I stumbled through the front door of the pack house—no, Alexander's house now—my body still numb from the council meeting. Three days had passed since my world shattered, yet the pain remained as fresh as the moment Alexander had spoken those rejection words. Each breath felt like inhaling shards of glass, the severed mate bond a constant, throbbing wound in my chest.

Aria whimpered inside me. *I can't feel him anymore. How can he just... cut us off?*

I had no answer for my wolf. She'd been restless since the rejection, alternating between howling in grief and growling in rage. Today, she was simply wounded, curled up in a corner of my consciousness.

The familiar scent of home—pine, leather, and Alexander's cedar musk—now felt like a cruel joke. This place that had been my sanctuary for seven years was becoming my prison. I paused in the entryway, gathering strength to face whatever new humiliation awaited me.

That's when I noticed the flowers.

A massive arrangement sat on the central table of the great room. Purple blooms with delicate, star-shaped petals cascaded from an ornate silver vase—wolfsbane. My throat tightened instantly at the sight.

"Alexander!" I called out, my voice already growing hoarse. "What are these doing here?"

He emerged from his study, looking irritated at the interruption. His eyes, once warm amber pools that melted when they met mine, now regarded me with cold detachment.

"What is it now, Victoria?" The way he said my name—like I was a stranger, an inconvenience—made Aria whimper again.

I gestured to the deadly purple flowers. "Wolfsbane? You know I'm severely allergic."

He glanced at the arrangement with complete indifference. "They're for Sarah. She mentioned they're her favorite."

"Her favorite?" I repeated incredulously. "They're poisonous to werewolves, Alexander. And I specifically can't even be in the same room—"

"Then perhaps you should find another room," he cut me off, turning back toward his study. "This is Sarah's home now. She should have what makes her happy."

I stood there, stunned by his callousness. The wolfsbane was already affecting me; my throat felt tight, and my eyes began to water. I backed away, trying to put distance between myself and the toxic blooms.

"Alexander, please," I called after him. "At least move them to another part of the house. I can't breathe—"

A dramatic gasp from the hallway interrupted me. Sarah stood there, one hand clutched to her stomach, the other braced against the wall. Her face contorted in what I immediately recognized as theatrical pain.

"Alexander," she moaned, her voice weak and trembling. "Something's wrong. I think... I think it's wolf sickness."

Wolf sickness was rare but serious—a condition that could affect females carrying potential Alpha heirs. My eyes narrowed. She couldn't possibly be...

Alexander was at her side in an instant, all attention focused on the woman who had stolen my life. "Sarah! What's happening?"

"I don't know," she whimpered, leaning heavily against him. "It came on so suddenly. I feel faint..."

Meanwhile, the wolfsbane was taking its toll on me. My airways were constricting, and panic flared as I struggled to draw breath. "Alexander," I gasped, "I need help—"

He didn't even look at me. "Not now, Victoria. Can't you see Sarah needs me?"

As he swept her up into his arms, Sarah's eyes met mine over his shoulder. The mask of pain slipped just enough for me to catch her smirk before she buried her face against his chest.

The wolfsbane dust had spread through the air of the corridor. Each breath became more difficult than the last. I stumbled backward, desperately trying to reach the door, but my vision was already tunneling.

"Please," I wheezed, but Alexander was already carrying Sarah away, murmuring soothing words to her.

My knees buckled. I collapsed to the floor, my throat closing completely now. Aria howled in terror as darkness crept in from the edges of my consciousness.

The last thing I saw was Elder Rowan, the pack healer, rushing toward me, his ancient face twisted with alarm. Behind him, Sarah's triumphant eyes peered from Alexander's protective embrace.

As consciousness slipped away, one thought crystallized through the haze of betrayal and pain: This was no accident. She was trying to kill me.

I gathered the few possessions that truly mattered to me from our—no, Alexander's—bedroom. My hands trembled as I folded the silk nightgown my mother had given me before she died. Seven years of my life in this pack, and everything I owned filled barely half a suitcase. The rest had been gifts from Alexander—things that now felt tainted by his betrayal.

Aria paced restlessly within me. *Take the silver hairbrush. It was your grandmother's before it was yours.*

I reached for the antique brush on the vanity, my fingers brushing against the cool silver. A memory flashed—Alexander brushing my hair on our third anniversary, his touch gentle as he counted each stroke. I blinked back tears and tucked the brush into my bag.

The door swung open without warning. Sarah stood there, wearing a dress I recognized as one Alexander had commissioned for me last winter solstice. It hung awkwardly on her frame—too long, too loose in places, too tight in others. The sight would have been almost comical if not for the cruel gleam in her eyes.

"Still here? I thought you'd have slunk away by now," she said, sauntering into the room as if she owned it. Which, I supposed, she now did.

I straightened my spine, refusing to cower. "I'm gathering my things. I'll be gone within the hour."

"Oh, take your time," she said with false sweetness. "It's not like you have anywhere important to go."

That's when I noticed what dangled from her fingers—the sacred moonstone Alexander had brought back from his pilgrimage to the ancient shrines. The stone he'd carried up treacherous mountain paths when I was ill, praying to the Moon Goddess for my recovery. The physical manifestation of what I'd thought was his undying love.

"That's not yours," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Sarah examined the moonstone, turning it in the light. "No? Alexander gave it to me this morning. Said he had no use for old trinkets."

"You're lying." But even as the words left my mouth, doubt crept in. The Alexander I thought I knew would never have parted with that stone. But the Alexander who had rejected me in front of the entire council? Who had watched me nearly die from wolfsbane exposure without lifting a finger? I didn't know what that man was capable of anymore.

"Am I?" Sarah's lips curled into that now-familiar smirk. "Poor, pathetic Victoria. Still clinging to the fantasy that he ever truly loved you."

She held the moonstone up between us, its pale blue surface catching the afternoon light. "This? This was just a pretty rock he used to keep you docile. Just like these rooms, these clothes, this life—it was all just a convenient arrangement until someone better came along."

Aria snarled, pushing against my control. *Let me tear her throat out.*

I fought to keep my composure, to not give Sarah the satisfaction of seeing me break. "If it means so little, why do you want it?"

"I don't," she said simply. Then, maintaining eye contact with me, she dropped the moonstone to the hardwood floor.

The sound it made—a delicate, crystalline ping—seemed to echo in the sudden silence.

Before I could move, Sarah brought her heel down on the sacred stone. The crack was sickening, like bones breaking. She ground her foot, twisting until the moonstone splintered into dozens of glittering fragments.

"Oops," she said with exaggerated innocence.

Something in me snapped. With a strangled cry, I lunged forward, dropping to my knees to gather the shattered pieces. Each fragment felt like a piece of my heart, jagged and sharp against my palms.

"You're insane," I whispered, clutching the broken pieces. "The Moon Goddess will make you pay for this."

Sarah laughed, the sound like broken glass. "The Moon Goddess? Where was she when Alexander was marking me as his? Where was she when he was whispering how he'd never truly wanted you?"

She leaned down, her voice dropping to a vicious whisper. "Face it, Victoria. You were just keeping his bed warm until I was ready to take my rightful place."

She straightened, smoothing down the stolen dress. "Be gone by sunset. Anything left behind gets burned."

As the door closed behind her, I remained kneeling, blood from my cut palms mingling with the shattered remnants of the moonstone. Each piece reflected my broken future back at me, a kaleidoscope of pain and betrayal.

Aria's rage had gone quiet, replaced by a cold, calculating fury that mirrored my own. *We will not forget this,* she promised. *We will not forgive.*

I carefully wrapped the moonstone fragments in my handkerchief and placed them in my bag. Not as a memento of Alexander's false love, but as a reminder of what I had survived—and what I would never allow to happen again.