The morning sun filtered through the kitchen windows, casting a warm glow over the breakfast table. Joseph had actually made an effort—pancakes stacked high, fresh berries scattered across the plate, and maple syrup warming in a small pitcher. Nash bounced in his chair, his eyes bright with excitement.

"This looks amazing, Dad!" he exclaimed, reaching for his fork.

Joseph smiled, ruffling Nash's hair. "Only the best for my birthday boy."

I watched them from the coffee maker, my wolf stirring uneasily despite the domestic tranquility. For once, Joseph seemed present—really present. Maybe yesterday's warning had penetrated his thick skull after all.

"Mom, can I have some orange juice?" Nash asked, his legs swinging beneath the table.

"Coming right up," I replied, pouring the juice into his favorite cup—the one with silver wolves racing across the rim.

Joseph caught my eye and offered a tentative smile. "About last night—"

The doorbell rang, sharp and insistent.

"I'll get it," Joseph said, already moving toward the door.

My wolf growled low in my chest. The scent hit me before I saw her—Carla's cloying floral perfume, now masked with something herbal. Scent masking. She was deliberately hiding her anxiety-inducing pheromones.

"Alpha," she gasped, her voice trembling perfectly. "I'm so sorry to intrude, but Talon was just crying for you."

Sure enough, Talon stood behind her, his eyes wide and innocent. "Uncle Alpha, I had a bad dream."

Joseph's face softened instantly. "Come in, come in. You'll have breakfast with us."

I stepped forward. "Joseph, we were having family time."

Carla's eyes welled with tears. "I understand completely, Luna. We'll just... we'll go."

The pathetic tremor in her voice made my stomach turn. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"Nonsense," Joseph insisted, his hand already on her shoulder. "You're part of this pack. Sit down."

Nash's fork clattered against his plate. "But Dad, you said—"

"Plenty for everyone," Joseph interrupted, pulling out chairs for Carla and Talon.

I watched as our family breakfast crumbled before my eyes.

---

"The perimeter drive will be fun," Joseph promised later that morning, keys jingling in his hand. "Nash can sit up front with me."

Nash's face lit up. "Really? In the front seat?"

"Absolutely," Joseph confirmed, opening the passenger door. "My special co-pilot."

I bit back a smile, watching my son scramble into the front seat of Joseph's SUV. Maybe this was his way of making amends.

"Ready to inspect our territory, buddy?" Joseph asked, adjusting the rearview mirror.

"Ready, Alpha!" Nash replied enthusiastically.

That's when Carla appeared again, this time clutching a piece of paper. "Alpha, I... I found this outside my door."

Joseph took the note, his expression darkening as he read it. "A threat?"

"I don't feel safe," Carla whispered, hugging Talon close. "Could we... could we come with you? Just until Marcus checks our cabin?"

I rolled my eyes. "Carla, we're doing a family—"

"We can't leave them unprotected," Joseph interrupted, already opening the back door. "Sophia, you'll need to move."

"What? No, Joseph—"

"Please," he said, his tone firming. "Carla needs protection."

I stared at him in disbelief. "And what about your Luna and Heir?"

"You'll be fine," he insisted. "Nash, buddy, let Carla sit up front. She's scared."

Nash's face fell as he climbed out of the front seat. I opened my mouth to protest, but Joseph was already helping Carla into the passenger seat.

"Talon can sit with Nash," Joseph said, settling Talon in the back row.

I slid into the back seat beside my son, my jaw clenched. "This isn't right, Joseph."

"He'll be okay," Joseph replied dismissively. "Buckle up."

---

The forest blurred past as we drove along the perimeter road. Nash had fallen silent beside me, his earlier excitement replaced by a quiet dignity that broke my heart.

"Look at the size of that oak," Joseph pointed out, attempting normalcy. "Must be three hundred years old."

Carla laughed softly. "You know so much about the territory."

"Alpha's job," Joseph replied proudly.

That's when it happened. A blur of movement on the road ahead—a massive rogue wolf lunging from the treeline.

"Watch out!" I screamed.

Joseph slammed on the brakes. The SUV skidded, tires squealing against asphalt.

Instinctively, Joseph's Alpha protective aura flared—a brilliant gold shield that should have enveloped his mate and heir.

Instead, it wrapped around Talon.

The force of the stop threw Nash against the door frame. I heard the sickening crack before I saw the blood.

"Nash!" I cried, pulling him into my arms.

His forehead was split open, blood streaming down his face. His eyes were wide with shock.

"It hurts, Mommy," he whimpered.

I looked up to see Joseph staring straight ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel. He hadn't even turned to check on his son.

"Joseph," I said, my voice deadly quiet. "Your heir is bleeding."

He finally turned, his eyes widening at the sight of Nash's injury. "I... I didn't..."

"You protected the wrong pup," I said, each word precise and cutting.

The first strike had fallen.

The antiseptic smell of the pack infirmary burned my nostrils as I held Nash's trembling body against mine. Elena worked with practiced hands, her fingers gentle as she stitched the gash on my son's forehead.

"Almost done, little Alpha," she murmured, her eyes filled with a compassion that made my chest tighten. "You're being so brave."

Nash didn't cry. He hadn't cried since the accident. His silence worried me more than tears would have.

"Where's Dad?" he finally asked, his voice small.

I swallowed hard. "He's... checking on Talon."

Elena's hands stilled for just a moment—a telling pause that spoke volumes. She'd been in the pack long enough to understand what was happening.

"Luna," she said quietly, "this needs to stop."

I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

When Elena finished, I helped Nash down from the examination table. His knees buckled slightly, and I caught him, my heart breaking at how light he felt in my arms.

"Let's find your father," I said, though the words tasted like ash.

We found them in the waiting area. Joseph sat in one of the comfortable chairs, Talon perched on his lap. The boy looked perfectly fine—not a scratch on him—yet Joseph was whispering comforts into his hair.

"It's okay, buddy. You're safe now," he murmured, his large hand cradling the back of Talon's head.

Carla sat beside them, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. When she saw us, her lips curved into a smirk so quick I almost missed it.

"There you are," Joseph said, looking up. "How is he?"

"Seven stitches," I replied coldly. "How is Talon?"

Joseph's brow furrowed. "He's shaken up. The accident was traumatic."

"Nash has a concussion," I said, my voice rising despite my efforts to control it. "He hit his head hard enough to lose consciousness."

"Mom," Nash tugged at my hand. "Can we go home?"

I nodded, but before we could leave, I grabbed Joseph's arm and dragged him into the hallway.

"What the hell was that?" I hissed once we were alone.

"What was what?" he asked, confusion crossing his features.

"You protected Talon instead of Nash!"

Joseph ran a hand through his hair. "Talon is weaker, Sophia. He needed protection."

"And Nash didn't?" My voice cracked. "He's your son! Your heir!"

"Nash is a born Alpha," Joseph replied, his tone maddeningly reasonable. "He can take a hit. Talon can't."

I stared at him, truly seeing him for the first time. "You rewired your biological instincts for another woman's child."

"It's not like that—"

"It's exactly like that," I cut him off. "You failed your son today."

From the doorway behind us came a small sound. I turned to see Nash standing there, his bandaged head tilted slightly as he listened.

"Dad thinks I'm strong enough to get hurt," he said quietly.

"Nash—" Joseph started forward.

My son turned his face to the wall. "I'm tired, Mom."

Later that evening, as I tucked Nash into bed, he looked up at me with solemn eyes.

"Is Dad mad at me?"

"No, sweetheart." I smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "He's just... confused."

"Because I'm not Talon?"

The innocence in his voice broke something inside me. "No, baby. Because he's forgotten what matters."

---

The next morning, Joseph cornered me in the kitchen, his expression determined.

"I've made arrangements," he announced. "We're going to Le Lune tonight."

I raised an eyebrow. "The French place downtown?"

He nodded eagerly. "Just the three of us. No pack business, no interruptions."

"A restaurant? That's your solution?"

"It's more than that," he insisted. "I've reserved the private dining room. We'll have a proper family dinner, just like Nash wanted."

I crossed my arms. "And Carla?"

His expression faltered for just a moment. "What about her?"

"You're not inviting her too?"

"Of course not," he said quickly. "This is about us. About making things right."

I studied his face, searching for sincerity and finding only desperation. "Fine."

"Really?" Relief flooded his features. "I'll make sure Marcus handles any pack business tonight."

"And no Carla," I reiterated firmly.

"Absolutely no Carla," he agreed, though something flickered in his eyes—something that made my wolf growl in warning.

As he walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking into another trap. But for Nash's sake, I had to try.

My phone buzzed with a text from Marcus: *Healer says Nash's concussion is worse than expected. Keeping him overnight for observation.*

I looked up to see Joseph typing furiously on his phone, a small smile playing at his lips.

*Who are you texting, Joseph?* I wondered. *And why do I smell Carla's perfume again?*

The second strike was coming, and somehow, I knew it would be even worse than the first.

The maître d' led us through Le Lune's elegant dining room, his practiced smile never wavering as he guided us toward the private booth. Nash's small hand clutched mine tightly, his eyes wide with wonder at the crystal chandeliers and white tablecloths. He'd dressed carefully for this dinner—a miniature version of an Alpha in his formal suit, the Silverclaw emblem pinned to his lapel.

"Mommy, do I look okay?" he'd asked for the third time as we left the pack house.

"Perfect," I'd assured him, straightening his tie. "Your father will be proud."

My own dress—a silver silk that matched our pack colors—felt like armor. Tonight was supposed to be our chance to rebuild what Joseph had broken. For Nash's sake, I had to try.

"This way, Luna Sophia," the maître d' said, gesturing toward the secluded booth. "Alpha Joseph has arranged everything."

I nodded my thanks, squeezing Nash's hand as we approached. "Remember to sit up straight," I whispered. "This is a formal dinner."

But as we rounded the corner, my steps faltered. The private booth wasn't empty.

Carla sat primly in what should have been my seat, her floral perfume—now unmasked—filling the space. Talon was beside her, already coloring on the children's menu. They both looked up as we approached, Carla's eyes flashing with triumph before she quickly composed her features into a mask of innocence.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, as if surprised to see us. "You're here!"

Joseph stood abruptly, his face flushed with embarrassment. "Sophia, Nash—I was just explaining to the server that we'll need to add two more places."

I stared at him, unable to form words. Nash's grip on my hand tightened painfully.

"But you promised," I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper. "No Carla. No Talon."

Joseph ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I once found endearing but now recognized as his tell when lying. "I know, I know. But Carla had a panic attack when I told her we were going out. She was alone with Talon, and after yesterday's incident with the rogue..."

"You couldn't leave them," I finished flatly.

"It'll be fine," he insisted, gesturing to the server who had appeared with menus. "Just a group dinner. We can still talk as a family."

I looked at Nash, whose face had fallen but who was trying so hard to be brave. For his sake, I slid into the booth, though it killed me to do so.

---

The Tomahawk Steak arrived with flourish—a massive ribeye bone-in, sizzling on a wooden platter. The server placed it before Joseph with a bow.

"Your centerpiece, Alpha," he announced. "The finest cut in the house."

In werewolf culture, the Tomahawk held special significance. The Alpha always served the Luna first, presenting her with the prime center cut as a symbol of respect and partnership. It was a ritual as old as pack hierarchy itself.

I watched as Joseph picked up the carving knife. Nash sat straighter beside me, his eyes following his father's movements. Even at five, he understood the importance of this moment.

"This looks amazing," Joseph said, his attention darting between his plate and Carla's anxious face.

The first cut should have been mine. The second to Nash. Then Joseph could serve himself and finally offer portions to guests or lower-ranking wolves.

But Joseph's knife veered away from my expectant plate. Instead, he carved a generous slice from the center—the choicest part—and placed it on Carla's plate.

"Thank you, Alpha," she murmured, her eyes downcast in false modesty.

Joseph nodded, already cutting another piece. This one went to Talon.

"Here you go, buddy," he said warmly. "The best for you."

I sat frozen, watching as my mate—my Alpha—violated one of the most basic tenets of pack hierarchy. Nash's small hand found mine under the table, squeezing so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Finally, Joseph looked up, seemingly noticing our empty plates. He quickly carved two more portions—smaller, with more gristle and fat—and placed them before me and Nash.

"Sorry," he muttered, not meeting my eyes. "Got distracted."

The server hovered nearby, his professional demeanor slipping just enough to reveal his confusion. Even he understood what had just happened.

---

I stood so abruptly that my chair scraped against the floor. Without a word, I reached across the table and took Nash's untouched plate. His eyes met mine, understanding passing between us.

"Mom?" Joseph's voice held a note of panic. "What are you doing?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I turned and walked toward the exit, Nash's small hand in mine.

"Sophia!" Joseph called, scrambling to his feet. "Don't be ridiculous!"

But I kept walking, my back straight despite the weight crushing my chest. Behind us, I heard Carla's voice, soft and concerned: "Maybe they're just tired from yesterday's accident."

The valet brought my car around quickly. I helped Nash into his booster seat, then slid behind the wheel. Through the restaurant window, I could see Joseph arguing with the maître d', gesturing wildly.

"Should we wait for Dad?" Nash asked quietly as I pulled away from the curb.

"No," I replied, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. "He's made his choice."

We drove in silence for several minutes before Nash spoke again, his voice small but clear in the darkness of the car.

"Why does Alpha Joseph love Talon more?" he asked, using his father's rank title instead of "Dad" for the first time.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, fighting back tears as my son's words cut deeper than any knife could.