The Pack House doors swing open with a force that rattles the windows, and I know—before I even see him—that Alpha Stefan has returned.

I'm in the back hallway folding linens when the Alpha Command hits. It's like invisible chains wrapping around my spine, forcing my knees to buckle. Every wolf in the house drops simultaneously, heads bowed, necks exposed in submission. I hit the floor hard, my palms catching on the rough stone.

"Welcome home, Alpha!" The chorus rises from dozens of throats.

I keep my head down, counting the cracks in the floor tile. One, two, three—

"Maya Weaver." Stefan's voice cuts through the air like a blade. "Come here."

My stomach drops. Of course he saw me. Of course.

I rise on shaking legs and make my way through the crowd of bowing wolves. They part for me like I'm diseased, which I suppose I am—wolfless, mateless, worthless. The Omega uniform I wear hangs loose on my frame, the gray fabric marking me as the lowest of the low.

Stefan stands in the foyer, tall and commanding in his black Alpha coat. His dark hair is windswept, his jaw set in that familiar hard line. And beside him, draped on his arm like expensive jewelry, is Harlow Duncan.

She's glowing. That's the only word for it. Her auburn hair cascades over her shoulders in perfect waves, and her hand rests protectively over the swell of her pregnant belly. The future Alpha heir. The pack's salvation. Everything I can never give him.

Everything I already gave him, years ago, before his wolf went silent and his memories disappeared.

"On your knees," Stefan says, and the Alpha tone in his voice leaves no room for defiance.

I drop. The cold marble bites into my kneecaps.

"Look at this mess." Harlow's voice is sugar-sweet, laced with poison. She lifts one delicate foot, showing off designer boots caked in mud. "The future mother of the Alpha heir shouldn't have to walk through filth, should she?"

Stefan's eyes—those gray eyes that used to look at me with such warmth—are ice-cold now. "Maya, clean her boots. And the floor. The Luna-to-be deserves pristine ground."

Luna-to-be. The title that should be mine.

I swallow the words burning in my throat and reach for Harlow's boot. My fingers tremble as I unlace it, feeling the weight of every watching eye. The pack members shift uncomfortably. Some look away. Others stare with pity or contempt.

Harlow giggles—actually giggles—as I work. "Be careful, Maya. These cost more than you'll earn in a year."

I don't respond. I learned long ago that silence is survival.

When both boots are clean and the foyer floor scrubbed, Stefan dismisses me with a wave of his hand. I retreat to the shadows, my knees aching, my pride in tatters.

But the humiliation isn't over.

Two hours later, Harlow summons me to the master bedroom—the room that should have been mine. She's sprawled across the massive bed like a queen, her laptop open beside her.

"Maya, darling, I need your help." Her smile is all teeth. "Come here."

I approach slowly, every instinct screaming danger.

"Log into the Alpha's account for me." She gestures to the laptop. "I need to make some purchases for the Mating Ceremony."

My hands move automatically, typing in the credentials I've memorized from years of managing the pack's finances. The screen loads, showing a balance that makes my chest tighten. I built that wealth. I managed every transaction, every investment, every—

"Perfect." Harlow snatches the laptop away. "Now, let's see..."

She pulls up a lingerie website, scrolling through sets of sheer white lace and silk. Each piece is more revealing than the last, designed for a Mating Ceremony—the sacred ritual where a wolf claims his mate.

Where Stefan should have claimed me.

"What do you think?" Harlow holds up the laptop, modeling a barely-there teddy against her body. "Will this please your Alpha? Oh wait—" She laughs, sharp and cruel. "He's not your Alpha anymore, is he? He prefers the scent of a fertile wolf. Someone who can actually give him an heir."

The words land like physical blows. My womb—burned out by the Wolfsbane Stefan forced down my throat months ago—aches with phantom pain.

"I think," I say carefully, my voice steady despite the storm inside me, "that white suits you."

Harlow's eyes narrow, searching for sarcasm, but I keep my face blank.

"Good girl." She adds three sets to the cart, each one more expensive than the last. "You may go."

I leave before she can see my hands shake.

That night, when the Pack House finally quiets, I slip into the kitchen. The ledger books are spread across the table—a mess of errors and miscalculations that the Beta made this week. If I don't fix them, supply orders won't go through. Warriors won't get paid. The pack will suffer.

So I work. I always work.

I'm halfway through correcting a logistics error when footsteps echo in the hallway. I freeze, pen hovering over the page.

Stefan appears in the doorway, barefoot and shirtless, clearly heading for water. He stops when he sees me, his expression unreadable.

For a moment—just a heartbeat—he inhales deeply. His nostrils flare. His hand twitches toward me, fingers reaching—

Then his gaze drops to my Omega uniform.

The warmth in his eyes dies instantly, replaced by cold dismissal.

"Stop pretending you understand pack business," he says flatly. "Go back to the servants' quarters where you belong."

He grabs his water and leaves without another word.

I sit alone in the kitchen, surrounded by the ledgers that prove I understand pack business better than anyone in this house, and I let myself feel it—just for a moment.

The rage. The grief. The burning, desperate need for this to end.

Soon, I promise myself. Soon.

The great hall smells like tension and old wood. I stand in the back row where Omegas belong, my spine pressed against the cold stone wall, trying to make myself invisible. Fifty wolves fill the space, all facing the raised platform where Stefan presides over the monthly pack meeting.

Harlow sits beside him in the Luna's chair—my chair—one hand draped protectively over her swollen belly. She's wearing cream silk that catches the firelight, looking every inch the perfect mate.

I focus on the floor and try to breathe through my mouth.

"Supply routes through the northern border remain secure," Beta Liam reports, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "No rogue activity for three weeks."

Stefan nods, his jaw tight. He's been rubbing his temples since the meeting started, and I can see the tension in his shoulders even from here. His wolf is close to the surface tonight—I can feel it in the air, that electric charge that makes my skin prickle.

Then Harlow gasps.

Every head turns toward her. She sways in her seat, one hand flying to her forehead, the other clutching her stomach. "I—I can't—"

"What's wrong?" Stefan's voice cracks like a whip. He's on his feet instantly, hands hovering over her.

"The smell." Harlow's voice is breathy, pained. "It's so sour. So bitter. Like jealousy and—" She gags delicately. "It's making me sick. The baby—"

Stefan's head snaps up, his eyes scanning the room. His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, and I see the exact moment his gaze locks onto me.

My stomach drops.

"You." The word is a growl.

I don't move. Can't move.

Stefan stalks toward me, and the crowd parts like water. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide, and there's something feral in the way he moves—something that makes my heart hammer against my ribs.

He's in front of me in seconds, and then his hand is around my throat, slamming me back against the wall. The impact knocks the air from my lungs. Stone bites into my shoulder blade, and I feel something pop.

"Your stench is poisoning my mate," he snarls, his face inches from mine. The Alpha Command in his voice makes my knees buckle, but his grip keeps me pinned upright. "Poisoning my heir."

I can't speak. Can't breathe. His fingers are iron bands around my windpipe.

"Stefan—" someone starts, but he cuts them off with a look.

"Get out." The Alpha tone rolls through the room like thunder. "Get out of this hall. Get out of my sight. If I smell you near the Luna again, I'll—"

He doesn't finish. Just releases me so suddenly I collapse to my knees, gasping.

I scramble up and run. Behind me, I hear Harlow's soft, satisfied sigh.

---

The library is supposed to be my refuge. No one comes here except me—the books are too old, too boring for wolves who prefer action to words. I'm on my hands and knees scrubbing the baseboards when I hear the footsteps.

Light. Quick. A child's gait.

I look up and find Jaxon Duncan watching me from the doorway. Harlow's son is ten years old, all sharp angles and cruel eyes. He's wearing an expensive jacket and a smirk that's pure poison.

"Hello, Omega," he says sweetly.

I sit back on my heels, keeping my voice neutral. "Jaxon. Shouldn't you be in lessons?"

"Shouldn't you be dead?" He steps into the room, and I see his hands start to shift—fingers elongating into claws, nails sharpening to points. His control is terrible, the shift incomplete and unstable.

"Your mother wouldn't like you shifting indoors," I say carefully, rising to my feet.

He laughs. "My mother says you're a disease. Says you should've been thrown out years ago."

I edge toward the door, but he moves to block me. Fast. Too fast.

"Where are you going?" His claws flex. "We're just playing."

"Jaxon—"

He lunges. I sidestep, and his claws rake across the bookshelf instead of my face. He snarls, frustrated, and then I see it—the silver lighter in his other hand.

Where did he get that?

He flicks it open. The flame dances between us.

"Hold still," he says, and there's something dead in his eyes. Something learned.

I try to move past him, but he's quicker. The flame touches my forearm, and pain explodes white-hot across my skin. I cry out and shove him away—not hard, just enough to break contact.

He stumbles backward and hits the floor.

Then he starts screaming.

"Help! She's hurting me! Help!"

The library door slams open. Stefan fills the doorway, his face twisted with rage.

Jaxon is sobbing now, real tears streaming down his face. "She burned me, Alpha! She tried to hurt me!"

I'm still clutching my arm, the smell of burned flesh making my stomach turn. "That's not—"

Stefan's hand connects with my face before I can finish. The slap echoes through the library. My head snaps to the side, and I taste blood.

"You dare touch the future Alpha?" His voice is deadly quiet.

I look up at him, my cheek throbbing. "He burned me. Look—"

Stefan glances at my arm—at the angry red welt already blistering—and dismisses it with a wave. "Puppy play. He's learning to control his shift."

"He had a lighter—"

"Enough." The Alpha Command slams into me like a physical force. "You will report to the training grounds. Outdoor labor. No coat. You'll work until I say you can stop."

Through the window, I can see the sky darkening. Rain clouds gathering.

"It's going to storm," I whisper.

Stefan's smile is cruel. "Then you'd better work fast."

He scoops Jaxon into his arms, murmuring comfort, and leaves me standing in the library with my burned arm and bleeding lip.

Outside, the first drops of rain begin to fall.

The rain turns to sleet somewhere around midnight.

I'm on my knees in the mud, hands raw and bleeding as I scrub the training ground stones. My fingers are numb. The burn on my arm screams with every movement, the blistered skin splitting open in the cold. No coat. No gloves. Just me and the storm and the punishment that never seems to end.

Then I feel it.

A presence in my mind. Not the pack link—that's been silent for years, ever since Stefan's wolf went dormant and stopped recognizing me. This is different. Foreign. Warm.

*Maya.*

I freeze, my hands hovering over the stone.

*It's Jamison. Don't speak. Just listen.*

Alpha Jamison White. My childhood friend. The wolf who used to chase me through the woods before fate decided Stefan was mine. Before everything fell apart.

*I know what happened today. The hall. The child. The burn on your arm.*

How does he—

*I'm at the border. My warriors are ready. Say the word and we breach the treaty. We'll have you out in ten minutes.*

My heart lurches. War. He's offering me war.

The sleet stings my face as I shake my head, even though he can't see me. My thoughts tumble out in a desperate rush. *No. Please. Innocent wolves will die. The pack members who've been kind to me—they don't deserve to be caught in this. And Stefan... his wolf is still in there somewhere. I can feel it. If you attack, it might push him further away.*

*Maya—*

*Please, Jamison. Just wait. A little longer. I can't be responsible for bloodshed. Not yet.*

The silence stretches. Then: *You're too good for this world. But I'll wait. For now. But Maya—if he hurts you again, treaty be damned.*

The presence fades, leaving me alone in the storm.

I press my forehead against the cold stone and let myself cry. Just for a moment. Just until the sleet washes the tears away.

---

I don't know that while I'm freezing in the rain, Harlow is warm and dry in the woods.

I don't know she's meeting with Elara Vance, the rogue witch who's been supplying her scent-mimicking potions for years.

I don't know that Harlow's hands are shaking as she clutches a velvet pouch of gold coins.

"It's not working anymore," Harlow hisses, her perfect composure cracking. "His wolf is stirring. He looks at her and I see something in his eyes—recognition. Memory. I need something stronger."

Elara's smile is sharp in the moonlight. "Stronger comes with risks. The new batch is more volatile. If you use too much, he'll know it's artificial."

"I don't care. I need him bound to me. Permanently."

The witch produces two vials from her cloak. One is amber, swirling with an oily sheen. The other is clear as water but somehow darker, like liquid shadow.

"The amber is your new scent. Use it sparingly." Elara holds up the clear vial. "This is concentrated Wolfsbane. Liquid form. One drop can kill a wolf's connection to their inner beast. A full vial..." She trails off meaningfully. "It eliminates threats. Permanently."

Harlow takes both vials with trembling fingers. "How much?"

"Double your usual payment. And Harlow?" Elara's eyes glitter. "If this traces back to me, I'll make sure everyone knows who's been buying."

Harlow's jaw tightens. She drops the pouch and disappears into the trees.

The witch counts her coins and smiles.

---

The next morning, Stefan summons me to the master bedroom.

I'm still damp from the storm, my uniform clinging to my skin, the burn on my arm wrapped in a crude bandage I made from kitchen cloth. Every step up the stairs sends pain shooting through my knees.

Stefan is standing by the window when I enter. He doesn't turn around.

"The Luna Suite needs to be prepared," he says flatly. "Harlow wants it converted into a nursery. You'll handle the renovation."

The Luna Suite. The room at the end of the hall with the bay windows and the morning light. The room where Stefan first kissed me, years ago, when his wolf was whole and his eyes were warm.

The room that should have been ours.

"Understood, Alpha," I whisper.

"Paint the walls cream. Assemble the crib. Harlow has specific requirements—she'll provide a list." He finally turns to face me, and I see the dark circles under his eyes. The tension in his jaw. "I want it perfect. The future Alpha heir deserves perfection."

I nod and turn to leave.

"Maya."

I stop.

"Don't touch anything that isn't on the list. That room is sacred now."

Sacred. The word is a knife between my ribs.

---

I spend the afternoon in the Luna Suite, painting walls that used to echo with laughter. The cream color covers the soft blue we—I—chose years ago. Each brushstroke feels like erasing myself.

The crib arrives in pieces. I'm on the floor assembling it when Stefan appears in the doorway.

I don't look up. Just keep working, my burned arm protesting with every twist of the screwdriver.

He's silent for a long moment. Then he makes a sound—sharp, pained. I glance up and see him gripping the doorframe, his face twisted.

"Alpha?"

"Shut up." But his voice is strained. He presses his palm against his temple, and I see his hand shaking.

A migraine. He's been getting them more frequently.

Then his eyes go distant. Unfocused. Like he's seeing something that isn't there.

His lips move. "You were laughing. In this room. You were—"

He cuts himself off, and when his gaze snaps back to me, it's pure fury.

"You're pathetic," he snarls. "Kneeling on the floor like the Omega you are. You think you belong here? You think you ever belonged in this room?"

I keep my eyes down. "No, Alpha."

"You're nothing. A wolfless waste of space who can't even give me an heir. Harlow is everything you're not—fertile, strong, worthy."

Each word lands like a physical blow, but I don't flinch. Can't flinch.

"Get out when you're done," he says. "And don't come back unless you're summoned."

He leaves, and I'm alone with the half-assembled crib and the ghost of who we used to be.

I finish the work in silence.

But something has shifted. In the way Stefan looked at me. In the memory that flickered across his face before the cruelty returned.

His wolf is waking up.

And Harlow knows it.