Mireya
The air was thick with something sharp and metallic—cold iron, treachery, intent—long before Marianne spoke a single word.
I should have trusted that instinctive chill the moment I found her inside Dominic’s private den. His inner sanctum. The one room in the estate guarded more fiercely than any vault. The space I had never once been permitted to step into, not even after becoming his wife. And there she was, standing comfortably before the safe, fingers gliding over the locking mechanism with practiced ease.
Like it belonged to her.
Like she had always belonged there.
The lock disengaged with a soft click. The safe door groaned open.
I stood frozen as she reached inside and removed a slim folder, neat and deliberate. She turned toward me slowly, triumph flashing in her eyes, and struck the folder against my chest without hesitation.
The impact stole my breath.
“Divorce papers,” she said lightly, as though delivering trivial news. “Filed, approved, finalized. You and Dominic are no longer married, Mireya. Honestly, you haven’t been for quite some time.”
My hands trembled as I opened it. Page after page burned my vision. Every clause was airtight. My name. My signature. Legal, undeniable.
I didn’t remember signing this.
But I had.
Buried in trust. Hidden beneath documents I never thought to question.
“He deceived me,” I murmured, the words barely audible above the pounding in my ears.
Marianne’s smile widened, sharp and predatory. “We’re attorneys. You know better than anyone that intent doesn’t matter. Ink does. If you were careless enough to sign blindly, that’s hardly his fault.”
I couldn’t move. My heart hammered violently as memories clashed with reality. Three years. Three years believing in a marriage that apparently ended long before today.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You keep pretending there’s still something binding you. But tell me—did he ever claim you properly? He never marked you. Never completed the bond. With me, though?” Her lips curved cruelly. “He did.”
My wolf stirred, wounded but alive, snarling deep within my chest.
“I’m just cleaning up what he left unfinished,” Marianne continued, cradling the folder as if it were precious. “You can consider this an act of mercy. By tomorrow, I expect you gone.”
I didn’t beg. I didn’t collapse.
I met her gaze evenly. “Then I hope the two of you find everything you deserve.”
My jaw clenched until pain bloomed, but I didn’t let it show. I turned away, each step tearing something raw inside me.
That night passed without sleep.
I packed methodically. Not with tears or hysteria, but with emptiness. The kind that settles after devastation, when grief has already burned everything down.
I folded dresses carefully—luxury fabrics chosen by him, jewels clasped around my throat like ownership. I boxed them all. Not to keep. Not to sell.
To erase.
When Dominic and Marianne left the estate the next morning—no doubt celebrating my removal—I contacted a courier. When he arrived, I handed over the boxes and the address.
He hesitated. “Ma’am… this location is an incineration facility.”
“Yes,” I replied evenly. “Make sure nothing survives.”
He swallowed and nodded. “Understood, Attorney.”
As the truck disappeared, so did the last remnants of that life. Silk and gold no longer meant anything. Neither did Dominic.
Then my phone rang.
I nearly ignored it—until I saw my mother’s name.
Her voice broke through the line in fractured sobs. “Mireya… they’re destroying your sister’s shrine. They’re pulling it apart—her resting place—”
The phone slipped from my hand.
I didn’t grab shoes. I didn’t think. I shifted partially, claws breaking through skin, vision blazing gold, and ran.
When I arrived, my mother was on the ground, clutching Ysabel’s urn like a lifeline. Blood smeared her palms where she’d been shoved aside.
I knelt beside her, fury tearing through me. “Who did this?”
She pointed weakly. “She said her dog died. She tried to take the shrine. She shoved me—she tried to throw your sister away!”
I turned.
Marianne stood near the half-open doors, eyes red with feigned tears, mouth curved smugly.
“Oh,” she said sweetly. “You’re here for another performance?”
My voice came out low and dangerous. “You knew this space was already claimed.”
She gestured toward a satin-wrapped box. “I need somewhere to bury my pet. Surely even you wouldn’t deny that.”
“That shrine was for my sister.”
She shrugged. “It’s not like she’s really in there, is she? After all, you’ve been hiding her ever since that video.”
The words cut deep—but I didn’t react.
Instead, I turned to the cemetery manager who had rushed over. “This shrine was purchased and registered under my sister’s name. We have documentation. My mother carved the plate herself.”
He nodded. “I remember. We don’t reassign occupied shrines. I’ll assist Miss Marianne elsewhere.”
Marianne screamed.
“She’s lying! She’s manipulating everyone! Her sister isn’t dead—and now she’s stealing from me!”
I ignored her. Carefully placed Ysabel’s urn back where it belonged.
“Heartless?” I said quietly. “That accusation suits you better.”
She collapsed theatrically behind me—until a familiar presence slammed into the space.
Dominic.
His aura crushed the air, alpha dominance radiating outward. Wolves backed away instinctively.
“Remove that,” he ordered coldly.
He lifted Marianne into his arms, cradling her protectively.
I stepped forward, blocking the shrine. “Do you even know whose remains those are?”
His gaze was empty. “And if I do? You brought this chaos on yourself.”
He gestured.
The urn was seized. It fell. Shattered.
Ashes scattered across the ground.
A boot crushed them.
My mother screamed and collapsed, clawing at dirt, sobbing uncontrollably.
I couldn’t move. My claws pierced my palms, blood dripping freely.
“That’s my sister,” I whispered. “That’s all that’s left of her.”
Dominic scoffed. “Keep lying. I’ll make your lie permanent.”
Then he left. Carrying her.
Silence followed.
I sank beside my mother, hands shaking as I gathered what little remained.
Ash. Bone. Soil.
The Moon Goddess gave no answer.
But I made a vow.
I would remember.
And I would make them pay.
