The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread filled the kitchen, but it did nothing to warm the hollow space inside my chest. My fingers trembled as I shaped dough, the fever still clinging to my bones like a second skin. It had worsened since dawn, turning my limbs sluggish, my thoughts hazy.

But there was no time to rest.

I pressed forward, kneading until my hands ached, pushing past the exhaustion weighing me down. The grand hall would be filled with guests in a few days, and everything had to be perfect.

Not that it would matter.

The feast, the decorations, the effort—I could already hear the pack whispering about how Celeste was the true Luna, how she would have done it all with more grace, more beauty.

Celeste, who walked through the halls like she had been born to rule them.

Celeste, who had taken everything from me.

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and continued my work, my movements methodical, precise. At least in this kitchen, I still had a purpose.

Until even that was taken from me.

The sound of approaching footsteps made me tense, and when the door swung open, my stomach twisted.

Two she-wolves entered, their hushed whispers trailing behind them like a breeze. I recognized them immediately—Camille and Lorna, two of the higher-ranked warriors' mates. They didn’t bother lowering their voices when they saw me.

They never did.

"Celeste looked stunning last night, didn’t she?" Camille sighed, her voice sickly sweet.

"Of course," Lorna agreed. "She is our Luna."

The words sent a sharp pang through my chest, but I forced myself to keep kneading, pretending I didn’t hear them.

"But poor Maya," Camille went on, tilting her head in mock pity. "Still lurking in the kitchens, still pretending she has a place here."

Lorna laughed, a sharp, cruel sound. "I heard Alpha Ryker finally admitted it last night."

My hands stilled.

"What do you mean?" Camille asked, her voice laced with eager curiosity.

Lorna smirked. "During the warriors’ meeting. He called Celeste his true Luna."

The room seemed to shrink around me, the words pressing against my ribs, making it hard to breathe.

True Luna.

I gripped the edge of the counter, willing my body to stay upright, to not let them see the way their words cut through me like a blade.

Camille let out a delighted gasp. "Oh, that must have been so romantic! He’s finally acknowledging her openly."

Lorna hummed in agreement. "It’s about time. Celeste has done more for this pack in a few months than Maya has in years. It’s embarrassing, really."

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.

More for the pack?

Celeste had done nothing but prance around in silks and soak in the attention Ryker showered on her. She had never trained beside the warriors, never tended to the sick or helped with the wounded. She had never sacrificed, never endured.

I had.

I had given my youth, my love, my soul to this pack.

And yet, I was nothing to them.

The two she-wolves continued to chatter, their voices grating against my ears, until finally, they left, their laughter echoing down the hallway.

Only then did I allow myself to exhale.

My hands trembled as I reached for the flour, forcing myself to focus, to not let their words burrow too deeply into my already fragile heart.

I told myself that I was staying for Adrian. That none of this mattered because he mattered.

But the truth had become impossible to ignore.

He didn’t need me.

He barely even liked me.

I had seen the way he looked at me now—the way he flinched when I reached for him, the way he brushed off my attempts at affection.

The way he worshipped Celeste like she had given birth to him instead of me.

A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down, pushing through the ache like I always did.

I had no choice.

A gust of wind rattled the kitchen windows, and I glanced outside. Dark clouds gathered in the distance, creeping closer, their heavy presence casting a shadow over the treetops.

A storm was coming.

I turned back to my work, focusing on the rhythm of kneading, of shaping, of pretending.

Pretending that I wasn’t breaking.

Pretending that I hadn’t already been replaced.

I was still trembling by the time I finished my work.

The scent of freshly baked bread and roasted meat filled the kitchen, but it did little to settle the nausea twisting in my stomach. The storm outside had grown heavier, the wind howling through the trees, rattling against the windows like an omen.

Still, I had one last thing to do.

I wiped my hands on my apron and turned to the small wooden box resting on the counter. My fingers hesitated before lifting the lid, revealing the intricately carved wolf pendant nestled inside.

A mother wolf, standing protectively over her pup.

I had spent weeks crafting it in secret, carving each delicate detail into the smooth wood, pouring every ounce of love I had left into it.

Adrian used to love my carvings. When he was younger, he would beg me to make them for him—tiny figurines of wolves, deer, even birds. He would keep them tucked into his pockets, showing them off to the other pups, telling them his mother made them just for him.

But that was before Celeste.

Before she filled his head with poison.

I exhaled slowly, steeling myself before tucking the pendant into my pocket.

Maybe this time would be different. Maybe, just for a moment, I could remind him of the bond we used to share.

I ignored the ache in my chest and left the kitchen, heading toward the grand hall where the pack had gathered for the evening feast. Laughter and chatter filled the air, and as I stepped inside, my heart clenched.

Adrian was sitting beside Celeste.

He leaned into her, listening intently as she whispered something in his ear, his little face lighting up with laughter.

My steps faltered.

I had given birth to him, held him when he cried, stayed up through countless sleepless nights caring for him when he was sick. And yet, Celeste—the woman who had torn my family apart—was the one he adored.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself forward.

“Adrian,” I called softly.

He barely spared me a glance.

I approached the table hesitantly, reaching into my pocket. “I made something for you.”

I held out the pendant, my heart hammering. “Do you remember how you used to love these? I thought—”

Before I could finish, Celeste let out a soft laugh, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Oh, Adrian, look at that,” she purred. “Your mother made you a wooden gift. How… precious.”

The condescension in her tone made my stomach twist.

Adrian stared at the pendant for a moment. For a fleeting second, I saw something in his expression—hesitation, maybe even recognition.

But then Celeste leaned in, her voice a soft, poisonous whisper. “You’re too old for things like that, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Adrian blinked, his little hands clenching into fists.

Then, to my horror, he turned to me and sneered.

“This is ugly,” he said loudly.

The words hit me like a slap.

My breath caught as he grabbed the pendant from my hands and threw it onto the floor.

A gasp rippled through the room.

The pendant landed with a dull thud, the delicate carving chipping against the stone.

I stared at it, unable to move, unable to breathe.

Celeste smirked. “Oh dear. That must have taken so much effort.”

Laughter erupted from the pack members around us, their mocking voices ringing in my ears, suffocating me.

But nothing hurt more than Adrian’s face—the sheer disgust in his expression as he looked at me like I was nothing.

Like I was useless.

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but before I could say anything, Ryker’s voice cut through the noise.

“Pathetic.”

I flinched.

He was watching me with cold, unreadable eyes, his lips curled in disapproval.

“Maya,” he said, shaking his head. “Must you always embarrass yourself like this?”

I sucked in a sharp breath.

“Clinging to a child, forcing gifts on him in front of everyone?” His tone dripped with disdain. “It’s desperate. Embarrassing.”

The laughter around us grew louder.

Something inside me cracked.

I had endured so much—his neglect, his infidelity, the whispers, the humiliation. I had swallowed my pain for years, convinced that if I stayed, if I tried, things would get better.

But now, standing in the middle of a room full of people who despised me, looking at my own son turning his back on me, I realized the truth.

It would never get better.

I was alone.

Completely, utterly alone.

I stared at Ryker, my vision blurring at the edges. “You’re right,” I whispered.

His brow furrowed. “What?”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and turned away.

I didn’t bother picking up the broken pendant.