Evelyn

"It was the gardener who took me to the hospital." The words felt strange coming out of my mouth. I stared at the thin hospital blanket covering my legs, picking at a loose thread. "Luis. The guy who mows our lawn."

Susan sat in the chair beside my bed, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She'd come straight from work, still wearing her scrubs with the little cartoon frogs on them.

"When I couldn't reach Damon..." I trailed off, not sure how to explain the fear of that moment. The panic. The pain.

Susan reached over and squeezed my hand. "Hey, it's okay." Her voice was steady, the same voice she'd used when we'd hide under blankets during thunderstorms as kids, sharing a flashlight and making up stories to drown out the thunder. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

But I did want to. I needed to. The words had been building up inside me since yesterday, threatening to choke me if I didn't let them out.

"He hung up on me, Sus." My voice was quiet. "I told him something was wrong, that the baby was coming, and he hung up. Then he wouldn't answer."

Susan's eyebrows pulled together. "Are you sure he understood what you were saying? Maybe there was bad reception, or—"

"He understood." I swallowed hard. "And then he showed up this morning with lipstick on his collar. Didn't even ask about the baby. Just said 'congratulations' like I'd won a raffle or something."

The bassinet next to us made a small noise as the baby—my daughter—shifted in her sleep. So tiny she barely took up any space in there. Her little chest rising and falling with breaths that seemed too fragile to sustain life.

Susan followed my gaze to the bassinet but quickly looked away. "I'm sorry about the landline," she said, changing the subject. "It's been acting up all week. And I had this awful migraine yesterday, couldn't even look at my phone without feeling sick." She touched my arm. "If I'd known..."

"It's not your fault." I gave her a tired smile. "You're here now."

Susan nodded, looking relieved. She glanced at her watch. "Mom and Dad send their love. They'll come by tomorrow—Dad's got that meeting with his publisher today."

Of course. Our parents were always busy with something. Dad with his books, Mom with her charity work. Susan and I had practically raised each other.

"Does she have a name yet?" Susan gestured vaguely toward the bassinet, still not looking directly at it.

"Ava," I said. "I was thinking Ava Rose."

"Pretty." Susan fiddled with the strap of her purse. "Has Damon seen her?"

"No." The word came out sharper than I intended. "He left before the nurse brought her in. Honestly, I don't think he even wants to see her."

Susan's expression was hard to read. "Things have been bad between you two for a while now, haven't they?"

I nodded, memories flashing through my mind: dinner tables with only one place set, nights waiting up for him only to fall asleep alone, the growing distance I couldn't seem to bridge no matter what I tried.

"I think he's cheating on me," I said finally. The words didn't hurt as much as I expected. Maybe because I'd known it for months, felt it in the mate bond that once connected us but now felt stretched thin and frayed. "I can feel it... here." I touched my chest, just over my heart. "But I don't know who it is."

Something flickered in Susan's eyes, there and gone too fast to catch. She shifted in her seat, her hand slipping from mine.

"You want me to find out?" she asked, her voice controlled.

"Would you?" I leaned forward, desperate for any help, any ally in this mess my life had become. "You've always been good at getting people to talk. Maybe you could..."

"I'll handle it," Susan said, cutting me off. She stood abruptly, smoothing down her scrubs. "But Evelyn, you need to prepare yourself. Confronting a cheating mate rarely ends well." She didn't quite meet my eyes. "Let me talk to him first, okay? Maybe I can get through to him."

Relief flooded through me. "Thank you," I said, reaching for her hand again. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Susan squeezed my fingers, but it felt mechanical, like she was going through the motions. "I should go. Early shift tomorrow."

"Already? But you just got here."

"I'll come back tomorrow, I promise." She gathered her things, pausing at the door. "Try to get some rest. You look exhausted."

Before I could respond, she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

The room felt emptier, quieter without her. Outside the window, afternoon was sliding into evening, long shadows stretching across the hospital parking lot. I could see people going about their normal lives, getting into cars, heading home to families who were waiting for them.

Ava made a small sound, and I turned to look at her, really look at her for the first time since the nurses had cleaned her up and placed her in my arms. She had my nose, I thought. Maybe Damon's chin. Her skin was still wrinkled and red, her eyes unfocused when they opened briefly.

Would he ever look at her? Would he ever hold her and feel that rush of love I'd felt, even through the haze of pain and exhaustion?

I touched my stomach, still swollen and tender. Everything hurt—my body, my heart, my pride. But looking at Ava, I felt something else too. Something stronger than the pain.

"We'll be okay," I whispered to her, not entirely sure I believed it.

I got used to the 3 AM quiet. The particular stillness of the house when everyone else was asleep and it was just me and Ava in the yellow glow of her nursery lamp. Her tiny fingers would curl around mine while she nursed, and I'd watch shadows play across the ceiling, wondering where Damon was sleeping.

He came home less and less. When he did appear, it was only to shower and grab fresh clothes before disappearing again. One evening, I found him standing in the doorway of the nursery I'd spent months decorating—the clouds I'd painted on the ceiling, the bookshelf filled with stories I remembered from childhood. He looked at it all like he was seeing a stranger's house, then silently moved his remaining things to the guest room down the hall.

I tried to talk to him once, catching him in the kitchen early one morning.

"She has your eyes," I said, watching him pour coffee into a travel mug.

He stared at me for a long moment, then screwed the lid on his mug and walked out without responding.

Susan visited every few days, bringing takeout and watching bad reality TV with me while Ava slept. She never mentioned Damon, and I stopped asking if she'd talked to him. The answer was in the growing distance between us, in the cold silences that filled our home.

I was changing Ava one morning when my phone buzzed with a text.

Need Q3 projections for board meeting. Bring to office ASAP. - Marissa (That was Damon's assistant)

I stared at the message, my pulse quickening. This was the first real connection to Damon in weeks—even if it was through his assistant.

"What do you think, Ava?" I asked, tickling her belly. "Should we go see Daddy at his office?"

She blinked at me, uncomprehending but beautiful.

Twenty minutes later, I'd found the folder in his home office and was heading to the kitchen, an idea forming. The chicken porridge I'd made yesterday was still in the fridge—his favorite. I packed a container carefully, adding a sprig of parsley the way he liked.

"Maybe this is our chance," I told Ava as I strapped her into her carrier. "Maybe seeing you, seeing us... maybe it will remind him of what's important."

The hope was small, fragile, probably foolish. But it was all I had left to hold onto.

* * *

Evelyn

Outside Damon's office building, the late morning sun turned the glass façade into a wall of fire. I stood on the sidewalk, Ava's carrier heavy in one hand, the bag with his documents and food in the other, wondering if I'd made a mistake coming here.

This is ridiculous. I'm his mate and the mother of his child. I shouldn't be afraid to walk into his office.

But my heart hammered against my ribs anyway, a trapped bird beating against its cage.

The security guard at the front desk recognized me, his eyes brightening. "Luna Evelyn! It's been weeks." His gaze dropped to the carrier, and his smile widened. "And this must be the little one."

"Yes, this is Ava," I said, grateful for the warmth in his voice after weeks of Damon's cold silence.

"The Alpha will be pleased to see you both," he said, buzzing me through.

Will he, though? I wondered, stepping into the elevator. I caught my reflection in the mirrored wall—dark circles under my eyes, hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail, wearing the first clean shirt I could find. Not exactly the put-together Luna I used to be.

As the elevator climbed, I rehearsed what I would say. I know things have been difficult between us. I want us to talk. Really talk. For Ava's sake, if nothing else.

Simple. Direct. No accusations, no tears.

The elevator doors slid open on the top floor. The familiar corridor stretched before me, lined with artwork from local pack artists—Damon's way of supporting the community. I'd helped him select most of these pieces, back when he still valued my opinion.

His assistant Marissa wasn't at her desk. Unusual for her to be away, but it made things easier.

I shifted Ava's carrier to my other hand and approached Damon's office door. Through the frosted glass, I could make out shadowy movements. He was there, and he wasn't alone. Probably in a meeting.

I hesitated, then raised my hand to knock. The porridge would be getting cold.

Knock first, I reminded myself. Don't just barge in.

My knuckles rapped against the wood, three quick taps. Without waiting for a response—a habit from years of coming and going freely in his spaces—I pushed the door open.

For one suspended moment, my brain couldn't process what I was seeing. Like looking at a painting that appeared to be one thing from a distance, only to discover it was something else entirely up close.

Damon was there, yes. But he wasn't in a meeting.

He stood with his back against his desk, his shirt half-unbuttoned. And wrapped around him, her legs straddling his thigh, her hands in his hair, was a woman. They broke apart at the sound of the door, two pairs of startled eyes turning toward me.

The flask of porridge slipped from my fingers. It hit the floor with a dull thud, the lid popping off, hot food spilling across the polished hardwood.

But I barely noticed. Because the woman disentangling herself from my mate, smoothing down her skirt with practiced ease, was Susan.

My sister.

The same sister who had held my hand in the hospital. Who had promised to help me. Who had looked me in the eyes and lied.

"Why?" The word escaped me, small and broken.

Susan didn't answer. She didn't even have the decency to look ashamed. Instead, she stepped away from Damon, her chin lifting slightly, her eyes meeting mine with an emotion I couldn't name. Something cold and foreign that had no place in my sister's face.

I turned to Damon, searching. Regret or apology. Anything that would make sense of this nightmare.

"Of all people, it had to be you," I said to Susan, my voice steadier than I expected. "You, Susan. My own Sister."

In front of me, Damon's hands settled on Susan's waist, casual and possessive, as if I weren't even there. As if I hadn't just caught them in the act of betraying me in the most intimate way possible.

Susan's lips curved into something close to a smile.

My heart wasn't breaking. Breaking implied a quick, clean snap. This was a slow, excruciating compression, like being crushed from the inside out.

"How..." I swallowed, my mouth dry. "How long has this been going on?"

Damon shrugged, his eyes cold. "What does it matter? I really just don't love you anymore."

The words hit me so hard, I stumbled back a step.

"But I'm your fated mate," I whispered. "Remember when you marked me?" The night he'd claimed me, promised me forever. The first man I'd ever been with, the only man I'd ever wanted.

Something flickered in his eyes—a shadow of the man I'd fallen in love with, perhaps. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a hardness I'd never seen before.

"You can stop whatever games you're playing now and go to hell with that bastard of yours!" he spat, his voice rising. "We both know that child isn't mine."

I stared at him, uncomprehending. The room seemed to tilt beneath my feet. "What bastard?" Heat rushed to my face as understanding dawned. I glanced at Ava, sleeping peacefully in her carrier, oblivious to the ugliness around her. "You can treat me however you want, but I won't forgive you for calling my precious baby a bastard!"

Before I could think, I was moving toward him, my palm connecting with his cheek in a sharp crack that echoed through the room. The sting in my hand was strangely satisfying.

I turned to leave, my fingers closing around the door handle, desperate to escape this room, this betrayal, these people I no longer recognized.

"Wait." Damon's voice stopped me. Not gentle, not apologetic. Just cold. "Evelyn, just you wait, so I can prove to you that your bastard daughter doesn't belong to me."

I turned slowly, confusion cutting through my anger. What was he talking about?

Before I could ask, he tossed something onto the floor between us. Photographs, dozens of them, spreading across the hardwood like fallen leaves.

I didn't need to bend down to see what they showed. The images were clear enough from where I stood.

Me, or someone who looked exactly like me, in a hotel room. In bed with a stranger, his hands on my body in ways that left nothing to the imagination.

"This is not me!" I gasped, bile rising in my throat. "I can't... recall being that way with a man, I—"

Damon laughed. "Are you that dull?" he sneered. "You can't recall, huh?"

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Take another look at those pictures and think back. Deep. Where were you, seven months ago, on a Friday night of the second week?"

The question hit me like I had suddenly been poured a bucket of Ice water. Seven months ago. The timing of my pregnancy. And that specific date...

I looked to Susan instinctively, the way I'd always looked to her when I needed help. We were supposed to be in this together because I was with her that same night.

That night when we'd gone out for drinks. When I'd woken up the next morning in a hotel room with no memory of how I'd gotten there. Susan had been there too, had assured me nothing happened, that we'd just had too much to drink and decided to get a room instead of driving home.

"Susan..." I began, reaching for the one person who could corroborate my story, who knew I would never cheat on Damon.

But Susan stepped away, her eyes cold. "Don't expect me to cover your dirt for so long. My conscience is beginning to judge me."

She brushed past me, heading for the door. As she passed, she leaned close, her lips nearly touching my ear.

"That look of your blood boiling over just makes me happy," she whispered, her breath warm against my skin. "Now let's see who becomes Luna between us."

My blood ran cold. This wasn't just an affair. It was a calculated takedown. By my own sister.

I turned to face Damon, the man I'd once believed would love me forever. The stranger who now looked at me with contempt.

"I want a divorce," I said, the words clear and final.

In that moment, with the weight of their betrayal pressing down on me, it was the only truth I had left.

* * *

Damon

"I want a divorce."

The words hit me like a punch. Evelyn stood there, her eyes hard in a way I'd never seen before. The woman who always forgave me, who always came back, was gone.

I stepped toward her, trying to hide my surprise. "You want a divorce?" I tried to sound mocking. "No. You're just trying to get my attention. It's not working."

She didn't react the way I expected. No tears. No begging. She just shifted the baby carrier to her other hand, her knuckles white from gripping it too hard.

"I can't be with a cheater who didn't care about my pain when he slept with my sister." Her voice broke on the last word.

She started hitting my chest with weak punches. I let her. Her fists barely hurt, but each one landed somewhere deeper.

"Why are you so upset when you cheated first?" I caught her wrist. It felt small in my hand, birdlike. I remembered holding it the first time we met, how perfectly it had fit.

Something stuck in my throat. I swallowed hard.

"Wasn't I enough for you?" I hadn't meant to ask that.

She looked up at me, anger giving way to disbelief. "I didn't cheat on you," she said quietly. "I can't prove it, but you have to believe me."

For a split second, I almost did. There was something in her eyes—the same honest look from when we first met. But then the photos flashed in my mind again.

The images I couldn't unsee. Her birthmark just below her shoulder blade. The curve of her hip that I knew so well. That stranger's hands on her breasts, his mouth on the spot where I'd placed my mark. Her head thrown back, eyes closed.

I'd stared at those pictures for hours after Susan brought them to me, drinking until I couldn't feel the pain. How many times had Evelyn been with me just like that? How many times had she told me I was her only one?

And now she stood here, lying to my face.

"I can't believe you." I stepped back, pointing at the mess of photos on the floor. "Not with those pictures showing me our whole relationship was fake."

I walked to my desk, keeping my back to her so she wouldn't see my hands shake. I shoved them in my pockets.

"Meet me in court," I said over my shoulder. "Tomorrow. Ten o'clock."

I walked out without looking back, passing Susan in the hallway. She reached for my arm but I pulled away. I needed air.

Outside, I loosened my tie, breathing in deep. The sky was too bright, too blue. Like the day at the lake when I'd first told Evelyn I loved her.

Pull yourself together, Damon.

I had a pack to run. A woman who actually wanted me. I didn't need Evelyn's tears or lies. I didn't need the small voice in my head asking: What if she's telling the truth?

The crowd outside the packhouse courtroom parted as I approached, heads bowing in deference to their Alpha. Inside, the elders had already assembled, along with both our sets of parents. My father nodded grimly. My mother wouldn't meet my eyes.

Evelyn hadn't arrived yet. I paced the length of the chamber, energy I couldn't dispel crackling through my limbs.

"Are you certain about this, son?" My father's voice was low enough that only I could hear.

I gave him a sharp look. "You've seen the evidence."

He sighed, a sound that carried the weight of his years. "I've seen photographs. I've also seen the way that girl looks at you. Never known a better Luna for this pack."

"She betrayed me," I snapped. "Betrayed all of us."

He held up his hands in surrender, backing away. Still acting like he knew better, as always. As if I hadn't been running this pack successfully for years now.

A murmur rippled through the crowd. I turned to see Evelyn entering, her head held high despite the whispers that followed her. Her gaze swept the room, landing briefly on her parents before settling on me. No tears today. No pleading. Just that same cold resolve I'd seen in my office.

She'd worn the formal Luna robes, deep blue with silver embroidery at the hem. The traditional dress of a mated female Alpha. I wondered if it was her way of reminding everyone of her position, of what she stood to lose.

She moved to her designated place across from me, her steps measured and slow. We faced each other across the ceremonial circle inlaid in the stone floor.

The head elder stepped forward, his voice carrying to the farthest corners of the room. "Alpha Damon has called this council to formally address accusations against Luna Evelyn. The Alpha will now present his judgment."

I'd rehearsed this speech a dozen times since yesterday. Had the words ready. But standing there, looking at Evelyn's pale face, the woman I'd once sworn to protect, the words seemed to dry up in my throat.

I forced them out anyway. "Luna Evelyn has betrayed the trust of her Alpha and her pack. She has violated her mate bond and brought dishonor to her position."

A ripple went through the assembled crowd. Evelyn's mother let out a small sound of distress.

"For these offenses, I hereby demote her from the rank of Luna to—" I hesitated, just for a second. Say it, Damon. "To warrior."

Gasps echoed through the chamber. Everyone understood what this meant—from the second highest position in the pack to one of the lowest ranks. From standing beside me in all decisions to taking orders from nearly everyone else.

* * *