The Omega quarters smelled like mildew and despair.

I dragged my single bag through the narrow hallway, past rooms where other low-ranked wolves lived in cramped spaces with peeling paint and drafty windows. My new room was at the end—barely large enough for a twin bed and a rickety dresser. Water stains bloomed across the ceiling like bruises.

Three years in the Alpha's suite, and this was where I belonged all along.

I set my bag down and immediately heard the whispers start. Through the thin walls, voices carried.

"Can you believe she actually thought she was special?"

"Sleeping in the Alpha's bed like some kind of Luna."

"Bet she's heartbroken now that the real mate's back."

Laughter. Cruel and sharp.

I pressed my palm against the cold wall and closed my eyes. Let them talk. I'd survived worse.

Two days passed in a blur of kitchen shifts and avoiding eye contact. The pack house buzzed with excitement over Bella's return—the miracle mate, back from the dead. I scrubbed pots until my hands cracked and bled, kept my head down, tried to become invisible.

Then she came to visit.

I was folding my spare uniform when the door opened without a knock. Bella stood in the doorway, backlit by the hallway light, looking like something out of a fairy tale in a cream-colored dress that probably cost more than I'd earn in a year.

"Norah." Her voice was honey-sweet. "I wanted to see where you'd ended up."

I straightened slowly. "Luna."

"Oh, not yet." She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The room shrank around her presence. "But soon. Very soon."

She circled the tiny space, trailing one perfect finger along the dresser, leaving a line in the dust. When she turned back to me, her smile had teeth.

"You smell like him," she said softly. "Too much like him. It's... concerning."

My throat went dry. "The contract—"

"Is over." She moved closer, and I caught her scent—jasmine and roses, the same perfume I'd worn for three years. But on her, it was natural. Real. "I'm back now. Xander doesn't need a cheap substitute anymore."

Each word was a calculated strike.

"I understand," I whispered.

"Do you?" She tilted her head, studying me like I was something unpleasant she'd found on her shoe. "Because I've noticed the way his wolf still searches for something during training. The way he gets... distracted. And I can't help but wonder if you've been doing more than just wearing perfume."

"I haven't—"

"Stay invisible, Norah." Her voice dropped to a whisper that somehow felt louder than a shout. "Stay in your little room. Do your kitchen work. And if I catch even a hint of you trying to get his attention..." She leaned in close enough that I could see the cold calculation in her eyes. "Well. Accidents happen to Omegas all the time. Especially ones without protection."

She left as silently as she'd come, and I sank onto the bed, my legs suddenly unable to hold me.

The next morning, Dr. Ramos found me in the kitchen.

His face was gray. Drawn.

"Norah, I—" He glanced around at the other kitchen workers, then lowered his voice. "I need to speak with you. About Cal."

The world tilted.

We stepped into the hallway, and he couldn't meet my eyes. "The Alpha has ordered us to discontinue the elite treatments. He says the pack's resources are too strained to support... charity cases."

Charity cases.

Cal. My brother. Dying.

"No." The word came out broken. "No, there has to be—I'll work more shifts. I'll do anything. Please."

"I'm sorry." Dr. Ramos's voice was thick with regret. "The order came from the Alpha himself. There's nothing I can do."

I ran.

Through the pack house, up the stairs to the Alpha's office. I didn't care about protocol. Didn't care about staying invisible. Cal was dying.

I burst through the door without knocking.

Xander sat behind his massive desk, and Bella was draped across his lap like a cat, her arms around his neck. They both turned to stare at me.

"Alpha, please." I fell to my knees, my pride shattering on the hardwood floor. "Please don't stop Cal's treatment. I'll do anything. Double shifts. Triple. I'll—"

"Norah." Xander's voice was ice. "You're interrupting."

"My brother is dying."

"Your brother is not my responsibility." He stroked Bella's hair absently, his attention already drifting back to her. "The contract is fulfilled. You're no longer under my protection, which means your family matters are your own."

"But the treatments—"

"Are expensive and reserved for pack members who contribute value." His gray eyes were empty of anything resembling compassion. "Your brother is weak. Wolfless. The pack can't afford to waste resources on lost causes."

Lost causes.

Bella smiled at me over Xander's shoulder. Triumphant.

"Please," I whispered. "I'm begging you."

"Then beg someone else." Xander turned his chair, dismissing me with his back. "Close the door on your way out."

I stood on shaking legs. Stumbled toward the door. The hallway stretched endlessly before me, the walls pressing in, the air too thin.

Cal. Cal was going to die.

Because of me. Because I wasn't worth protecting anymore.

The floor rushed up to meet me, and the last thing I heard was someone shouting my name from very far away.

The nurse's hands were gentle as she drew my blood, but her eyes held something I couldn't read. Pity, maybe. Or concern.

"Just routine," she murmured, labeling the vial with careful precision. "You fainted yesterday. Dr. Ramos wants to rule out anemia."

I nodded, too numb to speak. The lower-tier clinic smelled like antiseptic and old linoleum—nothing like the pristine infirmary where Cal lay three floors above, his treatments discontinued, his body slowly failing.

The nurse disappeared behind a curtain. I heard the soft beep of machines, the rustle of papers. When she returned, her face had changed.

"Norah." She pulled a chair close, sat down so our eyes were level. "You're pregnant."

The words didn't register at first. Just sounds. Syllables.

Then they hit.

"No." My voice cracked. "That's—that's not possible."

"About six weeks along, from what I can tell." She squeezed my hand. "Does the Alpha know?"

The Alpha. Xander. Who had used my body as a vessel for his grief, who had paid me like a prostitute, who had thrown me away the moment his real mate returned.

A pup. His pup. Growing inside me.

"No one can know," I whispered. "Please. No one."

The nurse's expression shifted to understanding. To fear. Because we both knew what this meant—an Omega carrying an Alpha's child outside a recognized bond. With Bella back, with Xander's protection withdrawn, this pup was a target. A threat to the perfect reunion everyone was celebrating.

"I won't tell," she promised. "But Norah, you need to be careful. Very careful."

I stumbled out of the clinic in a daze, one hand pressed to my still-flat stomach. A life. A tiny spark of life that had somehow taken root in all this darkness.

I had to protect it. Had to figure out a plan.

But first, I had to survive.

Two days later, I was serving dinner at the high table when Bella's head snapped up.

I was carrying a platter of roasted meat, moving as invisibly as possible through the great hall. But when I passed behind her chair, she went completely still. Her nostrils flared.

Then she turned, her eyes locking onto mine with predatory focus.

"You," she said softly. "Come here."

I obeyed, setting the platter down with shaking hands. Xander barely glanced at me, too absorbed in conversation with his Beta.

Bella stood, circling me slowly. Inhaling deeply. Her expression shifted from curiosity to shock to cold, calculated rage.

"Your scent," she murmured, too quiet for anyone else to hear. "It's... changed."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "I don't—"

"Hormones." Her smile was razor-sharp. "You're carrying his pup, aren't you?"

I stepped back, but her hand shot out, gripping my wrist with bruising force.

"Does he know?" she hissed.

"No. Please—"

"Good." She released me, smoothing her dress with deliberate calm. "Keep it that way. In fact, meet me at the training grounds tomorrow morning. Six a.m. sharp. I have an errand that requires... discretion."

It wasn't a request.

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.

That night, I couldn't sleep. Every instinct screamed danger. But what choice did I have? If I refused, she'd tell Xander. Or worse—she'd find another way to eliminate the threat I represented.

At dawn, I walked to the training grounds on legs that felt like water.

The field was empty, mist clinging to the grass. Bella stood in the center, already in training clothes, her expression serene.

"Thank you for coming," she said pleasantly. "I need you to retrieve something from the equipment shed. A specific training dummy. The one marked with red tape."

I moved toward the shed, my skin crawling with wrongness.

I never made it.

The shift happened so fast I barely registered it—one moment Bella was human, the next a massive gray wolf was launching at me, jaws wide.

I screamed, throwing up my arms.

Her teeth closed around my throat.

Pain exploded through me, white-hot and all-consuming. I felt my vocal cords tear, felt warm blood pour down my neck. I tried to scream again but only a wet gurgle emerged.

She shook me like a rag doll, then threw me to the ground.

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't make sound. My hands clawed at my throat, trying to hold the torn flesh together.

Bella shifted back to human form, standing over me with cold satisfaction. "Rogue intruder," she said calmly, as if rehearsing. "I defended the pack. So tragic."

Then she knelt, and I felt a sharp sting in my side—her claws, injecting something that burned like acid through my veins.

"For the bastard pup," she whispered. "Can't have you birthing an heir, can we?"

She walked away, calling for help, her voice rising in false panic.

I lay in the grass, choking on my own blood, feeling the poison spread through my body like ice.

My hand found my stomach.

I'm sorry, I thought to the tiny life inside me. I'm so sorry.

Darkness crept in from the edges of my vision.

And the last thing I heard was Bella's voice, sweet and concerned, telling the arriving guards how she'd bravely fought off a rogue who'd somehow infiltrated their territory.

I woke to the smell of rust and stone.

My throat was on fire. Every breath scraped like broken glass. I tried to speak, to call for help, but nothing came out except a wet, rasping wheeze that made my eyes water.

The dungeon. I was in the pack dungeon.

I pushed myself upright, my body screaming in protest. Bandages wrapped tight around my neck, already stained rust-brown. My hand went to my stomach—still there, still rounded. The pup. My pup was still alive.

Footsteps echoed down the stone corridor. Heavy. Deliberate.

Xander appeared outside the iron bars, his face carved from granite. Behind him, Bella clung to his arm, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. The perfect picture of a traumatized mate.

"You're awake." His voice was flat. Empty.

I tried to speak. Tried to tell him what really happened. But only that horrible rasping sound emerged, and pain exploded through my ruined throat.

"Don't bother." He gripped the bars, his knuckles white. "Bella told me everything. How you attacked her out of jealousy. How you tried to kill her because you couldn't accept that I chose my true mate over a replacement."

I shook my head frantically, pointing at Bella, then at my throat. She did this. She did this.

"My wolf sensed it," Xander continued, and something flickered in his eyes. Pain. Confusion. "The pup. You're carrying my pup."

Bella's grip on his arm tightened. "Xander, please. She's dangerous. She tried to kill me. Who knows what she'll do to—"

"The pup stays alive." His voice cracked like a whip. "That's my blood. My heir."

Hope flared in my chest. He would protect us. He had to.

"You'll remain here," he said, and that hope shattered. "For your safety and everyone else's. The dungeon is the only place I can guarantee you won't try something else."

I grabbed the bars, shaking them. Tried to scream. Only silence and agony.

"Once the pup is born," Xander continued, his gaze sliding away from mine, "Bella will raise it as her own. You'll be exiled. Sent to the Rogue lands where you belong."

Bella's smile was small. Victorious.

I sank to my knees, my hands still gripping the cold iron. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real.

"It's mercy, Norah." Xander's voice softened, just slightly. "More than you deserve after what you did. Be grateful I'm letting you live long enough to birth my child."

He turned and walked away, Bella tucked against his side, leaving me alone in the dark.

Time became meaningless.

Days bled into weeks. Weeks into months. My belly grew, stretching the thin prison dress they'd given me. The pup moved inside me—small flutters at first, then stronger kicks that made my eyes sting with tears I refused to shed.

They brought me food twice a day. Thin gruel. Stale bread. Water that tasted faintly metallic. I ate because the pup needed me to eat. I drank because the alternative was death.

But I was getting weaker.

The guards who brought my meals wouldn't meet my eyes. Sometimes I heard whispers—about Cal, about how he'd taken a turn for the worse. How he was barely conscious anymore.

I pressed my hands to the stone wall separating the dungeon from the infirmary wing and tried to send him strength through sheer will. Hold on. Please hold on.

One morning, I noticed something in my water cup. A faint shimmer. An oily residue clinging to the sides.

Poison.

Not enough to kill quickly. Just enough to weaken. To sicken.

I thought of Cal's sudden decline. Of the infirmary's water supply, connected to the same pipes that fed the dungeon.

Bella.

She was killing us both. Slowly. Carefully. Making it look natural.

Rage burned through the fog of exhaustion. I couldn't let her win. Wouldn't let her take my brother and my pup.

I had to get out.

The lock on my cell was old. Rusty. The guards were lazy, confident that a pregnant Omega posed no threat. During meals, I palmed a spoon—bent and tarnished, but metal.

Every night, after the last guard check, I worked at the lock mechanism. Scraping. Prying. My fingers bled. My shoulders ached. The pup kicked against my ribs as if urging me on.

Weeks passed. The lock loosened, bit by bit.

Then one night, I heard it—the distant sound of howls. Alarms. Shouting.

A Rogue attack.

The guards ran past my cell, weapons drawn, leaving the dungeon corridor empty.

I grabbed the spoon and jammed it into the lock one final time.

Something clicked.

The door swung open.

I stood on shaking legs, one hand on my swollen belly, and stumbled toward the infirmary wing.

Toward Cal.

Toward freedom.