The wheelchair wheels clicked against the polished floor. I gripped the arms tightly, letting the motion carry me forward, while the hospital scent faded behind us. Anson pushed me with calm precision. I could feel his eyes on me, steady and warm, but I kept my face blank. There was no reason to let him see anything yet.

“Almost there,” he murmured, voice low. I nodded, pretending I couldn’t hear the tension threading through his tone.

I didn’t want to betray how hollow I felt inside. We left the hospital’s sterile air behind, stepping into the late afternoon sun. The breeze brushed my face, teasing my hair. I tried to savor the simple normalcy, but my heart was too heavy.

The Pack “welfare house” loomed ahead. It was smaller than the Pack House, simple and functional, with a soft garden leading to the entrance. I spotted movement inside. A little girl came running out, her dark curls bouncing. Her face—Anson’s face. My stomach twisted.

“Daddy!” she yelled, sprinting toward him. Anson bent, arms open. She launched herself into him. The sight stabbed through me. He held her, lifting her up, laughing with a lightness I hadn’t seen in months. I stayed in the doorway, silent. The wheelchair kept me rooted, or maybe it was the shock.

The girl’s eyes caught mine. They narrowed immediately. “You! You’re the bad woman! You can’t be Luna!”

Her voice was sharp, accusing. Her tiny hands curled into fists, trembling with fury. My chest constricted. I forced a smile, calm and gentle.

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” I said softly. She didn’t reply, just glared, a tiny storm. Anson whispered something to her, his hands still cradling her.

She huffed but didn’t run away. I knew. She was his daughter. My pulse jumped. I kept my expression neutral, though inside a storm of emotions churned.

We entered. Anson guided me carefully through the hallways. My legs ached from their lack of use, but I didn’t complain. I was learning to be silent in my pain, to hide the jagged edges. Every step of the wheels echoed my new place in this world: present, yet invisible.

Judy followed us. She ran ahead, pulling Anson by the hand, chattering about something I didn’t catch. She glanced at me occasionally, eyes sharp, measuring, distrustful. I returned her gaze with softness. I had to. She didn’t need to know I recognized her as his child. I had to let the truth lie quiet for now.

Anson opened the door to the Pack House. Inside, warmth and light greeted us. Diana was there. Of course. Always there. She stood at the center of the room, hands folded, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. My chest tightened. Every breath felt measured. I had to be careful not to give away my thoughts.

“Wendy,” Anson said, voice smooth, reassuring. “This is why I asked you to stay back. It’s easier for you to rest, and Diana will help with the Luna preparations.”

I caught the edge of malice in her smile. My stomach sank, heavy with what was coming. I nodded. My lips curved politely. Inside, I felt the sharp sting of betrayal anew.

I wheeled forward, feeling the powerlessness of my body. Diana’s eyes were on me, calculating. “It must be hard,” she said, tilting her head.

“To be sidelined like this. No fighting, no pack duties… just… watching.” Her voice was smooth venom. I met her gaze evenly.

“It’s not the end,” I said, voice steady. “Just a pause.”

She laughed, soft and cruel. “A pause? Or a permanent stop? Without your strength, Anson will see what really matters. Maybe now you can finally be… irrelevant.”

She moved closer, letting her hand brush mine lightly on the arm of the wheelchair. My skin crawled. Her touch was a taunt. I ignored it.

Anson crouched beside Judy, washing her hands at the sink. Their laughter filled the kitchen. The sound cut through me, making me feel like an intruder in a world that no longer needed me. I sat there, wheels unmoving, watching a family I was never meant to join. My hands rested on my lap. I could have turned and left. But I didn’t. Not yet.

Diana’s eyes never left mine. She tilted her head, feigning sweetness.

“You see them, don’t you? All happy, all intact. And you… well, you’re broken. Helpless. A shadow of who you once were.”

I swallowed, tasting bitterness. The urge to snap back boiled in my chest. But I stayed silent, letting the wheels of my mind turn. I needed patience, control. I needed observation.

I watched Judy laugh, reaching for Diana’s hand. Anson leaned over, lifting Judy slightly to nuzzle her. The gesture, tender, casual, filled me with an ache I didn’t allow myself to name. I looked away, out the window, tracing the branches of the old oak tree in the yard. Leaves rustled in the wind. Freedom existed outside. Not here.

Finally, Diana’s voice cut through the quiet.

“You’ll get used to this, Wendy. To being on the sidelines. To watching others take your place.” She smiled at me, the venom behind her polished words clear. I nodded politely.

“Perhaps,” I said, voice measured, almost hollow. My heart beat fast, but my face betrayed nothing.

I wheeled into the hallway, retreating from the scene. My room awaited. Quiet. Solitude. I needed space to think, to let the anger and sadness burn and transform into something sharper, something that would one day cut through the illusion of normalcy that Anson and Diana lived in.

The door shut behind me. I exhaled, long and low. My hands gripped the wheels, feeling their cold steel beneath my palms. I was powerless for now. Helpless. But the fire inside me was far from extinguished. I traced the scars on my legs with my fingertips, not with pain, but with focus. Each line a reminder. Each bruise a lesson. I would not remain a pawn. Not forever.

The sun dipped lower outside, casting long shadows across the floor. I leaned back, letting my thoughts drift. Anson thought he could manipulate, Diana thought she had me figured out, and little Judy… she was innocent, yet unknowingly a weapon in their scheme. They did not know me. Not truly. And I would remember that.

When night fell, I wheeled to the window, staring at the Pack grounds. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying scents of my past victories, my former strength, and the battles I had won. They could not take that from me. Not entirely. My mind churned with strategy, patience, and silent fury. Tonight, I would rest. Tomorrow, I would move. Carefully. Calculated. Because even in this broken state, I was still Wendy. Still the Luna they underestimated.

I traced the faint moonlight on my arm, imagining the battlefield where I once thrived. Tears welled, but I blinked them back. Pain and betrayal were tools now, sharpened, ready. I would leave Nightveil Pack. And when I did… they would remember me.

Hours later, I sat alone in our bedroom. The walls felt like a cage.

"Three years," I whispered to the empty room.

I held a silver combat medal in my palm, tracing the engraved edges.

"We met at eighteen," I told the shadows, my voice cracking. "You looked at me across the training field and claimed I was the only one fierce enough to be your Luna. We learned hand-to-hand combat at the university. We fought rogue packs side-by-side. I was your best warrior."

I tossed the medal into the trash can. It clanged against the metal bin.

"You were fucking her while I guarded your borders."

A sharp ache twisted in my chest. The mate bond, once a thick cable of golden energy, began to splinter. It frayed at the edges, sending agonizing spikes of rejection through my nervous system.

Then, the pain shifted.

A heavy, pulsing heat surged through the connection. It wasn't my emotion. It was Anson's arousal.

I shoved the wheels of my chair. The rubber spun against the floorboards. I rolled out of the bedroom and down the hallway toward the guest wing.

Moans drifted through the cracked door of the end suite.

"Fuck, Diana," Anson groaned. "Fuck."

"Harder, Anson," a woman whimpered. "Widen my pussy. Give it to me."

I slammed the door open. It crashed against the wall.

They didn't stop immediately. Anson stood at the edge of the mattress, pinning Diana’s legs back. He drove his cock into her cunt, his hips slapping loudly against her thighs.

"Take my fucking knot," he grunted, biting down on her bare shoulder.

"Anson!" I screamed.

He froze. He yanked himself out of her, his erection shining with wetness in the dim light. He scrambled backward, grabbing a pillow to cover his crotch.

"Wendy," he stammered. His face flushed scarlet.

"Is this the trauma you were treating?" I asked, my voice shaking.

"It’s not what you think," he said.

"You broke my legs!" Tears spilled over my eyelashes. "I gave you my youth. My loyalty. And you bred a bastard pup with her three years ago!"

"Keep your voice down," Anson hissed, shooting a panicked look at the hallway.

"Why?" I yelled. "Afraid the elders will hear? Afraid they'll find out their Alpha ordered his doctor to sever his mate's nerves just to move his whore into the house?"

"Shut your mouth," he warned. He took a threatening step toward my chair. "You are hysterical."

"I am stating facts!"

Diana sat up. She stretched her arms, her bare breasts shifting. She didn't reach for a blanket.

"Alpha," she purred, tracing a finger down his chest. "My dress is in the bathroom. Fetch it for me?"

Anson blinked, looking between us. "Diana, I need to handle this."

"I'm cold, Anson," she whined, pouting her lips. "Go."

He grabbed his jeans from the floor. He pulled them on rapidly, refusing to look at my face.

"Stay here," he ordered me. "We will talk about this when I get back."

He hurried into the attached bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him.

Diana swung her legs over the side of the bed. She stood up, completely naked, and walked toward me. A vicious smirk stretched across her face.

"Look at the invincible warrior of Nightveil Pack," she taunted.

"Put some clothes on, you disgust me," I spat.

She laughed. A bright, ringing sound that didn't belong in a confrontation. She grabbed the handles of my wheelchair.

"You're a useless cripple," she whispered.

She violently shoved the chair backward.

The wheels caught on the rug. The chair tipped. I flailed, reaching for the doorframe, but my fingers only caught air.

I crashed onto the hardwood. Pain exploded in my shoulder. My paralyzed legs twisted into an unnatural angle beneath the overturned metal frame.

"A broken toy," Diana sneered, standing over me. "Anson doesn't want a piece of trash in his bed. He wants me."

I dug my elbows into the floor, dragging my upper body forward.

"He's a coward," I growled. "And you're a parasite."

Diana's eyes flicked toward the bathroom door. The handle rattled.

She immediately dropped to her knees. She raked her own fingernails down her forearm, tearing the skin until thick lines of blood surfaced.

Then, she threw herself backward against the wooden nightstand.

"Ahhh!" she shrieked. "Wendy, stop! Please!"

The bathroom door flew open. Anson rushed out, holding a green silk dress. He dropped the fabric instantly.

"Diana!" he yelled.

He fell to his knees beside her, inspecting her bleeding arm.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"She attacked me," Diana sobbed. Real tears streamed down her face. She buried her head in his neck. "She dragged herself over and clawed me. She said she's going to murder Judy next!"

Anson's head snapped toward me. His eyes burned with pure hatred.

"You lying bitch," I said, pointing at Diana. "She pushed my chair over! She scratched herself!"

"You are paralyzed!" Anson roared. "Diana wouldn't touch you. You've always been aggressive. Always violent."

"Are you blind?" I shouted. "Look at the chair!"

"I see a jealous, broken female who can't accept reality," he sneered.

He scooped Diana into his arms, lifting her against his chest.

"If you ever threaten my family again, I will strip you of your title and banish you to the wastelands," he promised.

He turned his back on me and carried her out of the room.

I lay on the floor, surrounded by the wreckage of my chair.

Deep inside my chest, the mate bond gave one final, agonizing pull. Then, it snapped.

A hollow silence echoed through my body. He was gone. The connection was dead.

I pressed my forehead against the cold wood. I didn't cry anymore. The grief burned away, leaving only cold, sharp resolve.

I dragged myself toward the overturned wheelchair. My arms shook with the effort. I managed to right the heavy metal frame, hauling my dead legs back onto the footrests.

I stared at the empty doorway. Nightveil was no longer my home. It was my prison.

I needed to pack. I needed to run.

But how does a crippled wolf escape a fortress she designed herself?