Haven POV:

I managed to drive myself back to the Pack House. The pain in my stomach came in waves, like a tide pulling out to sea. I needed to tell him. Even if he hated me, he would care about the pup. No wolf could ignore their own offspring. It was instinct.

The Pack House was quiet. The guards let me in, but they wouldn't look me in the eye. They knew. The Alpha had stripped me of my authority publicly.

I walked up the grand staircase, holding the banister for support. I felt dizzy.

I headed toward his study. The door was slightly ajar.

"You have to get rid of her, Connor," Gemma's voice floated out. It wasn't the weak, trembling voice she used in public. It was demanding. "She almost killed me."

"I know," Connor's voice was soothing. "I've already contacted the lawyers. I'm drafting the rejection papers."

I froze. My hand hovered over the doorknob.

"But what about the George Pack?" Gemma asked. "If you reject her, the alliance she built with the western packs will crumble. Elliott George will attack."

"Let him come," Connor growled. "I don't care about politics right now. I care about you. You're the only one who understands me, Gemma. Haven... she's cold. She's forgotten how to be a woman."

"I haven't," Gemma purred.

I looked through the crack in the door.

Gemma was sitting on the heavy oak desk—the desk where I had signed the contracts that made this company a billionaire enterprise. Her legs were wrapped around Connor's waist.

She was kissing him. And he... he was kissing her back. Passionately. Desperately.

He wasn't pushing her away. He wasn't thinking about his duty. He was betraying me in the most absolute way possible.

"I love you, Connor," she lied. I could smell the deception from here, bitter like sulfur.

"I think... I think I love you too," Connor whispered.

My world shattered.

The pain in my stomach exploded. It wasn't a cramp anymore. It was a severance.

I felt the tiny spark of life inside me flicker. The connection to the pup—that small, warm light I had just begun to know—snuffed out.

Blood ran down my legs. Hot and sticky.

I opened my mouth to scream, to howl, to tear the door down. But the Alpha Command from earlier still echoed in my muscles, and the shock paralyzed my throat.

I slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor.

Inside the room, they continued. I could hear the sounds of their betrayal. The groans. The friction of skin.

I sat in a pool of my own blood, just outside the door.

"Madam?"

I looked up through hazy eyes. It was Martha, the head Omega. She was holding a basket of laundry. Her eyes went wide when she saw the blood.

"Oh, Moon Goddess! Madam!" She dropped the basket and rushed to me.

"Hush," I whispered, grabbing her wrist with a bloody hand. "Don't... call... him."

"But—"

"No," I gasped, the darkness encroaching on the edges of my vision. "He made his choice. Get me out of here. Please, Martha. Just get me out."

Martha nodded, tears streaming down her face. She was strong for an Omega. She scooped me up, avoiding the study door, and carried me down the back stairs.

As we exited the house into the cool night air, I looked back one last time at the window of the study.

The light was still on.

Goodbye, Connor Jones.

You didn't just kill our marriage tonight. You killed your heir. And you killed the white wolf.

I let the darkness take me.

Haven POV:

The world was white. Not the purity of snow, but the harsh, blinding white of clinical lights.

"I'm sorry, Luna."

The doctor’s voice was far away, like he was speaking from the other end of a tunnel.

"The trauma was too severe. The stress, the Alpha Command... the fetus detached from the uterine wall."

I stared at the ceiling. I didn't cry. I felt hollowed out, like someone had reached inside me and scooped out everything that made me human.

"We need to operate to remove the tissue," the doctor continued, his voice trembling slightly. He was afraid of me. Or maybe he was afraid of what Connor would do. He didn't know Connor wouldn't care. "I will administer the anesthesia and the Draught of Lethe. It will numb the emotional pain, dull the memory of the loss."

"No," I said. My voice sounded like grinding stones.

"Luna?"

"No Draught. No emotional blockers."

The doctor dropped his clipboard. "But the psychological trauma... combined with the physical procedure... it will be agony."

"Good," I whispered. "I want to feel it."

I turned my head to look at him. My eyes felt dry, gritty.

"I want to remember every second of this pain. I want to carve it into my memory so I never, ever forget who did this to me."

The surgery was a nightmare of blood and metal. I bit through my lip until I tasted copper. I didn't scream. I wouldn't give the universe the satisfaction. Seraphina, my wolf, howled in the back of my mind, a mournful sound that vibrated through my bones, mourning the pup we never got to meet.

Two days passed. Connor never came.

I checked the news on my tablet. There were photos of him leaving a jewelry store with Gemma. Headlines screamed: Alpha Jones and the Mystery Beauty: A New Era for Apex?

He was buying her diamonds while I was burying our child in a biohazard bag.

"Mr. Sterling," I said into the phone on the third morning. My voice was weak, but my mind was razor sharp.

"Luna Jones? I heard you were unwell," the pack lawyer answered.

"I am not unwell. I am clarifying my assets. I want you to sell my forty percent stake in Apex Dynamics."

There was a choking sound on the other end. "Sell? But... that would lose the Jones family the majority hold! Who is the buyer?"

"Elliott George."

Silence. Absolute, terrified silence. Elliott George was the Alpha of the George Pack. Our rival. Our enemy. Selling to him was an act of war.

"Do it," I commanded. "And draft the rejection papers. I want the severance of the Mate Bond prepared legally, even if the spiritual ritual hasn't happened yet."

"Connor will kill me," Sterling whispered.

"If you don't do it, I will burn your practice to the ground," I said calmly. "I am still the Luna until the ink is dry."

I hung up.

I discharged myself an hour later. My body was screaming in agony, every step sending shockwaves through my empty womb. I took a cab to the Pack House.

It was evening when I walked in. The house was silent.

Then, the front door opened behind me.

Connor walked in, laughing. Gemma was on his arm. She was wearing a white dress. My white dress. The one I wore to the Pack Gala last year.

They stopped when they saw me standing at the bottom of the stairs. I was pale, wearing sweatpants, smelling of antiseptic and dried blood.

"Haven," Connor said. His smile vanished. "You're back."

"I live here," I said.

Gemma tightened her grip on his arm. "Connor, I feel unsafe."

"It's okay," Connor patted her hand. He looked at me with that infuriatingly reasonable expression. "Haven, we need to talk. Gemma is going to stay here. In the East Wing."

The East Wing. That was the Luna's suite.

"Is she?" I asked.

"Look, I know you're upset about the factory," Connor said, walking closer. He didn't smell the grief on me. He didn't smell the emptiness. "But we can make this work. You are the Luna. You handle the business, the politics. Gemma... she gives me peace. She can be the heart of the home."

He wanted a harem. He wanted me to be his workhorse while she played house.

"You want me to stay married to you while you play mate with her?"

"It's best for the Pack," Connor said. "We are stronger together."

I looked at Gemma. She was smirking behind his shoulder.

"There is no 'we'," I said.

I turned and walked up the stairs. I didn't run. I didn't cry. I just ascended, step by painful step, leaving them in the foyer. The bond between Connor and me wasn't just broken. It was dead.

Haven POV:

I was in the garden, sitting on the stone bench where I used to tell Connor about my day. The roses were blooming, blood-red against the green leaves.

I was waiting for the courier to pick up the final documents for the share transfer.

"WHERE IS SHE?"

The roar shook the windows of the house.

A moment later, the patio doors flew open. Connor stormed out. His eyes were bleeding into the gold of his wolf. He was on the verge of a forced shift.

He marched across the grass and grabbed me by the upper arm. His grip was bruising. He yanked me to my feet.

"Where is she, Haven?" he snarled, saliva flying from his lips.

I winced. My body was still recovering from the surgery. I was weak, defenseless. "Let go of me."

"Gemma is gone!" Connor shouted. He shoved his phone in my face.

There was a text message on the screen. Help me. She found me. She says I have to pay. Attached was a grainy photo of Gemma tied up in what looked like a damp basement.

"I have been sitting here for two hours," I said, my voice flat.

"Liar!" Connor shook me. "I know you have your private guards. I know you hired that investigator. What did you do? Did you have them take her? Did you order them to kill her?"

"I don't care enough about her to kill her," I said.

"Don't lie to me!" The Alpha power rolled off him in waves, crashing against my shields. "You are jealous. You are vindictive. You couldn't stand that I chose her."

"You didn't just choose her, Connor," I looked him in the eye. "You killed for her."

He paused, confused. "What are you talking about? Nobody died."

"Are you sure about that?"

He blinked, the gold fading slightly from his eyes. He sniffed the air. Finally, finally, his nose was working.

"You smell... like iron," he muttered. "And sickness."

"That's the smell of your legacy rotting," I said.

He growled, dismissing it. "Stop speaking in riddles! Tell me where Gemma is, or I swear to the Moon Goddess, I will throw you in the cells. I will let the Enforcers interrogate you like a common Rogue."

He threatened me with the dungeon. The man who swore to protect me.

"Check the security logs," I spat. "Or did she conveniently disable the cameras again?"

"The system was hacked," Connor growled. "Only someone with Luna-level clearance could override the perimeter. That's you, Haven."

Of course. She stole my passwords. She played him like a fiddle.

Connor shoved me back. I stumbled and fell onto the grass. The impact jarred my healing womb, sending a spike of white-hot agony through my gut. I curled in on myself, gasping.

He stood over me, looking down with disgust.

"You are not the woman I mated," he said coldly. "That woman had a heart. You are just a husk."

He turned and ran toward the perimeter, shouting orders into his phone for the trackers to find Gemma.

I lay in the grass, staring at the dirt.

A husk.

Yes. He was right. He had eaten the fruit and thrown away the shell.

But husks are dry.

And dry things burn very, very well.