Olivia POV

The next morning, the sun rose with an unforgiving brilliance, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air of a bedroom I shared with a stranger.

I sat at the vanity, staring into the glass as if it were a stranger’s face. My skin was parchment-pale, almost translucent, and dark circles bruised the delicate flesh beneath my eyes. But my expression was stone.

I had spent the night on the bathroom floor, purging until my body was empty, crying until my tear ducts were parched deserts. Now, there was only a cold, hollow silence where my love used to be.

I reached for the velvet box on the dresser. Inside lay the diamond necklace Michael had given me on our first anniversary. *To my true north,* the card had read.

Lies.

I opened the jewelry drawer. The earrings he bought when I announced the pregnancy. The bracelet from my birthday. The silver locket with his picture.

One by one, I took them off. I placed them into a plain, unadorned cardboard box. Then, I walked to the walk-in closet. I pulled down the silk dresses he preferred, the ones that made me look 'regal' for his business dinners. I packed them away.

By the time I was done, the room looked barren. Much like my soul.

The door opened.

Michael walked in, buttoning his cuffs. He smelled of shower gel and... cloyingly... of vanilla. Serena’s scent.

He paused, his gaze sweeping the sudden minimalism of the room. His brow furrowed.

"Liv? Where are all your things?"

I didn't turn around. I continued folding a plain cotton shirt, my movements mechanical. "I packed them away."

"Why?"

"Nothing fits anymore," I said, my voice steady. "The pregnancy. I feel like a beached whale in those silks. I'd rather wear comfortable clothes."

It was a lie, but a logical one. Michael accepted it immediately. Why wouldn't he? He thought I was his foolish, devoted little wife who lived only to please him.

"Oh." He finished with his cuffs, dismissing the matter. "Well, don't worry. Once the pup is born and you get your figure back, I'll buy you new things. Better things. The Hayes inheritance transfers upon the birth, correct?"

The mention of my father's money made bile rise in my throat.

"Perhaps," I said.

"You look pale," he noted, stepping closer. He reached out to touch my forehead.

I flinched. I couldn't help it. His touch, which used to send sparks of electricity through me—the sacred mark of a mate—now felt like a branding iron.

He pulled his hand back, annoyed. "You're so jumpy lately. It's the hormones. You need to control yourself, Olivia. An Alpha's mate should be composed, not skittish."

Before I could answer, his eyes glazed over. He was Mind-Linking someone. A small, soft smile played on his lips—a smile he tried to suppress, but failed.

*Serena,* I thought bitterly.

"I have to go," he said abruptly, snapping back to reality. "Pack business."

"Wait," I said. "My mother called this morning."

He froze. "Elizabeth? What did she want?"

"The Hayes Pack annual gathering is this weekend. She expects us. Both of us."

Michael's eyes lit up. The Hayes gathering was the most exclusive event in the werewolf world. Connections, power, money. It was the oxygen he breathed.

"Of course we'll go," he said, grabbing his phone. "I'll clear my schedule." Then, a thought seemed to cross his mind, dark and calculating. "We should bring Serena."

I stared at him, keeping my face blank. "Serena? Why?"

"She's... having a hard time adjusting," he lied, the falsehood sliding off his tongue like oil. "She has no family. It would be good charity for the Hayes Pack to see we take care of strays. It makes us look benevolent, Liv. Your father likes benevolence."

He wasn't asking. He was telling.

*

The car ride to the Hayes territory was suffocating.

I sat in the back seat. Michael drove, and Serena sat in the passenger seat—*my* seat.

"I get motion sickness in the back," she had claimed, batting her eyelashes. Her voice was like syrup. She was petite, with blonde curls and wide, innocent blue eyes. She looked like a porcelain doll. A poisonous one.

"Here, Liv," Michael said, handing a small gift bag over the center console without glancing back. "Hold this for me. It's for... a contact at the party."

I peeked inside. It was a bracelet. Platinum, encrusted with sapphires. It must have cost a fortune—my fortune, likely.

We arrived at the Hayes estate. The grandeur of my childhood home usually brought me peace, but today it felt like a stage set for my public humiliation.

My mother, Elizabeth, was waiting on the porch. She looked elegant and formidable.

"Olivia!" She rushed down the stairs, ignoring protocol to hug me. "Oh, look at you. You're too thin." Her eyes snapped to Michael, sharp as flint.

"She's been sick in the mornings," Michael said charmingly, stepping out and wrapping a possessive arm around my waist. It took every ounce of my willpower not to shove him away. "But I'm taking good care of her."

"And who is this?" Mother asked, her gaze shifting to Serena.

"This is Serena," Michael said, beaming. "A friend of the pack. I thought she could use some fresh air."

Inside the ballroom, the atmosphere was stifling. Michael immediately abandoned me at a table near the wall.

"Rest your feet, Liv," he commanded softly. "I need to introduce Serena to some people. She's shy."

I watched them. They moved through the crowd like a couple. He touched the small of her back. She laughed at his jokes, leaning into him, marking him. He grabbed a glass of champagne for her.

He grabbed a plate of food. Shrimp canapés.

He walked back to the table, but he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at Serena, who had followed him like a shadow.

"Here," Michael said, offering the plate to Serena. "Try these. They're excellent."

Then he looked at me. "You want some, Liv?"

I looked at the shrimp. Pink, curled, and lethal.

"I'm allergic to shellfish, Michael. I have been since I was five."

Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face, not guilt.

"Right," he muttered. "I forgot. Pregnancy brain, catching onto me too, I guess."

"Oh, poor Olivia," Serena cooed, placing a hand on Michael's arm. "Don't be mad at him. He has so much on his mind running the pack."

She looked at me, and for a second, the mask slipped. Her blue eyes weren't innocent. They were mocking. She touched the platinum bracelet on her wrist—the one I had held in the car.

"Michael has such good taste," she whispered, twisting the sapphires so they caught the chandelier's light. "Don't you think?"

I felt a kick in my womb. My child, waking up to the toxicity of its father.

"Yes," I said, my voice dead. "He is very good at picking things that sparkle on the surface."

Olivia POV:

The gathering had bled late into the night, a blur of toasts and false alliances. The Hayes Pack wine was potent, a dark vintage brewed with moon-berries that was notorious for stripping the inhibitions from even the most disciplined Alpha blood.

Michael, who rarely drank, had consumed glass after glass, intoxicated not just by the alcohol, but by the proximity to power and the fawning attention of the elders.

Back in the guest suite my parents had secured for us—a lavish cage of silk and velvet—the air hung thick with the scent of stale spirits and looming deceit.

I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my swollen ankles, trying to massage away the ache of carrying an Alpha heir.

The door burst open.

Michael stumbled in. His tie was undone, hanging loosely around his neck like a noose, and his eyes were glassy, swimming with unfocused arrogance.

"What a night," he slurred, bracing himself heavily against the doorframe to keep from toppling over. "Did you see them, Liv? They respect me. They finally see what I am."

He staggered toward me. I stood up, instinctively wanting to put distance between us, but he was faster than his drunken state suggested.

He grabbed my shoulders, his fingers digging into my flesh as he hauled me into a clumsy, suffocating embrace. His breath reeked of the sweet, cloying wine.

"You did good," he mumbled into my hair, his lips wet against my ear. "Bringing us here. Good girl."

Then his grip tightened. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply, as if trying to draw sustenance from my scent.

"Mmm... Serena..." he groaned. "My sweet Serena."

I went rigid. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. My blood turned to slush in my veins.

He didn't stop. He pressed his hips against mine, his hands roaming down my back with a familiarity that now felt like a violation. "I hate waiting," he whispered, his voice thick with a lust that wasn't meant for me. "I hate pretending with her. I just want you. Only you."

"Michael," I whispered, my voice trembling so hard it barely left my throat. "Look at me. Who am I?"

He pulled back slightly, blinking. His eyes were hazy, two pools of fog. He looked at my face, but he didn't see me. He saw the ghost he wanted to see.

"You're my love," he said, a goofy, lopsided grin spreading across his face. "My only love."

"And Olivia?" I asked, the name tasting like ash in my mouth. "What about Olivia?"

His expression darkened instantly. A sneer curled his lip, transforming his handsome features into something ugly.

"Olivia... she's just the ticket. The golden ticket. She has the pedigree. She has the money. She looks a bit like you, you know? That's why I picked her. But she's boring. So... boring. And weak."

He laughed, a cruel, hacking sound that grated against my nerves.

"But don't worry. Once the brat is born... I'll reject her. We'll take the kid. It has Hayes blood. It'll be a strong Alpha. We'll raise it. We'll name him... Serenhael. For us."

The air left my lungs. It felt as though invisible hands had wrapped around my throat, squeezing until the edges of my vision went black.

*Serenhael.* He wanted to steal my child and name it after his mistress.

I shoved him. Hard.

"Get off me!" I screamed.

He stumbled back, his coordination failing him. He tripped over the rug and fell heavily onto the bed. He didn't get up. He just groaned, rolled over, and passed out within seconds, his breathing shifting into a loud, rhythmic snore.

I stood there, shaking. My entire body vibrated with a rage I had never felt before. The sorrow evaporated. The heartbreak calcified. All that was left was the cold, hard fury of a mother wolf protecting her young.

I grabbed my coat. I couldn't stay in this room. I couldn't breathe the same air as the monster sleeping in my bed.

I walked out into the hallway. It was empty. The pack house was silent, sleeping off its excesses. I needed to get to the library, to call my lawyer. I needed to—

*Michael? Are you there?*

The Mind-Link. It was open again. He was unconscious, his mental barriers dissolved by the moon-berry wine.

*Serena?* His subconscious answered, automated, dreaming.

*I miss you,* her voice echoed in my head, sickeningly sweet. *Did you tell her? Did you tell the cow?*

*Soon...* his mind drifted, unfiltered and raw. *She is nothing. Just a substitute. I watched you for years, Serena. In the Southern territories. I waited for you. When you ran away... I went crazy. I found her because she had your eyes. That's all she is. A mirror.*

I leaned against the wall, sliding down until I hit the floor.

A mirror. A substitute.

He had stalked her. He had loved her for years. And when he couldn't have her, he found me.

"He never loved me," I whispered to the empty corridor. "Not for one second."

A strange calm settled over me. It was the icy clarity of the executioner before the blade drops.

"Okay," I said, wiping the tears from my face with a steady hand. "Okay, Michael."

I stood up. My legs were steady now.

"You want a mirror?" I thought, my inner wolf finally stirring, her eyes opening with a flash of silver. "I'll show you what happens when you break one."

I walked to my father’s study. It was locked, but I knew where the spare key was hidden—under the loose floorboard beneath the potted fern.

I entered the room and picked up the phone. I dialed a number I hadn't called in two years.

"Mr. Sterling," I said when the lawyer answered, his voice groggy with sleep.

"Olivia? It's 3 AM. Is everything alright?"

"No," I said. "I need you to draft some papers. Immediately. And I need you to freeze the assets. All of them. The construction funds for the Thorne Pack, the joint accounts, the trust access. Everything."

"Olivia, that will cripple Michael's operations. He won't be able to pay his warriors next week."

"I know," I said, a cold smile touching my lips. "I want the papers ready by morning. And Mr. Sterling?"

"Yes?"

"Prepare the rejection protocols. But keep them sealed. I'm not ready to use them... just yet."

Olivia POV:

The drive back to the Thorne Pack territory two days later was suffocatingly silent.

Michael was hungover and irritable, wincing at the sunlight and blaming his pounding headache on "bad wine." He didn't remember what he said the night before. He didn't remember mistaking me for her.

I let him believe his convenient lies.

"I need to stop by the office," he muttered as we entered the town limits, rubbing his temples. "Pack business."

"Actually," I said, checking my watch with deliberate calm. "You promised to visit the Memorial today. It's the anniversary of your parents' death."

He froze, his hand tightening on the steering wheel. He had forgotten. Of course he had.

"Right. Yes. We'll go now."

We drove to the cemetery on the hill. It was raining again, a fine, misty drizzle that chilled me to the bone.

When we arrived, a figure was already standing at the twin graves. A figure clad in black, holding a large umbrella.

Serena.

"Oh," Michael said, feigning surprise, though his scent spiked with interest. "Look who's here."

I stepped out of the car. "What a coincidence," I said dryly.

Serena turned, her face a mask of practiced sorrow. "Alpha Michael. Luna Olivia. I... I hope you don't mind. I heard so much about the former Alpha and Luna. I wanted to pay my respects."

"It's very thoughtful of you," Michael said, his voice thick with misplaced emotion. He walked over to her, stepping gratefully under her umbrella, leaving me exposed in the rain.

"I'll take care of you, Michael," Serena whispered, leaning in close, yet projecting her voice just enough for my wolf hearing to catch. "Just like I would have cared for them."

"I know," he replied, his shoulders relaxing as he looked down at her. "We'll be a family soon. A real home."

I stood there, water dripping down my neck, watching my husband mourn his parents with his mistress.

"Let's go eat," Michael said suddenly, turning away from the graves as if unable to bear the solemnity a moment longer. "I'm starving. And Serena looks cold."

We went to *Le Lune*, a high-end restaurant in the city center. It was Michael's favorite.

The car ride was a cruel replay of the last one. Them talking about shared interests—old movies, obscure bands, places they wanted to travel. I was a ghost in the backseat, invisible and unheard.

At the restaurant, we were seated at a round table. Michael handed the menu to Serena first.

"Get the steak," he urged her. "You need the iron."

Serena giggled, a light, tinkling sound. "You're so bossy." She glanced at me, then handed me the menu with a pitying smile. "Here, Olivia. Oh... is it just me, or does your bump look smaller today?"

My hand froze on the leather-bound menu. It was a subtle, psychological attack, designed to plant a seed of panic.

"The doctor says he is perfectly healthy," I said coldly.

"He?" Michael snapped his head up. "You know the gender?"

"I felt it," I lied, refusing to give him the satisfaction of the truth. "Intuition."

The waiter arrived with a cart of hot soups for the table next to us. The floor was slick from the rain people had tracked in from the storm outside.

It happened in slow motion.

The waiter's heel caught on a wet patch. He slipped. The cart wobbled violently. A large tureen of boiling tomato bisque tipped over, launching into the air.

It was flying directly between me and Serena.

"Watch out!" Michael roared.

He moved with Alpha speed, a blur of motion.

He lunged across the table.

He didn't reach for me. He didn't reach for his pregnant wife.

He grabbed Serena, pulling her violently into his chest and shielding her with his body, spinning them away from the table.

The tureen crashed.

The boiling soup exploded outward. Without Michael's protection, the wave of scalding liquid hit me full force.

It splashed across my left side, my arm, and—worst of all—my abdomen.

A raw, guttural scream tore from my throat, the pain instantaneous and blinding. It felt like liquid fire was eating my skin. I fell backward, my chair tipping over, crashing to the floor.

I curled into a ball, clutching my stomach, agony ripping through my nerves.

Through the haze of pain, I looked up.

Michael was on the other side of the booth, holding Serena's face in his hands.

"Are you okay?" he was shouting, his eyes frantic with terror. "Did it touch you? Serena, answer me!"

"I... I'm scared, Michael!" she wailed, though there wasn't a drop of soup on her.

"It's okay, I've got you. I've got you," he soothed, hugging her tight. "I won't let anything hurt you. You are the most important thing to me. The *only* thing."

He hadn't looked at me once.

I lay on the floor, the smell of burnt tomato and singed fabric filling my nose. The pain in my belly was a dull throb compared to the searing heat on my skin, but the pain in my chest... that was fatal.

*You are the most important thing. The only thing.*

He had said it out loud. In front of the pack members dining nearby. In front of the humans. In front of me.

Darkness began to creep into the edges of my vision. I bit my lip until it bled to keep from sobbing.

*Goodbye, Michael,* I thought as the blackness took me. *You just made your choice.*