Vivian POV

The main conference room of Sterling Corp was a transparent cage of glass and steel. At 8:45 AM, I walked through the heavy doors, expecting to see the campaign boards for *Luna's Whisper*, the fragrance line I had spent the last year building.

Instead, a massive, aggressive projection of Serena Chase's face dominated the main screen.

Olivia Lane stood at the head of the black obsidian table. She wore a sharp red dress, and her scent—a sickeningly sweet wave of pure malice—filled the room.

"The Alpha has decided Serena will be the global face of the new line," Olivia announced, not even bothering to hide her triumphant smirk.

I froze, my nails digging into the leather of my portfolio. "I signed Lily Evans to an ironclad two-year contract. Terminating it now will cost the Pack millions in penalty fees."

Olivia let out a dismissive, breathy laugh. "The Alpha feels Serena's... essence... is a better fit for the brand's new direction. The termination fee is a non-issue."

"It's irresponsible, Olivia," I shot back, my voice tight. "You're bleeding Pack resources for a vanity project."

Olivia's eyes flashed. She took a step forward, deliberately raising her voice so the Pack members lingering outside the glass walls could hear every word. "We all know you're only here because of the Sterlings' charity, Vivian. A little wolfless stray they took in. You should be grateful, not causing trouble."

She paused, her lips curling into a cruel sneer. "After all, the Pack has already wasted enough money tolerating that human liability you called a father."

The mention of William Miller—the kind, hardworking man who had sacrificed everything to raise me—sent a violent shockwave through my system. Deep in my womb, my tiny pup gave a faint, fluttering spasm, sensing its mother's sudden, sharp distress. A fierce, protective instinct flared in my chest, hot and blinding.

Seeing the color drain from my face, Olivia thought she had won. She leaned in close, dropping her voice to a venomous whisper meant only for me.

"The Alpha has finally found a real she-wolf, someone worthy of carrying the Sterling bloodline, not some barren, wolfless stray."

*Barren.*

The word pierced my ear like a silver blade. The rational, submissive Omega I had played for three years vanished, instantly incinerated by a primal, maternal rage. I didn't think. My body moved before my mind could even process the command.

My hand cracked across Olivia's cheek with a resounding, violent slap.

Olivia let out an exaggerated, theatrical shriek. She stumbled backward, clutching her rapidly reddening face, a triumphant gleam flashing in her eyes.

The heavy glass doors swung open. The air in the room instantly froze.

Alpha Julian Sterling stood in the doorway. His crushing Alpha aura suffocated the space, pressing down on my lungs like a physical weight. But what made my stomach churn was his scent—his intoxicating aroma of winter storm and ancient pine was heavily polluted by the cloying stench of Serena's hothouse orchids.

His ice-blue eyes swept the scene. He saw Olivia sobbing into her hands, playing the perfect victim. Then, his gaze locked onto me. I was standing rigid, my chest heaving, my entire body trembling with raw fury.

He didn't ask what happened. He didn't care about the context, the provocation, or the fact that I was his Luna. To him, I was just a wolfless Omega disrupting his perfect order.

A low, rumbling growl echoed directly in my mind, carrying the absolute, unbreakable weight of the *Alpha's Command*.

*"My office. Now."*

The command bypassed my free will entirely. My muscles twitched, forcing my feet to turn toward the door. As I walked past Julian, stripped of my dignity and my right to defend myself, I caught a glimpse of Olivia over his shoulder. She was looking right at me, her tear-stained face twisting into a vicious, victorious smile.

Vivian POV

The heavy mahogany door of Julian's office clicked shut behind me, severing us from the rest of the world. The physical grip of the *Alpha's Command* finally released my muscles, but the suffocating weight of his aura remained, pressing down on my lungs.

His scent—usually a crisp blend of winter storm and ancient pine—was sharp and aggressive, lashing at me like a physical whip. He didn't sit behind his massive obsidian desk. Instead, he paced the length of the floor-to-ceiling windows like a caged beast, his ice-blue eyes burning with a cold, furious fire.

"She insulted my father, Julian," I said, my voice trembling but defiant. "She mocked the man who raised me, and she called me a barren stray. I was defending myself."

Julian stopped pacing. He looked at me not as a husband looking at his wife, but as a king looking at a disobedient peasant.

"Words are not violence, Vivian. In my Pack, order is absolute," he stated, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Olivia is crucial to the launch of Serena's fragrance line. Your little Omega temper tantrum just jeopardized a multi-million dollar project and embarrassed me in front of my own executives. You will go back out there and apologize to her immediately to repair the damage you've caused."

I stared at him, the sheer injustice of his demand stealing my breath. "No. I won't."

Julian's eyes darkened. He closed the distance between us in two massive strides, his towering frame backing me up until my spine hit the edge of the cold obsidian desk. He reached into his drawer, pulled out the copy of the *MATE REJECTION AGREEMENT*, and slammed it onto the polished stone between us.

"If you do not apologize, I will amend this agreement right now," he threatened, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "You won't just leave with nothing. I will add a clause stripping you of all Pack protection. I will mark you as an exile." He leaned in closer, his lips curling into a cruel sneer. "A lone, wolfless Omega. You wouldn't last a day out there. You'd become Rogue meat."

The blood drained from my face. He wasn't just threatening my finances; he was threatening my very survival. I looked up into the face of the man the Moon Goddess had supposedly made for me, and for the first time, I didn't see my Mate. I saw a monster.

Pushed to the absolute edge of the abyss, a desperate, reckless question clawed its way out of my throat. I needed to know if there was even a shred of a soul left inside him.

My hand instinctively drifted to rest over my flat stomach. "What if there was more at stake, Julian?" I whispered, my voice cracking. "What if... what if I was carrying your pup?"

For a fraction of a second, Julian froze. His ice-blue eyes flashed pitch black—the undeniable, violent surge of his inner wolf, *Rage*. I could almost feel the phantom echo of a possessive roar vibrating in the air between us. *PUP! MINE!*

But the moment was fleeting. Julian's jaw snapped tight, the muscles in his neck straining as he used his sheer, ruthless willpower to violently suppress his own beast. When his eyes cleared back to blue, they were as dead and cold as a glacier.

"Then it would be a catastrophe," he said, enunciating every single syllable with merciless precision. "You would deal with it. Or I would."

*Deal with it.*

The words were a poisoned silver blade, plunging directly into my heart and twisting. He would kill his own flesh and blood just to clear the path for Serena. The very last, pathetic ember of my hope for our Mate-bond turned to ash.

A strange, eerie calm washed over me. The terrified, submissive Omega died on that obsidian desk, and a fiercely protective mother took her place. I knew exactly what I had to do.

I looked up at him, my eyes completely hollow. "I'll apologize."

I turned and walked out of his office. Olivia was lingering in the hallway, pretending to organize a stack of files. I stopped in front of her and delivered a mechanical, lifeless, "I'm sorry."

Olivia's face broke into a venomous, victorious smile, but I didn't stay to watch her gloat.

I walked straight to the executive bathroom on the 40th floor. The space was empty, smelling of sterile citrus cleaner. I went into the furthest stall, locked the heavy door, and leaned against the cold marble wall.

My trembling fingers reached into my purse and pulled out the relabeled bottle of prenatal vitamins. The hard plastic dug painfully into my palm as I gripped it like a lifeline. I stared at my pale reflection in the mirror, the silence of the bathroom ringing in my ears.

Julian Sterling had just declared war on his own blood. He thought he had broken me, but he had only set me free. I would play the obedient, defeated ex-wife. I would swallow my pride and bide my time. But I swore to the Moon Goddess, I would burn his entire empire to the ground before I ever let him touch my child.

Vivian POV

The next morning, the cold reality of my new existence settled in. Sitting in the back of the Pack sedan heading to Sterling Corp, my phone buzzed. It was an email from Arthur Penhaligon, the Beta. Copied on the thread: Alpha Julian Sterling.

Subject: *'Project Phoenix': Luna Liaison Appointment.*

I stared at the screen, my blood running cold. *Project Phoenix.* Serena’s rebirth, built entirely on the ashes of my marriage and my career. Because I was a wolfless Omega, deaf to the Pack's *Mind-Link*, this sterile email was my only connection to the Pack's ruling core. Julian was forcing me to personally oversee the handover of my own campaign to his mistress. It was a calculated, public execution of my dignity.

At 10:00 AM, I pushed open the heavy glass doors of the boardroom. The air instantly assaulted me. Massive arrangements of white lilies—the flowers of funerals—choked the room. But worse was the cloying, artificial stench of hothouse orchids radiating from Serena Chase. She stood at the head of the obsidian table in a triumphant white dress.

My newly heightened senses, a secret gift of my pregnancy, dialed the sickening scents up to a lethal dose.

"Vivian, darling," Serena purred, her eyes gleaming with malice. She spun around, deliberately waving a scent strip soaked in heavy musk and synthetic pheromones inches from my nose.

The aggressive scent of another she-wolf invading my territory was the final trigger. Deep in my womb, my pup violently recoiled, protesting the father's betrayal. A wave of intense nausea hit me like a freight train. I clamped a hand over my mouth, shoved my chair back, and bolted from the room.

I barely made it to the sink in the 40th-floor executive restroom before I retched. I splashed cold water on my face, gasping for air.

The heavy door slammed shut. The air froze.

Julian’s towering frame blocked the exit. His scent—winter storm and ancient pine—was laced with a dangerous, interrogating edge. His ice-blue eyes were dark with suspicion, his inner wolf, *Rage*, clawing at the surface. He was remembering my hypothetical question from yesterday.

"*What's wrong with you?*" he growled, his Alpha aura pressing down on my lungs.

Panic flared, but the fierce mother inside me took over. "Stress-induced ulcer," I choked out, forcing my hands to stop shaking. "It flared up."

To sell the lie, I reached into my purse and pulled out the relabeled bottle. I turned the label toward him—*Prescription Ulcer Medication*—then popped the cap. Holding his piercing gaze, I dry-swallowed a large prenatal vitamin.

The physical proof seemed to appease his beast. The suspicion in his eyes cooled back into glacial indifference. "Take a leave of absence after the launch," he ordered coldly. It wasn't care; it was a dismissal. He turned and left.

I exhaled a shaky breath, my hand resting on my stomach. I had just fed my pup right in front of the Alpha who wanted it dead, and he had no idea.

When I returned to the boardroom, the sight that greeted me solidified the ice in my veins. Julian was leaning over Serena, his large hand resting intimately on her lower back as they shared a private smile.

My phone lit up on the table. A text from an unknown number.

*This is Mark, Lily Evans' agent. Your husband is about to breach a multi-million dollar contract. We need to talk.*

I looked up at the golden couple, the Alpha and his chosen queen, completely oblivious to the storm gathering beneath them. Without a second of hesitation, I typed my reply.

*Downstairs coffee shop. 10 minutes. I'll help you burn them to the ground.*