Seven years ago, everything changed.
My mother was already lying weak upon her sickbed when she called me to her side. Her breathing was shallow, her hand cold in mine, but her eyes were still sharp with worry.
She told me she could not leave this world in peace if she didn’t see me properly settled first.
I was all she had left. My father had returned to the Moon Goddess long before that.
So she made a final request—simple, but heavy with expectation. A mate. A marriage. Someone who would remain by my side after she was gone.
Marek Wolfhart was the one she chose.
He was not a stranger to us. He was the son of a distant relative, taken in by our household when his pack had fallen into ruin. My mother had fed him, educated him, and given him standing again. In return, he became someone capable—respected, even—within our lands.
And when she asked him to bind himself to me, he could not refuse.
Neither did I.
I admired him then. I thought that was enough.
So we went before the pack elder, stood beneath the stone carved with moon runes, and spoke the binding vows.
No celebration. No gathering of wolves. Only silence, ink, and fate.
I thought it was the beginning of something steady.
I was wrong.
Because I didn’t know that before me, there had already been someone else in his heart.
Araminta.
My closest friend. The girl I grew up beside beneath the same moon.
I still remember the night the truth slipped out.
Marek came home reeking of strong drink, his guard lowered, his tongue unbound. I had been waiting for him like I always did.
“You are nothing but an obstacle,” he muttered, not even looking at me properly. “An obstacle between me and Araminta. If not for you… I would already be bound to her.”
Those words did not just wound me.
They carved something out of me.
But even then, it wasn’t the last time.
Over the years, I learned what it meant to be unwanted in your own bond.
He missed the naming day of our daughter, Lunara. He missed her first steps in the sacred courtyard. He missed feasts, rituals, even the simple nights when a child only wanted her father to lift her into his arms.
And still, Lunara waited for him.
Every night she would refuse sleep, asking the same question.
“When will Father return?”
And every night, I gave her the same lie.
“He is busy with pack matters, my love.”
But children do not live on lies for long. I would find her asleep near the hearth, waiting for footsteps that never came. In the morning, she would wake with disappointment already in her eyes.
That was when I began planning the journey. A simple retreat beyond the packlands, under quieter skies. Just the three of us. A chance for Lunara to finally feel like she had a father who stayed.
I wanted to believe it might change something.
It didn’t.
Marek refused, as always. And I should have stopped hoping then.
Still, I told Lunara. I remember her face—bright, alive, full of faith I could no longer match. She had been so happy she could barely stand still.
Even now, that smile haunts me more than anything.
Because I lost her.
And with her, I lost the last piece of myself that still believed in him.
The man I once saw as my mate no longer existed.
What stood before me now was a stranger—one who could order another woman to strike his own wife without hesitation.
The Marek I once loved had already died somewhere along the way.
I only hadn’t noticed the burial.
Then Araminta struck me.
The force snapped my head to the side, my vision blurring as I steadied myself against the cold floor.
Silence followed.
And then her sobs filled the hall.
“I… I slapped my best friend…” she cried, trembling as tears fell freely. “What kind of person have I become?”
She covered her face as if she were the one who had been broken.
Marek moved instantly. He pulled her into his arms like she was something precious, something worth protecting.
“It is alright,” he murmured softly. “You are too kind-hearted for this world. Do not cry.”
I stared at them, numb.
The performance was almost beautiful in its cruelty.
She had just struck me—and yet somehow, she became the victim.
I turned away, unable to bear it any longer.
But before I could leave, a hand clamped around my wrist.
Marek.
“Where do you think you are going?” he said coldly.
My breath hitched.
“Let me go,” I whispered, my voice breaking as tears finally threatened to fall.
