchestrated it all. Every day I thought about my real child—the one I’d never held, never soothed to sleep, never loved the way a mother should.
What would she look like? Will she have Lyra’s sweet laugh? Was she alive and somewhere safe, or... was she even burried properly?
These thoughts haunted me, clawing at my sanity. For ten years, I’d poured my heart into raising a child who wasn’t mine, all while Rowan and Seina played their twisted game.
The pack had rallied around Rowan after Lyra’s death, showering him with sympathy. He played the grieving father to perfection, even as he turned his anger into a weapon against me. “You should have kept her at home,” he’d said repeatedly, his accusations cutting deeper every time.
I let him blame me. It was easier to let him think I was broken, guilt-ridden, and helpless.
One evening, I found myself at a dimly lit pub on the outskirts of the werewolf city, nursing a glass of whiskey. Across the room, Rowan sat at a corner table with Seina. They didn’t even bother to hide their affair anymore. His hand rested possessively on hers, their heads tilted close as they whispered and laughed.
Their betrayal wasn’t new, but it burned just the same. Seina had always been in Rowan’s life, long before our arranged marriage. Our union had been a political move, orchestrated by my grandfather, the last Lesvin of the Moonshadow pack, to forge an alliance with Blackthorn. I had been nothing but a pawn, a means to strengthen his legacy.
I drained my glass and left, unable to stomach their display any longer. Outside, the streets were alive with the buzz of nightlife, but I felt detached from it all. My phone buzzed in my pocket.
“The midwife who delivered your child is dead,” Denesus, my grandfather’s second-in-command, said without preamble. His voice was low, heavy.
I stopped in my tracks, the words hitting me like a punch to the gut. “Dead?” I whispered.
“She was killed the day after she disappeared,” he confirmed. “It wasn’t an accident. Someone wanted her silenced.”
“Find out who,” I said, my voice cold and steady despite the storm raging inside me.
Ending the call, I slipped my phone back into my pocket and headed for the Blackthorn pack house. My grandfather was waiting for me in the lobby, his imposing frame commanding attention.
“Where’s Rowan?” he asked, his sharp gaze raking over me.
“Handling a pack dispute,” I lied smoothly.
Grandfather studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Tell him when he returns that he’s needed at a council meeting in the Moonshadow pack. And, Hera...” His tone softened, a rare tenderness coloring his voice. “I know losing Lyra has been hard. I loved her too.”
A lump formed in my throat, but I forced a smile. “It’s been hard, Grandpa, but I’m trying to move forward.”
He placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but comforting. “The council will expect you to produce an heir soon. Tell Rowan it’s time to think about the future.”
I nodded, swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth as he kissed my forehead and left.
Later that night, Rowan stumbled through the door, reeking of alcohol. His disheveled appearance only fueled my disgust.
“My Luna,” he slurred, wrapping an arm around me. “Still awake? Did you visit Lyra’s grave again?”
I forced a gentle smile, suppressing the fury that simmered beneath my skin. “I left daffodils for her,” I replied, keeping my voice soft. “Grandfather was here earlier. There’s a council meeting at Moonshadow, and he expects you to attend.”
He waved a dismissive hand, his focus slipping. “Mmm, always meetings...”
I reached up, cupping his face with a tenderness I didn’t feel. “Rowan,” I said, my voice laced with feigned vulnerability, “why don’t we try for another child?”
His drunken haze cracked, his expression flickering with unease. “Another child?” he echoed, his voice uneven.
