I don't knock.

Henry's office door slams against the wall as I shove it open, and for the first time in years, I don't care about the noise or the disrespect or what anyone thinks. My wolf is pushing forward, her fury giving me strength I'd forgotten I possessed.

Henry looks up from his desk, irritation flashing across his face before he schools it into that cold Alpha mask. "Stella. I'm in a meeting—"

"Where are my paintings?" My voice doesn't shake. My wolf won't let it.

His amber eyes narrow. "Lower your voice. You're being hysterical."

"Where. Are. My. Paintings." Each word comes out sharp as broken glass.

Henry stands slowly, his Alpha aura beginning to press down on me. But my wolf snarls, pushing back against the pressure. We're done being crushed.

"Those paintings were taking up valuable storage space," he says, his tone dismissive. "I donated them to someone who could actually use them."

"You gave them to Everly." It's not a question. "She's hosting an exhibition tomorrow night at the Silverfang gallery. My work. Under her name."

Something flickers in his expression—surprise that I know, maybe, or annoyance that I found out so quickly. But it's gone in an instant, replaced by cold calculation.

"Everly has been developing her artistic talents for years," Henry says smoothly. "Those pieces were collaborative efforts—"

"Liar." The word explodes from me. "I'm calling Marcus Reed. I'm telling the entire Silverfang Pack that those paintings are mine. I'm exposing her fraud to the whole werewolf world."

Henry moves faster than I can track, his hand slamming down on his desk with enough force to crack the wood. His Alpha aura surges, trying to force me to submit, to back down, to be the good little Luna who never causes problems.

But my wolf is done submitting.

"You will do no such thing," Henry growls, his voice dropping into that Alpha tone that used to make my knees weak. Now it just makes me angrier. "You will not embarrass this pack. You will not ruin Everly's moment. And you will not question my decisions again."

"Or what?" I meet his eyes, and I see the moment he realizes I'm not afraid anymore. "You'll what, Henry? Take more from me? There's nothing left to steal."

His expression goes cold. Calculating. And I see the exact moment he decides to destroy me.

"Get out of my office," he says quietly. "Before you do something you'll regret."

I leave because my wolf tells me to—not out of submission, but strategy. We need to contact Marcus Reed, need to gather evidence, need to move quickly before Everly's exhibition tomorrow night.

But I'm not fast enough.

By dinner time, the pack mind-link explodes with images I've never seen before. Photos of me at the territory border, grainy and dark, but unmistakably me. Except I'm not alone. Figures lurk in the shadows around me—rough, dangerous-looking wolves with rogue written all over them.

The accompanying message from Henry's Beta burns through the mind-link: *Luna Stella Wood has been consorting with rogues at our borders. Alpha Henry asks all pack members to remain vigilant and report any suspicious behavior.*

My wolf howls in rage. Those photos are fake—they have to be. I was buying groceries, alone, soaked to the bone in the storm. But the timestamps match. The location matches. And Henry's Beta has always been skilled with image manipulation.

The mind-link erupts with responses. Shock. Disgust. Betrayal. Pack members I've known for years, wolves I've served and supported and cared for, turn on me in an instant.

*I always knew something was off about her.*

*A true Luna would never betray her pack like this.*

*Thank the Moon Goddess Alpha Henry has Everly to rely on.*

I try to defend myself through the mind-link, try to explain, but Henry's Alpha authority blocks me. I can receive messages but can't send them. He's silenced me completely.

When I walk through the packhouse halls to dinner, pack members openly sneer. Some turn their backs. Others whisper just loud enough for me to hear—traitor, rogue-lover, disgrace.

Diana Cross, who used to have coffee with me every Tuesday morning, stops directly in my path. For a moment, I think she might defend me. We've been friends for years.

Then she spits at my feet.

"Traitor," Diana hisses, and walks away.

The dining hall goes silent when I enter. Every eye turns to me, and the hostility is so thick I can taste it. My wolf whimpers, overwhelmed by the pack's collective rejection.

Caleb is already seated, Everly beside him, her hand on his arm in a maternal gesture that makes my stomach turn. When my son sees me, his expression hardens into something cruel and unfamiliar.

I move toward my usual seat—beside Caleb, across from Henry—but Caleb deliberately shifts his plate, moving closer to Everly and farther from me.

"I don't sit with traitorous Omegas," he says loudly, and the pack murmurs approval.

Everly makes a show of comforting him, her voice carrying across the silent hall. "It's alright, sweetheart. You don't have to pretend anymore. We all see her for what she really is."

Henry watches from the head of the table, his expression unreadable. He doesn't defend me. Doesn't correct Caleb. Doesn't acknowledge that his Beta fabricated those photos to protect his chosen mate's stolen exhibition.

He just watches as his pack destroys me, piece by piece.

And I realize with devastating clarity: this was always the plan.

The fever hits me like a rogue's claws tearing through flesh.

One moment I'm standing in the dining hall, surrounded by hostile pack members and my son's cruel rejection. The next, my knees buckle and the world tilts sideways. My wolf whimpers deep in my chest, her aura flickering like a candle in a storm.

Someone catches me before I hit the floor—Henry's hands, familiar and wrong. Through the haze of fever, I hear him speaking in that concerned Alpha tone he uses for the pack's benefit.

"She's burning up," he announces, his voice carrying across the silent hall. "The stress of her... activities... has clearly taken a toll. I'll take care of her. A good mate doesn't abandon his Luna, no matter what she's done."

The pack murmurs approval. Everly makes soft, sympathetic noises. Caleb doesn't even look at me.

Henry carries me through the packhouse, and I'm too weak to fight him. My wolf tries to snarl, tries to push back against his aura, but she's fading. The toxic mate bond—poisoned by years of betrayal and gaslighting—is actively rejecting my body now, burning through me like silver in my veins.

I expect him to take me to our bedroom. Instead, he climbs the narrow stairs to the attic.

"Henry—" My voice comes out as a rasp. "What are you—"

"Shh." His Alpha aura presses down on me, crushing what little strength I have left. "You need rest. Somewhere quiet. Away from the pack you've betrayed."

The attic is drafty and cold, filled with forgotten furniture and boxes covered in dust. A single narrow bed sits against the far wall, the mattress thin and stained. This isn't care. This is punishment.

Henry deposits me on the bed like I'm something distasteful. His amber eyes are flat and cold as he looks down at me.

"You brought this on yourself," he says quietly. "If you'd just accepted Everly, if you'd been a proper Luna instead of chasing childish artistic dreams, none of this would have happened."

I try to speak, to defend myself, but my throat is too raw. My wolf whimpers, so weak now I can barely feel her presence.

Henry's Alpha aura surges, slamming into my wolf with brutal force. She yelps and retreats deep inside, suppressed so completely I lose our connection entirely. The sudden emptiness is terrifying—like losing a limb, like being cut in half.

"You'll stay here until you remember your place," Henry says. He walks to the door, and I hear the lock click from the outside. "Until you're ready to apologize to Everly and accept her exhibition with grace."

Then he's gone, and I'm alone.

The fever worsens over the next days—or maybe it's hours, I can't tell anymore. Time blurs into a haze of burning skin and shivering cold. The drafty attic offers no comfort, and no one comes. Not Henry. Not Caleb. Not a single pack member who once smiled at me and called me Luna.

I can't access the mind-link. Henry's Alpha authority has blocked me completely, cutting me off from the pack consciousness. I'm isolated in every way that matters—physically, mentally, spiritually.

My wolf is silent. Suppressed so deeply by Henry's aura that I wonder if she'll ever resurface.

On what might be the third day—or the fourth, I've lost count—I try to stand. My legs shake violently, barely supporting my weight. I need water. Need to find a way out. Need to do something other than lie here dying while my mate and stepsister steal everything I am.

I stumble toward the small window, hoping for fresh air, but my foot catches on something. I crash to the floor, pain exploding through my shoulder as I hit the rough wooden boards.

Something shifts beneath me. A loose floorboard.

Through the fever haze, I notice the gap. My fingers, clumsy and weak, pry at the board until it comes free. Underneath is a metal box, hidden deliberately beneath the floor.

Henry's box. I recognize his scent on it.

I shouldn't look. Some distant part of my fevered brain knows this is a violation of his privacy. But he's violated everything about me—my body, my art, my dignity, my very soul. What's one more betrayal between mates?

The box isn't locked. Inside are financial records, pack documents, things I don't understand through the fever fog. But then I see them.

Receipts. Dozens of them. From the Silvermoon Luxury Hotel, located three hours outside our territory.

My hands shake as I sort through them, my vision blurring. The dates swim before my eyes, but one stands out with devastating clarity.

The day Caleb was born. The day I nearly bled out on the delivery table, screaming for my mate while the pack healers fought to save both me and our pup. The day Henry claimed he was delayed by rogue attacks at the border.

The receipt is timestamped. 3:47 PM. Room service for two. Champagne. Strawberries. Luxury suite.

The same time I was dying.

My wolf, suppressed and weak as she is, manages one small, broken howl deep in my chest.

And something inside me—something fundamental and irreparable—finally shatters completely.

The dates blur together at first, my fever-addled brain struggling to make sense of the numbers swimming before my eyes. But then one receipt comes into focus with devastating clarity.

Silvermoon Luxury Hotel. Room 308. Date: exactly three years, two months, and seventeen days ago.

The day Caleb was born.

My hands start shaking so violently the paper crumples between my fingers. I smooth it out with trembling hands, desperate to be wrong, desperate for this to be some terrible mistake.

3:47 PM. Room service for two. Champagne. Chocolate-covered strawberries. Luxury suite with ocean view.

I was screaming for him at 3:47 PM. The pack healers were shouting that I was losing too much blood, that the pup was in distress, that they needed the Alpha immediately. I remember begging through the mind-link, my wolf howling for her mate while our son struggled to enter this world.

Henry told me he was delayed by rogue attacks at the border. He arrived at 9:23 PM, his clothes rumpled, his hair disheveled, smelling like hotel soap and perfume I was too weak to identify. He'd held my hand for exactly four minutes before leaving to "handle the rogue situation."

He was drinking champagne with Everly while I was dying.

The other receipts fall into place like dominos of betrayal. Every pack meeting he claimed ran late. Every border patrol that kept him overnight. Every emergency that pulled him away from our bed. Hotel receipts. Restaurant bills for two. Jewelry purchases I never received.

Three years of lies, documented in neat rows of timestamps and credit card charges.

My wolf, suppressed and weak as she is, suddenly surges forward with a fury that burns hotter than the fever ravaging my body. The silver in her eyes—dormant for so long under Henry's crushing aura—blazes to life.

And something fundamental inside me doesn't just crack.

It detonates.

The fever breaks so abruptly it's like plunging into ice water. Clarity rushes in, sharp and brutal and absolutely unforgiving. Every excuse I made for him, every time I blamed myself, every moment I swallowed my pain to keep the peace—it all crystallizes into one undeniable truth.

He never loved me. He never even tried.

My wolf's rage is a living thing now, pushing back against Henry's suppression with strength I didn't know we still possessed. She's done being crushed. Done being silenced. Done being the good little Luna who accepts crumbs and calls them love.

I need to get out of this attic. Out of this pack. Out of this toxic bond that's been slowly killing us both.

My eyes fall on a box of discarded items in the corner—old phones, broken tablets, things deemed too worthless to properly dispose of. With shaking hands, I dig through the pile until I find an ancient burner phone, the kind with actual buttons and a cracked screen.

Please work. Please, Moon Goddess, just this once.

The screen flickers to life, battery at 12%. I have minutes at best.

Alden James. My former mentor. The Lycan Lord who saw my talent when I was nobody, who believed in my art when my own father dismissed it. I haven't spoken to him in years—Henry made sure of that, slowly cutting me off from everyone who might remind me I was worth more than pack servitude.

My fingers fumble over the keys, muscle memory guiding me through his contact information. The phone rings once. Twice. Three times.

"Alden James speaking."

His voice—calm, cultured, genuinely kind—breaks something in me. I try to speak, but only a sob comes out.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"It's... it's Stella." My voice is barely a whisper, raw from fever and screaming and years of swallowing words I should have spoken. "Stella Wood. I... I need help."

The silence on the other end stretches for exactly three seconds. Then: "Stella. Moon Goddess. Where are you? What's happened?"

The words pour out in a broken rush—the stolen paintings, the fabricated photos, the attic prison, the receipts proving Henry's betrayal while I nearly died giving birth. Alden listens without interrupting, and I can hear the fury building in his controlled breathing.

"I'm getting you out," he says, his Lycan authority making it a vow rather than a promise. "Caleb's coming-of-age ceremony is in four days, correct?"

"Yes." How does he know that?

"The entire pack will be distracted. I'll have a Lycan escort waiting at your northern border, near the old pine grove. Can you get there?"

"I... yes. Yes, I can."

"Stella." His voice softens. "You should have called years ago. But we'll fix this. I promise you, we'll fix this."

The phone dies, battery finally giving out. But it doesn't matter.

Because my wolf is fully awake now, her silver eyes blazing with purpose.

And we're done being victims.