Beatrice’s POV
For three years, I had been blind. For three years, I let Alpha Clyden treat me like a fool. He acted in love. He made me believe he was the only one in the world who truly cared for me, the only man who would stand by me when I had lost everything.
He made me believe he was my light. But now, as I stood outside the hospital where my son had died, I realized the truth.
I had been drowning in a lie.
The halls smelled sterile, the scent of disinfectant thick in the air. It was too bright, too quiet—nothing like the night I had been here last. That night had been full of chaos, of the sound of my own heart shattering as the doctors told me there was nothing they could do.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and made my way to the records office. I wasn’t supposed to have access to the files I was looking for. But I had connections—ones I had hidden even from Clyden. Ones that I had buried along with my past.
A soft murmur of recognition passed between the staff as I handed them the required credentials, the ones that would override any restrictions. It was subtle, just a flicker of surprise in their eyes before they bowed their heads in obedience.
The thick folder was placed in my hands.
My fingers trembled as I opened it.
And there it was. The truth. A brutal, unforgiving truth.
Matthew—my son—could have survived.
His heart had been strong enough. The doctors had prepared to fight for him. There had been a real chance for him to live.
But Clyden—
Alpha Clyden, my husband, my supposed savior—
Had ordered otherwise.
My vision blurred as I read through the documents. The surgery logs, the doctor’s notes, the signatures. It was all there. Clyden had taken my son’s heart and given it to another.
Not just anyone. Hannah’s mother. The woman who had given birth to his first love. He had saved a life—by taking my son’s.
My body went still.
The blood in my veins turned cold.
I had been grieving for three years. I had been trapped in a world of silence and sorrow, thinking my son’s death was an unavoidable tragedy.
But it wasn’t.
It had been chosen.
A slow, burning rage started at the pit of my stomach and spread through me like wildfire.
I clenched the files in my hands, my nails digging into the thick pages. I would make sure Clyden regretted every decision he ever made.
He had stolen my son from me.
I would steal everything from him.
Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I inhaled sharply before answering.
“The divorce agreement is ready,” my lawyer said.
I exhaled, my grip tightening on the documents. “Good.”
It was time.
The packhouse was just as I had left it—grand, elegant, a place meant to house an Alpha and his Luna. But it would no longer be mine.
I stepped through the doors, my heart steady, my mind clear. As I made my way to Clyden’s office, I caught the scent of another wolf—one that had become all too familiar.
Hannah. She was already there. Of course, she was. She sat perched on the edge of Clyden’s desk, her delicate fingers playing with the hem of her dress, her lips curled into a flirtatious smile.
Clyden stood beside her, leaning against his chair, his expression relaxed. Comfortable.
Too comfortable.
I stepped inside without knocking. Both their heads turned toward me, but neither of them showed any real concern. Hannah tilted her head slightly, her amber eyes gleaming with amusement.
Clyden’s hands moved in the air, signing smoothly. “Is there something you need, Bea?”
I didn’t answer. Because my gaze had landed on something far more infuriating.
A ring. A very familiar ring. It sat snugly on Hannah’s slender finger. The Moonlight Pack’s symbolic ring. The one he had told me was meant to be hidden away, never to be worn, never to be given out freely.
And yet— There it was. On her hand.
For a brief moment, the world seemed to go silent again. Then Hannah sighed, dramatically rolling her eyes.
“Alpha,” she said, dragging the word out. “Can you get her out of here? We were in the middle of something important.”
Her voice was sweet, coated in honey. But the venom underneath was clear.
The disrespect was deafening.
Clyden let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck as if this was all some minor inconvenience. Then, like a mutt obeying his mistress, he turned to me and signed, “I have an important meeting. We’ll talk later. We should have dinner together tonight.”
My lips curled into a slow, practiced smile.
I nodded.
I signed back, “Of course.”
Because that would be our last meal together.
