Olivia POV:

I woke up to the sharp sting of antiseptic and the rhythmic beep of a monitor. I was in the private wing of the Pack Clinic.

My entire body throbbed. I looked down to find my left arm and side heavily bandaged.

"You're awake," a soft voice said.

It was Nurse Mara. She was an Omega, kind and quiet, with a gentle demeanor that put everyone at ease. She had been the one to confirm my pregnancy four months ago.

"My baby," I croaked, my throat dry as sandpaper. "Mara, my baby?"

Mara checked the door, then leaned in close. Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. "The pup is fine, Luna. A strong heartbeat. The amniotic fluid protected him from the heat. Your burns are severe, second-degree, but they will heal."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Tears of relief slipped from my eyes.

"But..." Mara hesitated, wringing her hands. "Alpha Michael... he came in while you were unconscious. He was screaming at the doctors to save Serena."

"Serena?" I whispered, disbelief coloring my tone. "She wasn't even touched."

"She claimed she was in shock and fainted," Mara said, her lip curling in rare distaste. "He demanded the best healers attend to her first. He said... he said she is the future of the pack."

The knife twisted deeper, severing the last thread of my hope.

I looked at Mara. I grabbed her wrist, ignoring the flare of pain in my arm. "Mara. I need you to do something for me. Something dangerous."

"Anything, Luna."

"I need you to falsify my records," I said, my voice trembling but firm. "I need you to write that the trauma caused a miscarriage. That I lost the baby."

Mara gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Luna... why?"

"Because if he knows the baby is alive, he will take him," I hissed, desperation clawing at my chest. "He plans to reject me and steal my child for her. I won't let him. I have to leave, Mara. And I can't leave if he thinks he still has an heir."

Mara looked at me, then at my bandaged stomach. She nodded slowly, a steely resolve settling in her eyes. "I understand. I will do it. For you. And for the little one."

She began to change my dressings without anesthesia—we couldn't risk drugs affecting the baby. I bit down on a leather strap, screaming silently as she peeled away the dead skin. The pain was clarifying. It burned away the last of my weakness, leaving only cold determination in its wake.

An hour later, the door opened. Michael walked in. He looked disheveled, his usual polished appearance gone.

"Liv," he said, rushing to the bedside. He reached for my hand, but I pulled it under the sheet before he could make contact. "Thank the Goddess. The doctor said you took a bad hit."

"I'm fine," I said. My voice was devoid of emotion, hollowed out by the agony of the last few hours. "Just burns."

"I'm so sorry," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "It happened so fast. I just reacted. I tried to save..."

"You saved who mattered to you," I cut him off.

He flinched, guilt flashing across his face. "Don't be like that. Serena is a guest. She was closer to the soup. It was instinct."

"Instinct," I repeated, testing the word on my tongue like poison. "Yes. It was."

He tried to take my hand again. This time, I let him. My nails, sharp and untrimmed, dug into his palm, drawing a bead of blood. He hissed but didn't pull away, mistaking my aggression for pain.

"I have to go check on Serena," he said after a minute of awkward silence. "She's still very shaken."

"Go," I said, turning my head away. "Don't keep her waiting."

He left.

That night, I feigned sleep as the hospital wing fell quiet. The Mind-Link opened again.

*Serena!* Michael’s mental voice was frantic. *Are you okay? I'm coming!*

*My chest hurts, Michael,* she whined, her mental voice dripping with affectation. *I think the shock affected my heart.*

*I'm here. I'm holding you.*

I heard the sound of him entering her room down the hall. I heard the rustle of sheets.

*Oh, Michael,* she sighed. *You saved me. You really saved me.*

*I would burn the world for you,* he swore. *I was so scared. When that soup fell... I didn't even see Olivia. I only saw you.*

*And the baby?* she asked.

*Whatever,* he dismissed, his tone careless. *We can make another one. A better one. With you. Just say the word, Serena. Say you'll be mine.*

*I will,* she whispered. *But... I need time. I'm so fragile.*

I lay in the dark, my hand over my flat stomach where my son slept safe and sound.

"Whatever," he had said.

I sat up. The pain in my side was excruciating, but I forced myself to stand. I walked to the window. The moon was full, casting a silver light over the forest.

"You won't get another chance, Michael," I whispered to the glass, my reflection looking back at me like a stranger. "You chose her. Now keep her."

I closed my eyes. I reached deep into my mind, finding the thick, golden cord that connected me to Michael—the mate bond. It was frayed, blackened by betrayal.

I imagined a pair of heavy iron shears.

Snip.

I didn't sever it completely—not yet. That required the ritual. But I walled it off. I built a fortress of ice around my end of the connection.

The link went silent. The static was gone.

I was alone in my head for the first time in years. And in that silence, I heard a new sound. A low, powerful growl.

My White Wolf was waking up. And she was starving for revenge.

The air here was different.

It didn't carry the metallic tang of rain and deception that plagued the Thorne lands; instead, it breathed of ancient pine, crisp mountain drafts, and the soothing, medicinal scent of the lavender my mother tended in the south gardens.

I lay in the private medical wing of my family’s estate. My burns were healing, knitting together under the constant, expensive attention of the best Healers my father’s fortune could command.

My mother, Elizabeth, sat by my bedside. She held a small silver paring knife, peeling a red apple with a rhythmic, hypnotic precision.

"You need to eat, Olivia," she said softly, offering me a slice on the tip of the blade. "For the little one."

I turned my head away. The nausea wasn't physical anymore; it was spiritual. It was a sickness of the soul. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Michael shielding Serena. I felt the phantom heat of the soup scalding my skin.

"I'm not hungry," I whispered.

"He called again," Mother said, her voice hardening as the knife sliced through the apple's skin. "Michael. He wanted to know when you were coming back to the Thorne Pack."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him you were recovering from the 'miscarriage' and needed your family," she said, severing another slice with precise, lethal force. "He sounded... relieved."

*Relieved.*

Of course he was. He thought the problem—my child, his heir—was gone. He thought he had won.

Later that afternoon, I managed to stand. The Healer tried to protest, stepping in my path, but I drew myself up.

"I am the daughter of Alpha Hayes," I said, my voice weak but laced with steel. "I need fresh air."

I walked slowly into the private gardens. The high, manicured hedges provided a wall of privacy, blocking the view from the main house. I needed to breathe. I needed to feel the solid earth beneath my feet.

Then, voices drifted over the hedge.

Familiar voices.

I froze.

"You promised me, Michael!"

It was Serena. Her voice was shrill, stripped of the sugary veneer she wore in public. "You said once the baby was gone, you would announce it! You said you would make me Luna!"

I pressed myself against the leaves, peering through a small gap in the foliage. They were standing near the stone fountain. Michael looked exhausted, dark circles bruising the skin under his eyes, but he was holding her hands tightly.

"I can't just yet, Serena," Michael pleaded. "Her father is still alive. If I kick Olivia out now, the Hayes Pack will pull their funding. We need that money to finish the new warrior barracks. Just be patient."

"Patient?" Serena ripped her hands away. She grabbed the diamond necklace hanging around her neck—a necklace I recognized instantly. It was the one Michael had bought for my birthday two years ago, claiming he had "lost" it before he could give it to me.

"I am tired of wearing her cast-offs!" Serena screamed. She tore the necklace from her throat and threw it onto the cobblestones. The clasp snapped. Diamonds scattered across the stone like frozen tears. "I am tired of being the secret!"

"You are not a secret to me," Michael roared, his Alpha voice vibrating in the air. "You are everything! Do you think I want to be with her? Every time I touch her, I have to close my eyes and picture you. I never loved her, Serena. Never. She was just... a means to an end. A bank account with a pulse."

I felt the blood drain from my face. I thought I had no tears left, but the sheer cruelty of his words punched the air from my lungs.

*A bank account with a pulse.*

"I would give up the Alpha title for you," Michael continued, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "I would walk away from it all if I could. But I built this for us. For our children."

Serena looked at him, her chest heaving. Then, she burst into tears and ran off toward the guest wing.

Michael stood there for a moment, looking at the broken necklace. Then, the great Alpha Michael Thorne dropped to his knees.

He began to pick up the diamonds, one by one, with a reverence he had never shown me.

I watched him crawling on the ground for her.

A strange sensation washed over me. It wasn't pain. It wasn't anger.

It was disgust. Pure, cold, crystalline disgust.

I turned away and walked back to the house. I didn't cry. I didn't stumble.

That evening, I joined my parents for dinner. I sat at the long mahogany table, listening to the elders discuss pack politics as if I weren't there.

"Michael was always obsessed with that girl," Elder Thomas muttered into his wine glass, assuming my silence meant I was too broken to hear. "Years ago, before he met Olivia. He nearly got himself killed crossing Rogue territory just to see Serena. We thought he grew out of it."

"Obsession is a sickness," my father grunted, cutting into his steak. "It makes a wolf blind."

I looked out the window at the full moon rising above the trees. My hand rested on my flat stomach, feeling the tiny, secret flutter of life within.

*You are blind, Michael,* I thought, a cold smile touching my lips. *And soon, you will fall into the very pit you dug for yourself.*