I never thought I’d be dragged to an altar like cattle, but here I was, standing before a crowd that couldn’t care less about me. I could hear the whispers around me, the judgment in every eye. They all thought I’d murdered their Alpha, thought I’d killed Lucian for the power and the wealth. And now, Damien, his son, was going to claim his revenge.

Damien stood beside me, his expression as cold as ever. His hand was heavy on my arm, a silent reminder that I had no say in this. No choice. He didn’t even look at me as we exchanged vows. It was like I was just another possession to him, a prize to be claimed.

I felt the weight of the pack's eyes on me, the pressure of their silent disapproval. I tried not to show how much it hurt, but I couldn’t help it. My heart felt like it was shattering into a thousand pieces.

The honeymoon wasn’t in some romantic, picturesque setting. Damien took me to one of his father’s old estates, far from the pack, far from anyone who might hear me scream.

That first night was a blur of fear and humiliation.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "Damien, please… I don’t want this."

He didn’t even turn to look at me. "You don’t get a say, Eira. You never did."

My chest tightened. He was right. I had no voice here. I was just a tool to be used.

He finally turned, his eyes dark and unreadable. He walked toward me slowly, deliberately, like a predator sizing up its prey.

I backed away, but there was nowhere to run. The door was locked.

"D-damien, please," I whispered, my voice cracking.

But he didn’t care. He grabbed me, forcing me onto the bed. My heart raced, panic rising in my chest as he pinned me beneath him.

When he marked me that night, it was nothing like what I’d expected. He sank his teeth into my skin, claiming me in the most brutal way possible. I tried to fight him, but he was too strong.

Then, something unexpected happened. He froze.

His eyes went wide as he pulled back, his grip loosening for a moment. "You’re still a virgin?" he asked, his voice low and almost disbelieving.

I didn’t answer. It didn’t matter.

He recovered quickly, though, his anger flaring back up as he looked at me with contempt. "You think that matters? You killed my father, and you think I’m going to show you mercy?"

With a growl, he went at me again, forcing himself on me. There was no tenderness, no care, just cold, hard vengeance.

When he was done, he left me lying there, broken and discarded like I didn’t matter.

I should’ve expected it. He never wanted me. He never cared.

The next few days were torture. Damien barely spoke to me, except to bark orders or remind me of my place. Every move I made, every breath I took, was under his control. I was his Luna now, but my title meant nothing. I was a prisoner in my own home.

The pack watched me like vultures, waiting for me to fail. They had no sympathy for me, no understanding of what I was going through. They saw me as a murderer.

One afternoon, while I was in Lucian’s study, I found something. A journal, hidden away in the back of a drawer. I didn’t know what made me open it, but something inside me told me I had to.

The handwriting was Lucian’s, sharp and precise, filled with names I didn’t recognize and cryptic notes about alliances and debts.

I flipped through the pages, my fingers trembling, until I came across something that made my blood run cold.

"Don’t trust the council. Betrayal runs deep. Someone in our pack isn’t who they seem to be."

I stared at the words, trying to process what I was reading. Could Lucian have known something was going to happen? Had his death really been an accident?

I couldn’t stop the questions from flooding my mind. If Lucian had been betrayed, who had done it? Was his death part of a larger plan?

The journal was my only clue, but I knew I had to be careful. Damien’s eyes were everywhere, and he would never let me get away with questioning anything. But something told me Lucian’s death wasn’t as simple as it seemed, and I couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in my gut.

I had to find out the truth.

I spent the weeks after finding Lucian’s journal walking on eggshells. Damien’s presence was suffocating, his cruelty constant. Every glare, every mocking word, chipped away at me, but I kept my head down. If I was going to survive this, I couldn’t afford to let him see how much he got to me.

But something changed.

Damien started watching me differently, like he couldn’t figure me out. He’d catch me in the kitchen or the study and just… stare. Not with the usual anger or disgust, but with something else, something I couldn’t quite name. It was unnerving, but I ignored it. I had bigger things to worry about.

That’s when I met Maeve.

She was the pack’s healer, a woman with kind eyes and a no-nonsense attitude. She found me in the garden one afternoon, struggling to carry a basket of herbs.

“You look like you could use a break,” her voice warm but firm.

I didn’t know why, but I felt like I could trust her. Maybe it was the way she didn’t judge me like everyone else did.

As the days passed, Maeve and I grew closer. She wasn’t afraid to talk about Lucian, even when everyone else avoided the subject.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said one evening, her brow furrowed. “About his death. It doesn’t add up.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my heart racing.

Maeve hesitated, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “There’s a toxin—a rare one. It’s called wolfsbane venom. It mimics the symptoms of natural causes but is nearly impossible to trace unless you know what you’re looking for.”

My stomach turned. “You think someone used it on him?”

Maeve nodded slowly. “I’m saying you need to be careful, Eira. If Lucian’s allies think you know too much—or if they think you’re a threat—they won’t hesitate to come after you.”

Her words stuck with me long after I left. Lucian’s journal, the whispers of betrayal… it all lined up too well. Someone had killed him, and now I was stuck in the middle of a pack full of wolves that hated me.

As if things couldn’t get worse, Damien’s true mate showed up a month later.

Margareth was everything I wasn’t—tall, blonde, gorgeous, and dripping with confidence. The second she walked into the packhouse, the air shifted. She stormed up to Damien, her heels clicking against the floor, and froze when she saw me.

Her eyes narrowed, a cruel smile curling her lips. “Who’s this?” she asked, her voice sharp and icy.

“My wife,” Damien said casually, leaning against the wall like it was no big deal.

Her expression twisted into something ugly. “WIFE? What the hell do you mean, wife?”

Damien’s eyes flicked to me, cold and unfeeling. “I married her to punish her. She killed my father, and this is how she’ll pay for it.”

I flinched, but Margareth’s smile only grew wider. “Oh, Damien, you always did know how to make a girl’s day.” She turned to me, her gaze dripping with malice. “I think I’ll help you with that.”

And just like that, my life went from bad to worse.

Margareth made it her mission to break me.

“Clean this.”

“Fetch that.”

“You missed a spot.”

It didn’t matter what I did—she found fault in everything. She made me scrub floors until my knees bled, carry heavy loads until my arms shook, and run errands until my feet were blistered.

Damien didn’t lift a finger to stop her. If anything, he seemed to enjoy watching her torment me.

“You’re pathetic,” Margareth sneered one afternoon, shoving a bucket of water at me. “Hurry up and finish before Damien gets back. He doesn’t like lazy Lunas.”

I bit my tongue and kept scrubbing, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

But it wasn’t long before my body gave out. One afternoon, after hours of nonstop work, I collapsed in the kitchen. The world spun, and my legs buckled beneath me.

Margareth’s laugh echoed in my ears as I hit the floor. “Weak,” she spat, stepping over me like I wasn’t even there.

It wasn’t until later that night, curled up in bed with the room spinning around me, that the pieces clicked.

The constant nausea. The exhaustion that never went away. The ache in my body that wasn’t just from Margareth’s endless demands.

My hand trembled as I pressed it to my stomach, my breath catching.

No.

It couldn’t be.

But the truth was undeniable. I felt it deep in my soul, an instinct that no amount of denial could shake.

I was pregnant.

The door to my room slammed open, and Damien’s cold silhouette filled the doorway. His sharp eyes flicked to me, narrowing at the sight of my pale face.

"Did you really slap Margareth across the face?” he snapped, stepping inside.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. The words sat heavy on my tongue, but I couldn’t force them out.

Because if I told him… if he knew…

What would he do?

“Eira!” he barked, his voice like ice. “Answer me.”

I lifted my gaze to meet his, and for the first time in weeks, I felt real fear.

“Damien,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He stepped closer, his impatience palpable. “What?”

I opened my mouth, the truth on the tip of my tongue.

And then the world went black.