Lana’s POV
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In the sterile, fluorescent-lit silence of the emergency room, the automated female voice sounded like a death knell. Cold. Mechanical. Final.
"Still no answer from your Alpha?"
The nurse tapped her tablet with an irritated rhythm. She was a Beta, her scent spiked with the sharp, burnt-coffee tang of a woman who had worked a double shift and had zero patience left for "human complications." To her, I was just another fragile creature taking up space in a world built for predators.
I lowered my phone, forcing a smile that felt like it was cracking my very skin. "He’s in a high-level board meeting. He doesn't like to be disturbed. Can I just sign for the procedure myself?"
The nurse grumbled about "unclaimed Luna duties" and "absentee mates" under her breath before thrusting a digital consent form toward me.
Seven calls. I had called Silas Vane seven times. Seven times I had reached out to my husband—the billionaire Alpha of the Silver Ridge Pack, the man whose ring was a heavy, cold weight on my finger—and all I got was a mechanical rejection.
A bitter thought flared in my mind: If I weren't here for a simple hand debridement, if I were bleeding out from a silver-tipped wound or a rogue’s claw, I’d be a cold corpse by the time Silas bothered to check his logs.
"Hold still, Mrs. Vane," the doctor commanded. He was an older Gamma with steady, weathered hands. He began picking the small, sharp shards of glass from my palm with silver tweezers. "How did this happen? A rogue attack? Domestic... dispute?"
"Just a clumsy human moment," I lied, my voice steady despite the searing sting of the antiseptic.
The truth was far more pathetic. Insomnia had become my only companion in that cavernous Vane mansion. I couldn't sleep, so I cleaned. I scrubbed floors that were already spotless until my mind went numb. But tonight, the glass hadn't just shattered; it had exploded in my hand. It was as if the very air in that house had become too heavy for the crystal to bear. Or perhaps it was me. Perhaps I was the one who had finally reached the breaking point.
Ding.
A text message vibrated against my thigh. My heart did a pathetic, desperate little leap. Please let it be him. Please let him ask if I’m okay.
I pulled the phone out with my uninjured hand. It wasn't Silas. It was an unknown number…. a video file.
I opened it.
The footage was grainy, filmed in the dim, amber-soaked light of The Nocturne, the city’s most exclusive club for elite shifters. A place where humans like me were usually on the menu, not the guest list.
There he was. Silas Vane. My Alpha.
He looked devastating. He’d ditched his suit jacket, and his crisp white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the jagged edge of a tattoo on his collarbone, a mark of his lineage he had never let me touch. He was sprawled on a velvet sofa, his long legs stretched out with a raw, predatory power that made every Omega in the room instinctively tilt their necks in submission.
But his eyes—those gold, terrifyingly beautiful eyes—were fixed on the woman draped over his arm.
Celine Thorne.
The Beta "warrior" who had been his first love. The woman he’d been forced to leave behind three years ago when his family’s dying patriarch demanded he marry a girl with my specific, ancient bloodline to save the Vane name.
Celine leaned into him, her vintage silk dress sliding off one shoulder, her flawless skin shimmering in the club lights. The crowd around them erupted in cheers, someone shouting for a "union toast." Silas didn’t pull away. He didn't move an inch to reclaim his space. Instead, a dark, flirtatious smirk played on his lips. It was a look he had never, not once, wasted on me, as he raised a glass of amber liquid to her.
The video cut to black.
I gripped the phone so hard the fresh stitches in my palm throbbed with a sickening heat. No wonder he hadn't answered. He was too busy welcoming his "true mate" back to the pack. He was too busy celebrating the end of us.
My fingers trembled as I typed a message with my one good hand, the words blurring through the unshed tears I refused to let fall.
“The thirty-day legal separation period ends tonight. I’ll be at the lawyer's office tomorrow at 10:00 AM. Bring your seal. Don’t be late.”
For three years, I had played the perfect Luna. I had cooked his meals, managed his PR, and endured his silence. But more importantly, I had used my family’s forbidden knowledge of alchemy to brew the tea that cured him. When we met, Silas was a dying man, his virility and strength choked by silver poisoning.
I had healed him. I had made him a king again. And now that he was whole, he was giving that strength to another woman.
Suddenly, my phone rang. The screen flashed: ALPHA VANE.
My brain screamed at me to ignore it. To throw the phone against the ER wall. But the bond which was the thin, fraying, one-sided connection we shared, made my thumb swipe "Accept" before I could stop it.
"Hello?" I whispered, my voice sounding small and brittle.
"Lana? It’s Celine." The voice on the other end was smooth, like honey poured over thorns. "Silas is completely wasted at The Nocturne. He’s making a bit of a scene, and frankly, it’s embarrassing for the pack. You should probably come pick up your husband before he does something... regrettable."
The line went dead.
She was marking her territory. She wanted me to see them together. She wanted me to know that even though I held the title, she held the man.
"To hell with both of them," I hissed.
I didn't want to go. Every cell in my body wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. But if he spent the night in her bed, he’d "forget" the signing tomorrow. He’d delay the divorce. I couldn't stay in that gilded cage for one more second.
When I arrived at the club, I tore the medical bandage off my hand. The wound was raw, but I refused to look like a victim. I walked into the VIP lounge wearing my pajamas under a trench coat, my hair a mess from the hospital bed. I looked like a discarded housewife, a ghost haunting a party of gods.
The contrast was staggering. Celine was glowing, leaning into Silas’s neck, her scent, sweet jasmine and victory, filling the air.
"Mrs. Vane!" Celine chirped, pulling back with a performance of "accidental" guilt. "Please, don't be upset. Silas just had a couple too many drinks. I was just helping him stay upright. You know how he gets when he’s celebrating."
The scent of her perfume was cloying, suffocating.
"Don't bother apologizing to her, Celine," a voice sneered. It was Mara, a younger Pack Warrior with a reputation for cruelty. "Everyone knows the Alpha hates being tethered to a human fluke like her. If it weren't for that archaic contract, you'd be the one carrying his heirs by now."
Laughter rippled through the lounge, sharp and jagged as the glass that had cut my hand. Silas remained slumped in his seat, his eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to the insults being hurled at his wife.
I felt a coldness wash over me—the kind of cold that only comes when you truly have nothing left to lose. I looked Mara dead in the eye, my gaze unfaltering.
"You're right, Mara," I said, my voice cutting through the laughter like a blade. "He might hate me. He might even loathe the ground I walk on. But until 10:00 AM tomorrow, I am still the Luna of this pack. I am still the woman who sits at the head of the table. And as for heirs..."
I turned my gaze to Celine, letting it linger on her pale, triumphant face.
"You should ask Silas if he’s even capable of marking a Beta. Or has he forgotten who actually saved his life while his precious 'warrior' was hiding in Europe, waiting for him to either die or get rich?"
The room went deathly silent. The music seemed to fade into the background. Celine’s face drained of color.
I reached down, grabbing Silas’s heavy, warm arm. His skin was burning, the Alpha heat radiating off him in waves.
"Wake up, Silas," I hissed into his ear, my voice trembling with a mix of fury and heartbreak. "One last job as my husband. Drag yourself home so you can sign those papers. Then, and only then, you're hers."
His eyes snapped open.
They weren't the eyes of a drunk man. There was no fog, no slurring of the soul. They were glowing a fierce, predatory gold, blazing with a terrifying intensity.
And they were fixed entirely on me.
