Zera’s POV
I couldn’t sleep that night. No matter how I turned or how tightly I shut my eyes, the darkness only made the ache worse. My heart pounded against my ribs, restless and heavy, like it wanted to claw its way out of my chest. The silence of the main bedroom was suffocating, too still, too clean for the chaos inside me.
Alpha Jeremiah’s steady breathing beside me once brought comfort. Now, it only felt like mockery. The bond between us, once warm and sacred, was nothing more than a thread strangling my heart.
When he shifted beside me, I pretended to be asleep. His weight left the bed, and the faint creak of the door followed. I waited until I heard his footsteps fade down the hall before sitting up. My wolf stirred inside me, uneasy.
He’s not just going out for air, she whispered.
I already knew.
I pressed a trembling hand over my mouth, forcing back the sobs threatening to escape. The moonlight spilling through the window painted the room in pale silver, a cruel reminder of the goddess I once prayed to, the same one who let my daughter die, who let my mate betray me.
My throat was dry, so I got up to get water. The hallway outside was dim, lit only by the lanterns at each corner. The moment I stepped out, a faint sound reached me, soft at first, then unmistakable.
A moan. Then another.
I froze. My pulse thudded in my ears as I followed the sound, unwillingly, like a wounded wolf drawn toward the scent of blood. It came from the guest room, her room. Hannah’s.
The door wasn’t fully closed. Through the small crack, I saw movements, shadows tangled in each other. My breath caught, and my knees weakened. I didn’t need to see more. I already knew.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted iron. My body trembled violently, and I turned away before I screamed.
Down the hall, my hands instinctively went to my belly. There was life inside me, tiny, fragile, pure. My baby. Our baby. But even as I touched my stomach, all I could think was how cruel the Moon Goddess must be to let a monster like Jeremiah father another life.
Tears slipped down my cheeks as I whispered, “You’ll be safe, little one. I swear to you, you’ll never live in his shadow.”
When the first rays of dawn broke through the window, I was still awake. My body ached from exhaustion, but I refused to let myself rest. Not when I had to face him again.
Jeremiah came into the room, already dressed. He smelled of soap and pinewood, but underneath that, I could still catch her scent clinging to him. My stomach turned.
“Zera,” he started, clearing his throat like he wanted to sound casual. “We need to talk.”
I met his gaze from across the room, my voice steady despite the storm inside. “About what?”
He hesitated for a moment, then said, “Hannah needs the master’s bedroom.”
For a heartbeat, I didn’t process it. Then I blinked, staring at him. “What?”
“She’s pregnant,” he said as if I hadn’t already known, as if that justified everything. “She needs comfort. The master’s room has the best view, the softest bed—”
“And I’m supposed to move out?” My voice rose, disbelief cutting through my restraint.
He sighed impatiently, like I was being unreasonable. “It’s not permanent. Just until she gives birth. You of all people should understand that.”
“I understand perfectly,” I said coldly. “You want to make her comfortable while your Luna sleeps in the guest room.”
“Zera, don’t make this difficult,” he said, rubbing his temples. “It’s for her health. You know I’m not a monster.”
My laugh came out hollow. Not a monster. If only he knew how that sounded to me now.
But I bit back every word, every truth I wanted to throw at his face. Not yet. Not until everything was ready.
So I forced my lips into a trembling smile and said softly, “Fine. Do what you want.”
He seemed relieved, muttering something about talking to the omegas to start moving furniture.
I watched him go, my chest hollow. The moment the door shut, I whispered, “You already did what you wanted, Alpha. You just don’t know I’m done letting you.”
After breakfast, I noticed how rushed he was, checking his watch, glancing at the door. Hannah’s voice called him from outside the house.
It made bile rise in my throat.
But I seized that moment. I approached him with a stack of papers in my hands. “Before you go, can you sign these?”
He barely looked at them. “What’s this?”
“Pack paperwork,” I lied smoothly. “Just financial approvals for the upcoming quarter.”
He frowned. “Can’t this wait?”
“No,” I said firmly. “You’re the Alpha, remember? The council won’t process anything without your signature.”
He groaned in irritation, snatching the pen from me. “Fine. Make it quick.”
I held the papers steady as he scrawled his name on the last page, the divorce decree. The very one that would free me from him.
When he handed them back, I smiled faintly. “Thank you.”
He didn’t even notice the edge in my tone as Hannah called for him again. He left, and the door closed behind him.
The second he was gone, I grabbed my phone and dialed my lawyer.
“It’s done,” I said flatly. “He signed it.”
The voice on the other line paused, then asked, “You’re sure, Luna?”
“Yes. It’s over. File it immediately.”
And for the first time in a long while, I laughed. But it wasn’t joy, it was something dark and broken, a sound that barely resembled me.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, looking around the room that once symbolized love and loyalty. Now, it was just a grave of memories.
I started packing again, throwing clothes into suitcases. Each fold of fabric felt like shedding another piece of a life I no longer wanted.
That was when I heard the door open.
“Zera?”
Her voice. I turned around slowly, seeing Hannah standing in the doorway. Her hand rested gently on her stomach, the very same stomach that carried my husband’s child, and my daughter’s heart beating inside it.
“I wanted to help you,” she said softly, stepping into the room.
I didn’t answer. Instead of touching my things, she wandered to the corner where I’d kept Annie’s drawings, her toys, her cabinet, her little shrine.
“Don’t touch that,” I warned quietly.
But she either didn’t hear me or chose to ignore it. She opened the cabinet doors, eyes scanning the items curiously. Then she spotted it, the moonstone jar sitting on the lowest shelf. The urn.
“What’s this?” she asked, reaching for it.
My heart clenched. “Hannah,” I said, sharper this time, “don’t touch that.”
But she lifted it anyway, turning it in her hands. “It’s so pretty…”
“That’s Annie’s ashes,” I hissed. “Put it down.”
Her eyes widened a fraction. For a moment, I thought she’d obey.
Then she gasped, pretending to lose grip. “Oh—”
The jar slipped from her fingers.
It hit the floor with a dull crack before splitting open, spilling pale ash across the carpet.
I froze. Time seemed to stop. The air left my lungs in one painful rush.
