Erica POV:

Rain lashed against my face, mixing with the hot tears I couldn't stop. I ran until my lungs burned, putting as much distance as I could between myself and the Obsidian club.

The water soaked my clothes, chilling me to the bone, but I hoped it would wash away the scent of the club. The scent of them.

I collapsed onto a bench at a bus stop, shivering violently.

Memories assaulted me. College. Bianca.

She was a Rogue who had infiltrated our university. She had planted Wolfsbane in the cafeteria food and framed me. Because my senses were dull, I couldn't smell the poison on my hands when she planted the evidence.

Everyone believed her tears. She played the victim perfectly. That was when my reputation was destroyed. That was why I never Shifted. The trauma of the pack turning on me had locked my wolf away.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out with trembling fingers.

"Hello?"

"Miss Erica?" It was the head nurse from the geriatric ward. "It's your grandmother. You need to come. Now."

The phone slipped from my hand, clattering onto the wet pavement.

Grandma. My only family. The only human who loved me despite my wolf blood.

I scrambled to pick up the phone and ran to the curb, waving my hand desperately at the passing cars.

A yellow taxi slowed down, saw my disheveled appearance, and sped up again.

"Please!" I screamed, my voice cracking.

Another car passed. Then another. They were pack members. I could see the pack insignia on their bumpers. They ignored me. To them, I was the pariah. The invisible nurse.

I fell to my knees in a puddle, sobbing. "Please... someone..."

A low rumble vibrated through the asphalt.

A massive, matte-black military Hummer pulled up to the curb. It didn't look like a civilian car. It looked like a tank.

The passenger window rolled down.

A scent hit me.

It wasn't just a smell. It was a physical blow.

It smelled like ozone before a lightning strike. Like deep, ancient pine forests and iron. It was terrifying. It was intoxicating.

For a second, the rain seemed to stop. My heart, which had been breaking, suddenly slammed against my ribs in a rhythm I didn't recognize.

Mate.

The word whispered through my soul. But it wasn't a happy realization. It was a terrifying one. I was broken, pregnant with another man's child, and rejected.

The door opened. A man stepped out.

He was huge. Taller than Anthony. Broader than Emmanuel. He wore tactical gear, black combat pants, and a tight t-shirt that strained against muscles that looked carved from granite.

He didn't look like a normal wolf. His eyes were a piercing, glowing gold.

He walked toward me, ignoring the rain. His presence was so intense that the air around him seemed to crackle.

"You are in pain," he said. His voice was deep, like stones grinding together.

He didn't ask if I was okay. He stated a fact. He could feel it. The Mate Bond allowed us to feel each other's emotions.

"My grandmother," I choked out, unable to look him in the eye. The power radiating off him forced me to look down. This was an Alpha. No, something stronger. A Lycan.

"Get in," he ordered. It wasn't an Alpha Command, but it carried natural authority.

He lifted me off the ground as if I weighed nothing. His hands were hot, searing through my wet clothes. Where his skin touched mine, sparks danced along my nerves.

He placed me in the passenger seat and buckled me in.

"Hospital," I whispered.

He drove with precision and terrifying speed, weaving through traffic like the cars were standing still.

We arrived in record time. I didn't wait for him. I scrambled out of the car and ran to the entrance.

I burst into Grandma's room.

The machine was letting out a long, flat tone.

"Time of death, 11:42 PM," the doctor muttered.

"No!" I screamed, rushing to the bed. I grabbed her cold hand. "Grandma, no! Don't leave me!"

She was gone. The only person who looked at me with kindness was gone.

I pulled out my phone to call Anthony. He was the pack leader. He was supposed to handle the funerals of pack dependents.

I dialed. It rang once. Then it was declined.

A notification popped up on my screen. A livestream.

Holden Pack Official Account.

I clicked it.

Anthony was on screen, holding a champagne glass. Bianca was clinging to his arm, wearing a diamond tiara.

"To our future Luna!" Anthony toasted. The crowd cheered.

"And to new beginnings," Bianca giggled, looking directly into the camera. "Out with the old trash, in with the new."

I stared at the screen. My grandmother's body was cooling beside me, and they were celebrating.

The door to the room opened. The Lycan stood there. He had followed me.

He looked at the dead woman, then at the phone in my hand, then at me. His golden eyes swirled with a violent storm.

"I need a doctor," I said, my voice hollow. I stood up, wiping my face. The tears had stopped. There was nothing left to cry.

"You are injured?" the Lycan asked, taking a step forward.

"No," I said. I looked at my stomach. "I need a clinic. One off the pack records. I need an abortion."

His eyes widened slightly.

"And then," I said, looking at the transfer order Anthony had thrown at me. "I need to sign up for the medical volunteer corps."

"Where?" he asked.

" The Rogue Borderlands," I said. "The suicide squad."

I would not bring a child into this world to be killed by its father. And I would not stay in this city to watch them win.

Erica POV:

Two days later.

The procedure was scheduled for this morning. I had one night left in the apartment I used to call home.

The Lycan, whose name I still didn't know, had driven me back. He hadn't said a word, but his presence was a shield against the world. He waited in the car downstairs. I could feel his golden eyes watching the building.

I walked into the penthouse apartment. It was dark.

I clutched the small velvet bag in my hand. It contained the amulet with Grandma's ashes. It was heavy, warm, and the only thing I had left.

"You're late," a sickly sweet voice said.

The lights flicked on.

Bianca was sitting on the sofa. My sofa. She was wearing one of Anthony's shirts, her bare legs draped over the armrest.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice trembling with exhaustion.

"Marking my territory," she smirked. She stood up and walked toward me. She smelled of expensive perfume and rot. "Anthony gave me the key code. He said I could redecorate."

"Get out," I said.

"Make me," she challenged.

Suddenly, she threw herself backward, crashing into the coffee table. She let out a piercing scream.

"Help! Anthony! She's attacking me!"

The bedroom door flew open. Anthony stormed out, his chest bare, wearing only sweatpants.

He saw Bianca on the floor, clutching her arm, and me standing over her.

He didn't ask questions. He didn't look at my tear-stained face or my wet clothes.

"Kneel!"

The Alpha Command slammed me into the floorboards again. My chin hit the wood hard. I tasted blood.

"She tried to hit me, Ant!" Bianca sobbed, squeezing out fake tears. "She's jealous! She's crazy!"

"You are a rabid dog," Anthony growled, walking over to me. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me up. "I think you need a time-out."

"No," I gasped, panic rising in my throat. "Anthony, please. Not the closet."

He knew. He knew about my claustrophobia. He knew that when Bianca framed me in college, the other students had locked me in a janitor's closet filled with silver dust for six hours. It was where my wolf had gone into a coma.

"You need to learn your place," Anthony said coldly.

He dragged me down the hallway. I clawed at his arm, but he was an Alpha. I was nothing.

He opened the door to the storage closet. It was tiny, unventilated, and dark.

He threw me inside.

"Anthony, please!" I screamed. "I can't breathe in there! Please!"

"Think about what you've done to my Luna," he said.

The door slammed shut. The lock clicked.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

My breath hitched. The walls felt like they were closing in. The air grew hot and stale instantly.

Let me out! Let me out!

I pounded on the door until my knuckles bled.

"Anthony!" I shrieked.

Outside, I heard Bianca giggle. "Oh, Ant, you're so strong. Come back to bed."

"Let her rot for a bit," Anthony's muffled voice replied.

Footsteps faded away.

I slid down the door, curling into a tight ball. My chest heaved, but no air seemed to enter my lungs. The phantom smell of silver dust filled my nose.

My mind started to fracture.

I clutched the velvet bag with Grandma's ashes to my chest.

"I hate them," I whispered into the darkness.

The love I had held for Anthony, the confusion I felt for Emmanuel... it all curdled. It turned black and thick.

In the silence of that closet, something inside me shifted. Not my body—my wolf was still asleep. But my soul.

The weak, pleading Erica died in that darkness.

I sat there for hours, staring at nothing, listening to the silence of the pack that had abandoned me.

When I get out of here, I thought, my eyes dry and burning. I will burn this pack to the ground.

Erica POV:

The door opened at dawn.

Light blinded me. I didn't move. I sat huddled in the corner, my eyes adjusting painfully.

Emmanuel stood there. He was fully dressed in a tailored suit. He looked at me with a strange expression—guilt masked by annoyance.

"Get up," he said. "You smell like fear. It's pathetic."

I stood up slowly. My legs were stiff. I walked past him without a word.

"We have errands," he said, checking his watch. "Anthony is busy with the Council. I have to take you to the boutique."

"Why?" My voice was a rasp.

"The Luna's entourage needs to match," he said. "You're going to be a flower attendant."

I stopped and looked at him. "You want me... the ex-girlfriend you just cheated on and exiled... to be a flower girl at your brother's wedding to my bully?"

"It's about image, Erica," Emmanuel sighed, grabbing my arm. "It shows unity. If the 'victim' supports the couple, the rumors about Bianca die. Now come on."

He dragged me to the car.

We arrived at the pack's exclusive boutique. The windows were filled with silk and lace.

Inside, Bianca was standing on a podium. She was wearing the Moonlight Silk gown. It was a shimmering, pearlescent fabric that was reserved only for the Luna. It hugged her curves perfectly.

"Oh, look who the cat dragged in," Bianca sneered, looking down at me from the mirror.

The shop assistants, all Omegas, rushed to adjust Bianca's train. They ignored me completely.

"Put this on," Emmanuel said, tossing a hideous, shapeless grey dress at me. "Maid's cut."

I took the dress. I didn't argue. I went to the changing room.

I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were hollow. My skin was pale. I looked like a ghost.

I put on the grey dress. It scratched my skin.

When I came out, Bianca laughed. " perfect. You finally look like what you are. A servant."

She twirled, the Moonlight Silk flowing like water. "Do I look like a Queen, Emmanuel?"

"You look stunning, Luna," Emmanuel said, bowing his head.

I felt nothing. No jealousy. Just cold detachment.

Back at the apartment, I started packing. Not clothes. I was destroying things.

I took the photo of us from the mantle—me and Anthony, from before the corruption. I took a lighter to the corner. I watched his smiling face curl and turn to ash.

"Dramatic," Emmanuel said. He had followed me into the bedroom.

He sat on the bed—the bed where he had tricked me. He patted the space beside him.

"Come here, Erica."

I didn't move.

"Look," he said, his voice softening. He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket. "I know things are... messy. But I got you these."

He opened it. A pair of silver earrings. Cheap cubic zirconia. The metal was likely plated, safe for wolves but insulting.

"I can take care of you," he murmured, his eyes darkening with lust. "Even in the Mining District. I can visit. You were... good. Responsive."

He stood up and walked toward me. He reached out to touch my face.

I smelled him.

Underneath his cologne, underneath his musk... I smelled her. Bianca's perfume. It was all over his hands.

He had been with her. While I was locked in the closet. While Anthony was asleep.

My stomach lurched. Bile rose in my throat. It wasn't morning sickness. It was pure, physical revulsion.

I slapped his hand away.

"Don't touch me," I hissed.

Emmanuel's eyes narrowed. He sniffed the air.

"You smell different," he said slowly. "Your hormones... are you..."

He looked at my stomach.

"It's stress," I lied quickly, relying on my medical training. "Gastritis. My cortisol levels are through the roof because you people are torturing me."

"Hmm," he grunted, unconvinced. "You look pale."

"I spent the night in a closet," I snapped. "I'm going to throw up."

I ran to the bathroom and locked the door. I turned on the tap to mask the sound.

I looked at my reflection.

"One more day," I whispered. "Just survive one more day."