I knelt beside my father's coffin, my fingers tracing the carved wood that would soon bear his name. The pack's funeral home was silent except for the occasional whimper from my wolf, who had finally stirred from her grief-stricken silence.
"Please," I whispered, not caring if anyone heard. "Just one week. That's all I ask."
The door opened behind me, and I didn't need to turn to know it was Alistair. His scent—pine and dominance—filled the room, making my wolf cower.
"One week?" His voice cut through the silence like a blade. "To mourn a man who abandoned his pack responsibilities? To wallow in self-pity over a pregnancy that wasn't meant to be?"
I rose slowly, my legs unsteady beneath me. "It's tradition. A week of mourning for the dead, for—"
"For weakness," Alistair interrupted, his eyes cold as they swept over me. "The pack needs to see strength, not a Luna who can't handle loss."
My hands trembled at my sides. "I lost our child."
"And life continues." He stepped closer, his Alpha aura pressing against me like a physical weight. "The Moon Goddess Gala is in three days. It will proceed as planned."
I stared at him in disbelief. "That was my mother's charity event."
"And now it will celebrate our pack's new prosperity." Alistair's lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes. "The funds your father so generously provided have opened... possibilities."
The stolen money. My father's life savings, meant for food and medicine, now funding Alistair's vanity project.
"Cancel it," I pleaded. "Just for this once. Let me mourn."
"Enough." His Alpha tone vibrated through the room, forcing me to my knees. "You will attend. You will smile. You will show the pack that their Luna is not broken."
---
The door to my quarters burst open without warning. Azalea swept in, flanked by two Delta guards, her perfume choking the air.
"Clear her things," she commanded, gesturing to my closet.
"What are you doing?" I demanded, watching as they yanked my Luna attire from the shelves.
Azalea's smile was venomous as she approached me. "Making sure you understand your place."
She snapped her fingers, and one of the guards produced a gray dress—shapeless, plain, with stains near the hem. A servant's uniform.
"Put this on," she ordered.
I backed away. "That's not appropriate for a Luna."
"Luna?" Azalea laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "You're barely that anymore."
Her hand shot out, gripping my chin painfully. "Your father died because he was weak. Just like you."
I tried to pull away, but she held fast.
"And that baby you lost?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Probably for the best. An Alpha's heir needs strength, not the weakness you carry."
My wolf snarled inside me, but I couldn't reach her strength.
"Mrs. Gable has served me loyally for years," Azalea continued, releasing me with a shove. "She's getting rather... old for service. Wouldn't it be a shame if she were exiled for failing in her duties?"
Mrs. Gable—my elderly maid who had helped me through the darkest nights after losing my pup.
"Leave her alone," I said through gritted teeth.
"Then wear the dress." Azalea's eyes glittered with triumph. "And attend the Gala. Smile, bow your head, play your part."
---
The Grand Hall glittered with stolen wealth. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light over tables draped in white silk. At the head table, Alistair sat in his formal Alpha attire, Azalea beside him in a gown that cost more than most pack members earned in a year.
Around her neck gleamed a diamond necklace—bought with my father's money.
"Look at her," someone whispered as I entered in my gray dress. "The Luna looks like a ghost."
"Or a servant," another replied with a snicker.
I kept my eyes forward, searching for Mrs. Gable's familiar face among the crowd. She stood near the kitchen entrance, her worried gaze finding mine.
Alistair rose, commanding silence with his presence alone.
"Tonight," he announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall, "we celebrate not just prosperity, but progress. We trim the dead weight of the past to forge a stronger future."
His eyes found mine across the room, and I felt the pressure of his Alpha aura pin me in place.
"Some might call it betrayal," he continued, his gaze never leaving mine. "I call it evolution."
The music started—a waltz that had been my mother's favorite. Alistair extended his hand to Azalea, who rose gracefully to join him on the dance floor.
I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The Alpha aura held me immobile as they danced, his hands possessive on her waist, her head thrown back in laughter.
Around me, visiting dignitaries whispered and pointed.
"The Luna looks ill," one murmured.
"Or broken," another replied.
I stood frozen at the head table, forced to watch as my mate—my Alpha—whirled my tormentor across the floor in celebration of my father's death and my unborn child's loss.
And somewhere deep inside me, something shifted—a spark where before there had been only emptiness.
