I stayed frozen in the shadows of the hallway, my breath shallow and terrified. Through the crack in the door, the scene unfolded like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. Nicolas was still smiling at Simone, a look of ease on his face that I hadn't seen directed at me in a decade.

Simone moved around the desk, her hips swaying with deliberate slowness. She picked up a steaming mug from a small warmer. The scent wafted out into the hallway—a heavy, cloying smell of lavender and something darker, bitter like burnt sugar. It was the same tea she made him drink every night before bed. She claimed it was for his nerves, to keep the wolf dormant.

"Here, Alpha," she purred, pressing the mug into his hands. Her fingers lingered on his skin, tracing the veins on the back of his hand. "Drink this. It will help you sleep."

Nicolas took a long sip, his eyes fluttering shut as if the liquid was liquid peace. "You always know what I need, Simone."

She leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear. "Only I know what you need, Nicolas. Only my voice soothes the beast. Everyone else is just noise. Especially her. Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard, isn't it? Sharp. Painful."

I watched, horrified, as Nicolas nodded slowly, his expression glassy. "Yes," he murmured, his voice slurring slightly. "Sharp. Painful."

"But I am the calm," she whispered, stroking his hair. "I am the only one who saved you."

"You saved me," he repeated robotically.

The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. It wasn't just the tea. It was hypnosis. Conditioning. For five years, she had been poisoning him against me, wiring his brain to associate my voice with pain and hers with pleasure. My silence hadn't been protecting him; it had been aiding her. I had made myself small so she could become his world.

Rage, hot and unfamiliar, bubbled up in my chest. It burned away the fear, the grief over my lost baby, the shame of my empty womb. I backed away from the door, my hands trembling not with weakness, but with fury. I wouldn't be silent anymore.

I didn't sleep that night. I sat on the edge of my hospital bed, staring at the door, waiting for the sun to rise. When the first gray light of dawn filtered through the blinds, I stood up. My legs were weak, and the incision on my stomach pulled painfully, but I didn't care. I walked out of the hospital wing, ignoring the startled nurse at the desk, and headed straight for the Alpha's office.

The pack house was waking up. I passed omegas who scrambled out of my way, their eyes widening at the sight of their Luna walking with such grim determination. I reached the heavy oak doors of his office and didn't bother knocking. I pushed them open.

Nicolas was behind his desk, reviewing paperwork. He looked up, his brow furrowing in irritation. "Cecilia? You are supposed to be in recovery. Get back to bed."

I walked to the center of the room. My throat felt like it was filled with rusted razor blades. I hadn't spoken above a whisper in five years. My voice was a stranger to me.

"No," I said.

The word came out raspy, broken, and ugly. But it was loud.

Nicolas flinched violently, dropping his pen. His hands flew to his ears, his face twisting in a grimace of pure disgust. "Stop it!" he roared, his eyes flashing with that dangerous black light. "Don't speak! You know what it does to me!"

"It does nothing to you!" I pushed my voice harder, forcing it through the unused cords. It hurt, but the truth needed to be heard. "It's her, Nicolas. It's the tea!"

He stood up, looking at me like I was a monster. "You're hysterical. You're hurting me!"

"I'm not hurting you! She is drugging you!" I took a step forward, desperate to reach him through the fog Simone had created. "I saw you last night. You were laughing with her! You aren't broken, Nicolas. She's making you hate me!"

He slammed his fist on the desk, cracking the wood. "Enough! Your voice is poison!"

The door behind me burst open. Simone rushed in, breathless, her lab coat flying behind her. "Alpha! I heard shouting! Is everything okay?"

She took one look at me and then at Nicolas, assessing the situation instantly. She rushed to his side, placing a hand on his chest. "Breathe, Alpha. Just listen to my voice. Focus on me."

Nicolas leaned into her touch immediately, his rigid shoulders slumping. He looked at her with desperate relief. "Make it stop, Simone. She's screaming at me."

I wasn't screaming. I was barely speaking at a normal volume. But to him, conditioned by her drugs, I must have sounded like a siren.

"She's lying, Nicolas!" I croaked, pointing a shaking finger at the healer. "Tell him about the herbs! Tell him about the hypnosis!"

Simone turned to me, her face a mask of pity and professional concern. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a file, tossing it onto the desk. "Oh, Cecilia. I was hoping to spare you this."

"What is that?" Nicolas asked, his voice rough.

"I ran some tests after the... accident with the baby," Simone said smoothly, her fingers stroking Nicolas's arm to keep him calm. "The trauma of the miscarriage has triggered a severe episode of postpartum psychosis. She's paranoid, Nicolas. Delusional. She's inventing enemies to cope with her grief."

"I am not crazy!" I yelled, but my voice cracked, making me sound exactly like the unhinged woman she was painting me to be.

Nicolas looked at the file, then at me. The disgust in his eyes solidified into cold, hard judgment. He didn't see his mate. He saw a broken, dangerous thing.

"She's right," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. "You've lost your mind, Cecilia."

"Nicolas, please," I begged, tears streaming down my face. "I'm your mate. Look at me. Remember who saved you from the fire! It wasn't her!"

"Simone saved me," he snapped, the lie fully rooted in his mind. "And she is saving me now from you."

He pressed the intercom button on his desk. "Security to my office. Immediately."

Two Gamma warriors appeared in the doorway seconds later.

"Take the Luna to the isolation ward," Nicolas ordered, not looking at me. He was looking at Simone, seeking her approval. "She is a danger to herself and the pack. Keep her there until Dr. Whitehall says otherwise."

"Nicolas, no!" I screamed as the warriors grabbed my arms. "Don't do this! She's controlling you!"

Simone watched me being dragged away, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips that only I could see. As the doors closed, shutting me out, the last thing I saw was Nicolas burying his face in her neck, inhaling the scent of the woman who was destroying us both.

The grip of the Gamma warriors on my arms was iron-tight, bruising flesh that was already tender from surgery. My feet dragged against the plush carpet of Nicolas’s office, leaving faint scuff marks—the only evidence I was fighting for my life.

"Get her out of here," Nicolas growled, his hand pressed to his temple as if my very existence gave him a migraine. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at Simone, his eyes glazed with that drug-induced devotion that made my stomach churn.

Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the haze of my grief. If they dragged me to the isolation ward now, I would never come out. Simone would make sure of it. An "unfortunate complication" from my surgery, or perhaps a "suicide" born of postpartum madness. I would die in a padded room, silenced forever, while she played house with my mate and my pack.

No.

Adrenaline surged, borrowing strength I didn't have. I didn't shift—I couldn't, not with my body so broken—but I used the element of surprise. I stomped hard on the instep of the warrior to my left. He grunted, his grip loosening just a fraction. I twisted my body, ripping my arm free, and shoved him into the other guard.

They stumbled, tangled in a heap of limbs.

I didn't run for the door. I ran for him.

I slammed my hands onto his desk, leaning over the scattered paperwork, forcing him to look at me. His eyes were dark, swirling with irritation and that unnatural fog, but for a split second, I saw a flicker of the boy I saved from the fire ten years ago.

"Look at me!" I screamed, my voice raw and scraping like gravel. It wasn't a whisper. It was a command.

Nicolas flinched, his lip curling back to reveal teeth. "Silence, Cecilia!"

"I will not be silent!" I gasped, the air burning my lungs. "You want to be rid of me? You want her? Then take her. But you will know what you are losing."

I drew a deep breath, the kind that rattles in your chest before death. The ancient words rose up, heavy and final. They tasted like ash.

"I, Cecilia Anderson..."

The air in the room shifted instantly. The temperature dropped, frost creeping across the window pane. The magic of the Moon Goddess recognized the ritual beginning.

Nicolas froze. His eyes widened, the blackness receding for a moment to reveal terrified amber. "What are you doing? Stop!"

"...reject you, Alpha Nicolas Blackwood..."

A groan ripped from his throat. He doubled over, clutching his chest as if an invisible arrow had pierced his heart. The bond—that golden, twisted thread that had tethered us for years—began to vibrate, humming with the tension of a snapping violin string. The pain hit me too, a phantom blade slicing through my soul, but I welcomed it. It was better than the numbness.

"...as my mate!"

CRACK.

The sound wasn't physical, but we all heard it. A thunderclap in a quiet room. Nicolas fell to his knees, a guttural roar of agony tearing from his throat. He clawed at the carpet, gasping, his Alpha aura flickering and dying out like a suffocated candle.

I stood there, trembling, tears streaming down my face. It was done. I was breaking us to save myself.

But Simone was faster.

She saw her prize slipping away. If the bond snapped completely, Nicolas would be weakened, perhaps even killed by the shock, and her puppet would be broken. Her eyes darted to the silver letter opener on the desk—a sharp, gleaming blade meant for envelopes, not flesh.

"She's killing him!" Simone shrieked, her voice reaching a pitch that shattered glass. "She's using dark magic!"

Before I could react, Simone snatched the letter opener. She didn't lunge at me. She turned the blade on herself.

With a sickening slice, she dragged the silver edge across her own forearm. Blood, bright and metallic-smelling, sprayed across the desk and onto Nicolas’s face.

"Help me, Alpha! She's trying to kill me!"

The scent of blood hit Nicolas like a physical blow. His head snapped up. The amber in his eyes was gone, swallowed instantly by the void of the feral wolf. The beast didn't see logic. It didn't see the woman who had loved him for a decade. It only smelled blood. It only heard the distress call of the woman he had been brainwashed to protect.

He didn't even stand up fully. He launched himself from the floor, a blur of muscle and violence.

"No!" I raised my hands, a futile gesture against an Alpha's rage.

He collided with me, the impact driving the air from my lungs. I felt the searing heat of claws before I felt the pain. They tore through the silk of my blouse, through skin and muscle, raking across my chest and throat in a vicious, diagonal slash.

I was thrown backward like a ragdoll. My spine collided with the heavy mahogany bookshelf, books tumbling down around me like falling masonry. I slid to the floor, my hands instinctively clutching my throat.

Warmth. So much warmth, soaking my hands, my chest.

I tried to inhale, but all I could do was gurgle. Blood bubbled past my lips, metallic and hot. My vision swam, the edges turning dark and fuzzy.

Across the room, the silence returned. Heavy. Final.

Nicolas stood over the desk, his chest heaving, his claws dripping crimson onto the pristine carpet. The scent of my blood—his mate's blood—finally pierced through the drugs and the rage.

He blinked. Once. Twice. The blackness in his eyes receded, leaving him staring at his own hands in horror.

"Cecilia?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

I couldn't answer. I couldn't breathe. I slumped sideways, my cheek pressing against the cold floor, watching the red pool spread around me like a halo. The last thing I saw was Simone, clutching her arm, a look of pure, satisfied malice on her face as the darkness finally swallowed me whole.

The world didn't fade to black like in the movies. It faded to red. A thick, suffocating crimson that smelled of iron and betrayal. I was floating, drifting away from the pain in my throat and the hollow ache in my womb, but the sounds of the emergency room kept dragging me back.

"BP is dropping! She's crashing!"

"Get the defibrillator! Now!"

I felt the cold press of pads against my chest, then a jolt that lifted my broken body off the table. But I didn't want to go back. Why would I? Back there, I was silent. Back there, my mate had looked at me with eyes full of murder because a liar told him to. Back there, my baby was gone.

Through the glass of the observation window, I saw him. Nicolas. He was slumped against the wall, sliding down until he hit the floor. His hands were gripping his chest, clawing at his dress shirt as if trying to rip out his own heart. The bond. He felt it. He felt the light of my soul flickering out.

Good.

I hoped it hurt. I hoped it burned him the way his rejection had burned me.

"We're losing her! Time of death..."

The machine let out a long, high-pitched whine. A flatline. The sound of freedom.

Dr. Elena Frost looked up at the monitor, then at the window where Nicolas was now pounding on the glass, screaming silently, his Alpha composure shattered. Elena’s eyes met mine—or rather, the empty shell I had left behind. She gave a microscopic nod.

"Call it," she whispered to the nurse, her voice trembling just enough to be convincing. "Luna Cecilia Anderson. Time of death: 11:42 AM."

Darkness finally took me, but it wasn't the end. It was just the intermission.

***

I woke up to the sensation of cold. Bone-deep, shivering cold. The smell of antiseptic was gone, replaced by the scent of pine and exhaust fumes.

"Easy, Cece. Easy now."

The voice was rough, familiar. It smelled like old leather and rainstorms. I forced my heavy eyelids open. I was in the back of a van, strapped to a gurney. Wires were hooked up to a portable machine that beeped rhythmically next to my head.

"Dad?" The word was a mangled croak. My throat felt like it had been shredded.

"Don't speak," Arthur Anderson said, his face looming over me. He looked older than the last time I’d seen him, the silver streaks in his hair more pronounced. He adjusted the IV drip hanging from the van's ceiling. "Your throat... Nicolas did a number on you. Elena stitched it up before we moved you, but you need to rest."

I tried to sit up, panic flaring. "Nicolas... he thinks..."

"He thinks you're dead," my father said grimly. He placed a warm hand on my shoulder, pushing me back down. "They're burying an empty casket right now. A closed casket, out of 'respect' for the damage the Alpha did."

A bitter laugh bubbled in my chest, turning into a cough that rattled my ribs. A funeral for the Luna he killed. I wondered if Simone was there, fake-crying into a handkerchief, or if she was already measuring the windows for new drapes in the Alpha's suite.

"Why?" I rasped. "Why save me?"

Arthur’s expression hardened. The mask of the businessman fell away, revealing the Rogue King beneath. His eyes flashed with a dangerous, predatory light. "Because you are my daughter. And because the Anderson line does not bow to broken Alphas."

The van hit a bump, and I winced. Through the small rear window, I saw snow-capped mountains in the distance. We weren't in New York anymore. We weren't even close.

"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

"The Alps," he said softly. "My stronghold. It’s the only place his reach cannot extend. We have healers there—real ones, not witches like that Whitehall woman. They will fix your throat. They will fix your body."

He paused, looking down at my hands. They were pale, trembling, stained with dried blood under my fingernails. My wedding ring was gone. Elena must have taken it off.

"But the rest," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that carried the weight of a promise, "the rest is up to you. You died today, Cecilia. The silent, obedient girl who let them break her is gone."

I closed my eyes, feeling the vibration of the road beneath me. He was right. That girl had died on the floor of the Alpha's office, choking on her own blood while her mate watched.

I reached up and touched the thick bandages around my neck. Underneath, I knew there would be a scar. A jagged, ugly line to match the one on my womb. But scars were just reminders.

"I want to kill him," I whispered. The thought didn't scare me. It grounded me.

My father smiled, a cold, terrifying expression that mirrored the ice in my own heart. "Good. But death is too easy for Nicolas Blackwood. First, we make him regret he ever learned to howl."

The van sped up, carrying me away from the Blood Moon Pack, away from the pain, and toward a future where I would no longer be the victim. I let the darkness take me again, but this time, I wasn't falling. I was waiting.