Ryan burst into my room in the middle of the night, his Delta warrior uniform disheveled, and dropped an envelope on the table before leaping out the window. My mate, Alpha Damien Hansen of the Shadowmoon Pack, whom I’d loved for years, immediately grabbed the letter and used his Alpha authority to call the pack’s enforcers, accusing me of encouraging suicide. Without hesitation, I was sentenced and confined to the pack’s holding cells.

Wesson, the former Alpha of the Shadowmoon Pack and my father-in-law, visited me during my confinement. His once commanding presence was diminished, his inner wolf withdrawn. I pleaded with him to tell me what was in that letter, but a look of fear washed over his face, and he mumbled, “Don’t ask me, don’t ask me.” The pack’s guards then escorted him to the healer’s facility, where he was admitted for psychiatric treatment.

Three years later, I was released, and Alpha Damien was there to pick me up. His towering frame, muscular and imposing, stood like a fortress, yet his eyes were clouded with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. “Luna,” he said, his Alpha tone softening slightly, “I did all this out of love for you.” But when I asked about the contents of the letter, he hesitated, and I discovered that Wesson had attempted suicide.

---

“Alpha Damien, your father tried to take his life,” Zhuri’s frantic voice echoed through the phone, her words laced with desperation. Damien didn’t seem shocked at all, as if he already knew. “Understood, Mother. I’ll be there soon,” he replied calmly, his Alpha composure unshaken. Yet, when I glanced back at him, tears silently streamed down his face, his eyes filled with sorrow. I felt this sadness wasn’t for Wesson but somehow for me.

We hurried to the hospital, only half an hour after receiving the news. The pack’s enforcers were already there, questioning Zhuri, the former Luna, whose once warm demeanor was now shattered. “I was in the room taking care of him when a letter appeared on the table. His face turned to terror, and then he jumped out the window,” she recounted, tearing at her hair in despair at the surgery room door.

The enforcers relentlessly repeated their questions. “What happened to that letter?” “I don’t know.” “We sent someone to check, and it wasn’t found.” “I really don’t know.” “Did you see what was in it?” “No, I didn’t.” “Has this letter appeared before?” “Yes, when my younger son died.”

The enforcers seemed to focus on that detail. “Your younger son died by suicide too?” Zhuri broke down into inconsolable tears, unable to answer any more questions, burying her face in her hands. Until I approached, she suddenly stood up and rushed toward me, her once nurturing presence now filled with venom. “You murderer, tell me, what have you done?” she screamed, her voice echoing through the hospital halls. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”

Zhuri glared at me with bloodshot eyes, lunging at me, yelling for the enforcers to arrest me. They held her back, interrogating me for a long time. Once they confirmed that I had just been released from confinement and couldn’t have committed any crime, they left. Yet the disdain in their eyes pierced my soul.

Fortunately, Wesson’s fall wasn’t far, and though he broke several bones and was unconscious, his life was spared. Lying in the hospital bed, I watched over him, recalling the scorn and pain I endured over those three years. “Are you still keeping it a secret?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “What did that letter say? Why won’t you tell me, even now? Even with Mother laid up in bed, you refuse to speak. What do you really want?”

The agony inside me surged uncontrollably, and I shouted at Damien, my voice breaking under the weight of my emotions. He looked at me with pain and sorrow in his eyes, then shook his head. “You’ve been through so much, Luna,” he said softly, his Alpha tone heavy with regret. With those words, he turned and left the room, his shoulders trembling slightly.

I slid down the wall to the floor, feeling utterly lost. I was an orphan before meeting Damien, and it was only then I realized how wonderful life could be. Zhuri and Wesson treated me like their own daughter, Ryan was gentle and kind, and Damien was always patient and loving. But everything changed with that letter.

Zhuri, who was once warm, now only holds hatred for me. My mate, the Alpha, sent me to confinement. Ryan died. Wesson ended up in the healer’s facility. And all the while, Damien knows, yet he remains silent. Why won’t he tell me?

With that thought, I stood up once more. Even if Damien wouldn’t speak, I would find the answers and reclaim my happiness. Right next to the hospital was the healer’s facility where Wesson had been treated, and I headed straight there. After checking in, the security asked me to wait a moment. Shortly afterward, a healer in a white coat approached, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos I’d just left.

“You must be Luna Freya Hansen,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ve been expecting you for some time.” His bluntness left me momentarily stunned. “Expecting me?” “Yes, for quite a while. Follow me.” With a mix of suspicion and curiosity, I followed the healer into the facility, my heart pounding with the weight of the secrets I was about to uncover.

Dr. Kenzo Brooks, the healer who had been overseeing Alpha Wesson Hansen’s treatment for the past three years, handed me a stack of papers as I sat in his office. The room was sterile, the faint scent of antiseptic lingering in the air, but it did little to calm the unease settling in my chest.

"Luna Freya," he began, his voice measured but serious, "over the years, Alpha Wesson has often murmured your name in his sleep. We suspect he might have unresolved feelings toward you. Please take a look."

I stiffened, my grip tightening on the armrests of the chair. "That’s impossible," I replied immediately, my tone sharp. Alpha Wesson and Luna Zhuri had always been deeply devoted to each other, their bond as strong as the day they marked one another. And Damien and I—we had been mated for seven years, our relationship unwavering until Ryan’s tragic passing.

"Please, don’t be upset," Dr. Brooks said gently, though his calm demeanor did little to soothe me. "These are just our observations. The documents contain specific details. See for yourself."

Reluctantly, I opened the files. They were filled with Alpha Wesson’s diagnosis and treatment records, and my name appeared frequently throughout. Dr. Brooks had highlighted three key documents, and I began with the first—a transcript from a hypnosis session.

"Alpha Wesson, who is the most important person to you?" the healer’s voice echoed in the transcript.

"Freya," came the response, clear and unwavering.

"Why? Isn’t she your daughter-in-law?" the healer pressed.

"She isn’t. She’s the one I care for deeply."

My hands trembled as I read the words. Under hypnosis, werewolves rarely lied—it was a truth universally acknowledged among our kind. But I couldn’t reconcile this with the man I knew. Alpha Wesson had always been a pillar of strength, a leader who adored his mate and respected the bond Damien and I shared.

I forced myself to move on to the next document, a psychological test filled out by Alpha Wesson. The question caught my eye: "What do you think of your son?"

The answer was brief: "He is a part of me."

I frowned, turning to Dr. Brooks. "What’s wrong with this response?"

"The answer itself is fine," he explained, "but the handwriting is different. It’s unlike the rest of the answers in the test. We compared it with other samples, and it clearly matches your mate’s, Alpha Damien."

My stomach churned. "My mate’s handwriting?"

"Yes," Dr. Brooks confirmed, though he offered no further explanation. "We can only guess at the reasons."

The third document was a manuscript, chaotic with scribbles yet eerily deliberate. Phrases leaped out at me: "Tell her." "Can’t do that." "Will wake up." Encouraged by Dr. Brooks, I noticed the handwriting seemed to be from different individuals, the strokes distinctly varied. Then, in a corner even Dr. Brooks had overlooked, I found two words: "Wait for me." It was my handwriting.

Leaving the office, I felt disoriented, as if the ground beneath me had shifted. Dr. Brooks patted my shoulder reassuringly as I left. "It’s common for our patients to exhibit these traits. Don’t let it get to you, or you’ll drive yourself crazy. It might be a prank."

But his words barely registered. An increasing unease gnawed at my mind, and I walked aimlessly, unconscious of time passing. My wolf stirred faintly in the back of my mind, a silent presence that offered no comfort. Eventually, I found myself standing before a slightly open hospital room. The door bore the name "Alpha Wesson Hansen."

As I was about to enter, I peered through the crack. What I saw jolted me awake.

Through the gap, I saw a sophisticated, almost otherworldly machine, with a young man at its center. It was my mate, Alpha Damien, but he looked much younger than he had when I’d last seen him. Metal tubes protruded from his head, and the sight sent a wave of nausea crashing over me.

My heart tightened, and I rushed to open the door. But the moment I did, Damien vanished from the hospital bed, leaving only the hum of machines in his wake.

A nameless fear crept over me as I approached the bed, my steps unsteady. The various machines in the room were all operational, their displays flickering with numbers. And as I neared that peculiar bed, I found a sheet of paper. It was a handwritten manuscript—in my handwriting.