The royal seamstress's shop sat at the heart of pack territory, its windows displaying generations of ceremonial garments. I'd passed it countless times, always pausing to admire the Luna gowns that seemed to glow with their own inner light. Now, walking beside Olivia, each step felt like marching toward my own execution.
"Isn't this exciting?" Olivia linked her arm through mine, her vanilla-jasmine perfume overwhelming in the crisp morning air. "I've dreamed of this moment since I was a pup."
My wolf snarled at her touch, but I forced myself to remain calm. "Have you?"
She squeezed my arm, oblivious to—or perhaps enjoying—my discomfort. "Oh, Hannah. You know I've always admired the Luna position. The responsibility, the honor of continuing the Alpha bloodline..." Her green eyes sparkled with barely concealed triumph. "Some of us are simply born for it."
The shop's bell chimed as we entered. Mrs. Thornberry, the elderly seamstress who'd dressed every Luna for three generations, looked up from her work. Her warm smile faltered when she saw me.
"Luna Hannah." She dipped her head respectfully, then noticed Olivia. Confusion flickered across her weathered face. "How may I serve you today?"
Olivia stepped forward, radiating confidence. "We're here for a Luna ceremony gown fitting."
"But..." Mrs. Thornberry's gaze darted between us.
"For me," Olivia clarified, her voice honeyed poison. "Hannah is here to help. Aren't you, dear friend?"
The words twisted like a knife between my ribs. I managed a nod, not trusting my voice.
Mrs. Thornberry's expression shuttered. She'd dressed me for my own hasty mating ceremony seven years ago—a simple dress, nothing like the elaborate Luna gown I'd dreamed of. Ethan had insisted traditions were unnecessary for our 'private situation.'
"This way," she murmured, leading us to the back room where the ceremonial gowns waited.
The sight stole my breath. Dozens of white gowns hung like frozen moonlight, each more beautiful than the last. My fingers itched to touch the delicate fabrics, to imagine myself in one of them. But that dream had died the moment Ethan summoned me to his office.
Olivia went straight for the most elaborate gown—shimmering white silk embroidered with silver thread forming the Silver Fang Pack emblem across the bodice. Delicate wolf motifs danced along the hem, and moonstones caught the light at the neckline.
It was exactly what I'd described to Ethan years ago. The gown I'd sketched in secret, hoping one day he'd grant me a proper Luna ceremony.
"This one," Olivia declared, running her hands over the fabric. "It's perfect."
My throat constricted. "That's—"
"Magnificent?" She was already stripping down, eager to try it on. "I know. I had it specially commissioned weeks ago. Ethan showed me your old sketches. He thought they were quaint."
Quaint. My dreams reduced to a patronizing word.
Mrs. Thornberry helped Olivia into the gown, her movements mechanical. When Olivia emerged from behind the changing screen, I bit down hard on my inner cheek to keep from crying.
She looked radiant. The gown fit her perfectly, transforming her from my supposed best friend into everything I'd wanted to be. The silver embroidery caught the light as she twirled, and the train swept behind her like liquid starlight.
"What do you think?" She faced me, false concern painting her features. "Too much?"
Before I could answer, the shop bell chimed again. Ethan's scent—cedar and rain—filled the space, making my wolf whimper pathetically.
"I had to see for myself," he said, his deep voice sending unwanted shivers through me.
His silver eyes locked onto Olivia, and I watched something shift in his expression. Raw hunger. Genuine appreciation. The look I'd craved for seven years but never received.
"Stunning," he breathed, moving toward her like a wolf stalking prey. "You look like a true Luna."
A true Luna. Not like me. Never like me.
His hands found Olivia's waist, pulling her close despite my presence. She melted into him, and I saw his wolf's aura pulse with approval—something he'd always kept tightly controlled around me.
"The pack will be in awe," he murmured against her ear. "My mother was right. This is how a Luna should look."
I couldn't breathe. The walls pressed in, and my wolf howled in anguish. Seven years of devotion, of keeping his secret, of protecting his pride—meaningless.
They were still talking, planning, touching, but I was already backing toward the door. Neither noticed. Mrs. Thornberry caught my eye, sympathy and sorrow warring in her expression, but I couldn't bear her pity.
I slipped out as silently as I'd learned to do everything in my marriage. Outside, I ran. Not toward the pack house, but toward the forest. Toward the borders where I could scream without anyone hearing.
Where I could finally shatter without Ethan's cold eyes watching me break.
