Julian POV:

I handed Leo off to the pack doctor with strict orders to prepare a hot bath and check his vitals. Retreating to my study, I yanked at my tie, pacing like a caged beast. My inner wolf was clawing restlessly at my chest, letting out low, agitated whines.

Elara's empty, dead gaze from the edge of the pond lingered in my mind like a curse. It was an irritating burr under my skin. The mate bond, faint as it usually was, pulsed with a strange, chilling distress.

I scoffed, pouring myself a heavy glass of bourbon to drown the feeling. Manipulative. That’s what she was. She deliberately stayed in the freezing water, maybe even intentionally smashing her hand against the rocks, just to make Leo look like a monster and me like a tyrant. She knew I had sworn to Rosalind on her deathbed to protect Leo, yet she constantly used her title as Luna to compete with a traumatized pup.

The heavy oak doors of the study swung open. My mother, Dowager Luna Genevieve, swept in. The suffocating scent of her heavy floral perfume masked the room's tension. Her perfectly preserved face was etched with sharp, aristocratic disgust.

"I heard about the farce at the lotus pond," she sneered, dabbing her fingers with a silk handkerchief as if the mere mention of Elara soiled her. "That woman is growing bolder by the day. Throwing herself into the water and faking a broken hand to frame a ten-year-old pup? Disgraceful."

"Leo is fine, Mother. She was just throwing another one of her pathetic tantrums," I said coldly, taking a sip of the burning liquid.

"A tantrum today, Julian, but what about tomorrow?" Genevieve glided closer, her eyes flashing with venom. "Leo is the only heir to the Sterling bloodline. She has occupied the Luna's seat for three years, yet your bed remains barren. A jealous, barren female is capable of anything. Next time, she might 'accidentally' slip some wolfsbane into his food!"

My grip on the glass tightened until the crystal groaned under the pressure.

Genevieve delivered her verdict. "For the safety of my grandson, and to preserve the pack's dignity, she must be disciplined. Send her to the Moon Altar in the Ancestral Hall. Let her kneel on the ice-cold marble until sunrise. Let the winter freeze that vicious jealousy out of her system."

Kneeling at the unheated Altar all night in the dead of winter was a punishment meant for pack traitors. For a fleeting second, the image of Elara’s deathly pale, shivering lips and that grotesque snap of her bone flashed through my mind.

But then I remembered Leo's terrified wails.

"Do it," I commanded, my voice devoid of emotion, shutting down my wolf's protests. "She needs to learn her place."

Elara POV:

I had barely peeled the heavy, sodden dress from my freezing body, my teeth chattering violently. I was awkwardly trying to wrap a makeshift splint around my shattered right hand with my left, gasping at the agonizing, white-hot pain, when the door to my chambers was violently kicked open.

Maeve, my loyal maid, was shoved backward into the room, stumbling hard to the floor.

"Move, you useless omega!" Mrs. Fletcher, Genevieve's head servant, marched in flanked by two massive pack enforcers. Her face was a mask of sheer arrogance.

"Madam," Fletcher sneered, her eyes mocking my shivering, half-naked form and my mangled hand. "The Alpha and the Dowager Luna have decreed that for your malicious attempt to harm the young master, you are to proceed immediately to the Moon Altar. You will kneel in repentance until sunrise."

Maeve scrambled to her feet, tears streaming down her face, throwing herself in front of me. "You can't! The Luna just fell into the freezing pond! Her hand is broken! She will die if she kneels in the unheated hall—"

"Slap her!" Fletcher barked.

Before the enforcer's heavy hand could strike Maeve, I stepped forward.

"Touch her, and I will have your eyes gouged out," I said.

My voice was hoarse, barely more than a ragged whisper, but the dead, absolute coldness in my eyes made the towering enforcer freeze mid-swing. Even Fletcher took an involuntary step back, startled by the sudden, suffocating aura radiating from the usually submissive Luna. It wasn't physical strength; it was the chilling promise of death.

I turned to the weeping Maeve and gently wiped her tears with my numb, purple left hand. "Bring me my cloak, Maeve. Don't waste your tears on dead men walking."

Fletcher looked utterly disappointed that she couldn't enjoy the spectacle of my begging.

I pulled the thick winter cloak over my shivering frame, cradling my broken right hand against my chest, and walked out into the drafty corridor.

I knew exactly what this was. This wasn't just Genevieve's cruelty; this was Julian’s explicit permission. My husband, my fated mate, had handed me over to be tortured, fully aware of my shattered bones.

On the way to the Ancestral Hall, the enforcers deliberately led me past the main drawing room. The heavy mahogany doors were slightly ajar. Golden firelight spilled into the dark, freezing hallway, accompanied by the clinking of teacups and a sweet, tinkling laughter.

The cloying, sugary scent of vanilla and roses drifted out.

"Julian..." a sweet, girlish voice murmured. "I heard Elara hurt her hand in the pond. Should I have my family's doctor look at it? I feel so terrible... She must hate me for coming over so often. Maybe she did it because she was upset with me."

I stopped in my tracks. Bianca White. His childhood sweetheart. The beautiful, delicate Omega who had recently returned from abroad, and the real reason Julian had been looking at me with such thinly veiled impatience lately.

Through the crack in the door, I saw her leaning intimately against Julian’s arm, her platinum blonde hair brushing his shoulder.

Julian didn't push her away. Instead, his frigid Alpha aura softened completely. He reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Bianca's ear.

"Don't waste your pity on her, Bianca," Julian’s voice was sickeningly gentle to her, yet the words he spoke cut through the last remaining thread of my mate bond like a silver blade. "She broke her own hand just to play the victim and get attention. Let her kneel and reflect; she'll learn to stop these pathetic tricks eventually."

A bitter, silent laugh tore at my throat.

So, this was the man I had traded my magic, my youth, and my dignity for. The last, pathetic ember of love I held for Julian Sterling turned to ash, blown away by the winter draft.

I pulled my gaze away from the disgustingly warm scene and walked straight into the biting blizzard outside.

I entered the Ancestral Hall. The oppressive chill of the stone walls instantly pierced through my cloak, sinking into my marrow. I walked to the center of the Moon Altar, straightened my spine, and slowly, deliberately, knelt on the freezing marble.

The cold seeped into my bones, and the agony in my shattered hand pulsed with every heartbeat, but it was nothing compared to the absolute, liberating numbness in my heart.

Kneel well, Elara, I told myself as the freezing darkness swallowed me. Let this ice freeze away the very last drop of your stupidity. Tomorrow, the Sterling pack will burn.

Genevieve POV:

In the warm, opulent drawing room, I watched Bianca White with immense satisfaction. Platinum blonde hair, sky-blue eyes, and a delicate, pliant demeanor that practically radiated Omega sweetness. This was the true Luna I had always envisioned for the Sterling pack, not that gloomy, low-born apothecary.

"Bianca, my dear, you must forgive the disruption tonight," I sighed, pressing a lace handkerchief to my eye as if deeply fatigued. "The one in this house who causes so much trouble is having another one of her hysterical fits. Trying to poison my grandson, and now faking injuries."

Bianca immediately adopted a look of pure, innocent concern, her large eyes welling with unshed tears. "Oh, Dowager Luna, please don't be angry. Sister Elara was probably just overwhelmed. It must be so stressful for her, knowing she can't give brother Julian an heir. I just hope she doesn't take her frustrations out on poor little Leo again..."

Julian, sitting nearby with a glass of bourbon, visibly darkened at the mention of Leo. Bianca’s soft, perfectly manicured hand gently rested on his arm, and his rigid posture instantly relaxed, his Alpha instincts soothed by her submission.

I patted Bianca's hand affectionately. "You are so much more sensible. Not like some people, who rely on a dead sister's guilt to secure a Luna's crown, yet lack the proper breeding to wear it."

I turned to my son, my voice shifting to the absolute authority of a pack elder. "Tomorrow is the Pack's Monthly Banquet. I have officially invited Mr. White and Bianca. Julian, you will have Elara stand at the manor gates to greet them personally as they arrive. It will serve as her public apology to Bianca for causing such a scene today."

Julian frowned slightly, his Alpha pride catching on the logistics. "Mother, to make the reigning Luna stand at the gates like a lowly servant to greet guests... it violates pack traditions. The elders might talk."

"What? You object?" My eyes narrowed sharply. "Or do you think that vicious female shouldn't be taught a lesson in humility? Don't forget, Mr. White has just been appointed to the Royal Lycan Council's Trade Guild. Our pack's new silver mine exports depend entirely on his goodwill. Are you going to let a jealous, barren female ruin our pack's future?"

"Dowager Luna, please don't argue with Julian," Bianca chimed in, her voice trembling slightly as she shrank back, looking terrified. "I couldn't possibly let Sister Elara demean herself for me. I know she hates me... I don't want to cause trouble for Julian. I'll just... I'll just stay home tomorrow."

Seeing Bianca's terrified, submissive state, Julian's protective instincts flared, completely overriding any lingering hesitation. Between his pack's interests, Bianca's delicate tears, and his wife's dignity, he didn't hesitate to crush the latter.

"It's decided," Julian said coldly, his jaw set. "She will stand at the gates. It's time she learned how to be a proper, obedient Luna."

Elara POV:

The next morning, I was finally dragged out of the Ancestral Hall.

I didn't walk; I was half-carried by Maeve. The moment my frozen body touched the mattress in my room, a raging, violent fever took hold. My body was trapped in a terrifying paradox—my skin was burning like fire, yet the marrow in my bones felt like solid ice. My broken right hand had swollen to twice its size, turning a horrifying shade of black and purple.

I drifted in and out of a suffocating, feverish nightmare.

In the dream, I was back three years ago, standing in the sunlit garden when Julian proposed. He hadn't brought flowers or a ring. He had just looked at me with those cold, pragmatic Alpha eyes. "Elara," he had said, his voice devoid of any affection. "I know you are not brilliant or beautiful like Rosalind. But you are quiet. You are docile. That is enough. Be a good, obedient mother to Leo, and I will give you the protection of the Sterling name."

From the very beginning, all he ever wanted was an obedient ornament. A free nursemaid. A shadow to fill a dead woman's shoes.

"Luna... please, drink this," Maeve was sobbing beside my bed, desperately trying to spoon herbal medicine past my cracked lips. But my throat was so swollen I couldn't swallow, the liquid spilling down my neck.

Around noon, the violent kick of a heavy boot sent my bedroom door crashing open, shattering the hinges.

Mrs. Fletcher marched in, a thick velvet dress draped over her arm. Her voice was a grating, arrogant intrusion. "The Dowager Luna commands that you wash and dress immediately. Put on your ceremonial Luna robes. You are to stand at the main gates and prepare to welcome Mr. White and Miss Bianca."

Maeve, trembling with fury and grief, stood between Fletcher and my bed. "Are you blind, Mrs. Fletcher?! The Luna is gravely ill! Her fever hasn't broken, her hand is rotting, she can't even stand up! You want her to stand in the freezing wind to greet a mistress?!"

Smack!

Fletcher slapped Maeve hard across the face, sending the frail maid crashing into the nightstand. "Watch your mouth, slave! Miss Bianca is the Alpha's most cherished companion. Feigning illness is useless, Madam. The Alpha himself approved this order. If you don't drag yourself out of that bed, the enforcers will strip you and drag you to the gates themselves."

Through the agonizing fog of my fever, their words pierced my mind with crystal clarity.

They wanted to strip away the very last shred of my dignity. They wanted the entire pack to see their Luna reduced to a welcoming dog, wagging her tail for her husband's mistress.

A strange, chilling calm washed over me. The burning fever seemed to recede, replaced by an absolute, terrifying coldness that emanated from my newly dead heart.

I ignored the screaming pain in my body and slowly pushed myself up against the headboard. My hair was matted with cold sweat, my face as pale as a corpse, but when I lifted my gaze and locked eyes with Fletcher, the sheer, dead emptiness in my blue eyes made her arrogant smirk freeze instantly.

"Go back," I said. My voice was a ragged, broken rasp, but it carried an undeniable, eerie weight that made the air in the room drop ten degrees.

Fletcher blinked, swallowing hard, taking a subconscious step back. "What... what did you say?"

"I said, go back." I looked at her, my dry lips curving into a faint, mocking smile. "Tell the Dowager and my dear Alpha... that their Luna is on her deathbed. If they want a dog to wag its tail at the gates for Bianca White, they can go stand there themselves."

Fletcher gasped, her face turning purple with outrage as she recovered her nerve. "You... you bitch! You dare defy the Alpha's direct order?!" She lunged forward, reaching out to grab my broken arm.

Before she could touch me, I grabbed a silver hairpin from the nightstand with my left hand and pressed the sharp tip directly against her carotid artery.

Fletcher froze, her eyes widening in sheer terror as a drop of blood welled up under the silver tip.

"I am still the Luna of this pack, marked by the Moon Goddess," I whispered, leaning in closer to her trembling face. "Touch me, and I will invoke the Pack Law of treason and bleed you out right here on my carpet."

I pulled the pin back and pointed toward the broken door.

"Get out of my room," I commanded, completely cutting off the world. "Before I change my mind."

Fletcher stumbled backward, her face pale with shock, and scrambled out of the room like a beaten dog.

I dropped the hairpin, my chest heaving as I looked down at my mangled, blackened right hand.

They thought they could break my bones and force me to submit. But they forgot that a master apothecary knows the exact dose to cure, and the exact dose to kill.

I will survive this fever. I will take back my life's work. And then, I will make them pay for every ounce of dignity they trampled today.