The words echoed in my head like a death sentence, which I supposed they were.

"Terminal lupus spiritus failure," Dr. Patterson repeated, his voice gentle but clinical. "The deterioration of your wolf spirit has reached a critical stage. I'm afraid we're looking at six months, possibly less."

I sat in the sterile hospital room, still in my robe and slippers, feeling oddly disconnected from my own body. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in harsh, unforgiving clarity.

"How?" The word came out as barely a whisper.

Dr. Patterson pulled up my chart on his tablet, his expression grave. "It's rare, but we see it sometimes in wolves whose chosen bonds have been... neglected. When one partner consistently rejects or ignores the mate connection, the other's wolf spirit begins to consume itself trying to maintain the link."

Negligence. Seven years of Sterling's cold indifference, his refusal to acknowledge our bond, his complete emotional withdrawal—it had been slowly killing me. Literally.

"The symptoms would have been gradual," the doctor continued. "Fatigue, weakness, a sense of your wolf growing distant or quiet?"

I nodded, remembering how my inner wolf's voice had grown fainter over the years, how the howling in my chest had become more desperate, more pained. I'd thought it was just heartbreak. I hadn't realized it was my soul dying.

"Is there..." I swallowed hard, my throat feeling raw. "Is there any treatment?"

Dr. Patterson's silence was answer enough, but he spoke anyway. "In theory, if the bond could be fully restored—if your mate were to recommit completely, to pour energy back into the connection—it might slow the progression. But the damage is extensive. And it would require total dedication from both parties."

Total dedication. From Sterling, who couldn't even look at our daughter, who was already building a new family to replace us.

"I should contact your mate," Dr. Patterson said, reaching for his phone. "He'll need to know—"

"No." The word came out sharper than I intended. "He won't care."

The doctor's eyebrows rose slightly, but he'd probably seen enough broken bonds to understand. "Mrs. Mills, this is serious. Your family needs to be prepared—"

"He won't care," I repeated, my voice hollow. "Trust me."

I drove home in a daze, the diagnosis settling over me like a shroud. Six months. Maybe less. Willow would be five and a half when I died. Old enough to remember me, young enough to need me desperately.

And Sterling would finally be free to live the life he'd always wanted—the one that didn't include us.

The house was quiet when I slipped back inside, my keys jingling softly in the stillness. I could hear movement upstairs, Sterling's voice drifting down as he helped Briar get dressed for the day. The sound of his gentle laughter made my chest ache with more than just the physical pain.

I was hanging my keys on the hook when footsteps on the stairs made me freeze. Sterling appeared, fully dressed in one of his expensive suits, his hair still damp from the shower. He looked polished, successful, completely unaware that his wife had just received a death sentence.

"Where did you go?" he asked, his tone mildly curious rather than concerned.

For a moment, I considered telling him. Imagined the words spilling out: *I'm dying, Sterling. Our broken bond is killing me, and I have six months left.* But the clinical detachment in his voice, the way he looked through me rather than at me, stopped the confession cold.

"Just needed some air," I said instead.

He nodded absently, already checking his phone. "Listen, I need to talk to you about something."

My heart jumped. Maybe this was it—maybe he'd realized what he was doing to our family, maybe he was ready to fight for us, for the bond that was slowly destroying me.

"About Willow," he continued, and hope flared in my chest.

He was going to acknowledge her. Finally going to step up as her father, to give her the love and attention she'd been craving her entire life.

"Ivy is coming the day after tomorrow to see Briar," Sterling said, his tone matter-of-fact. "I need you to take Willow somewhere else for the day. Maybe to your sister's. I don't want any... complications."

The hope died so quickly it left me breathless. Complications. That's what we were to him—his wife and daughter were complications to be managed, obstacles to his new perfect family.

"Sterling," I started, my voice cracking.

"It's just for the day," he said, not looking up from his phone. "Briar is still adjusting, and Ivy wants to spend time with her daughter without any distractions."

Distractions. The same word he'd used about Willow when I was pregnant. We were still just distractions to him, inconveniences in his carefully ordered life.

I turned away, my chest tight with more than just the physical symptoms. The pain was getting worse—sharp, stabbing sensations that made my vision blur at the edges.

"Fine," I whispered, because what else could I say? I was dying, and he was worried about his ex-girlfriend's comfort.

Sterling pocketed his phone and headed for the door, pausing only to call upstairs. "I'll be back tonight, princess. Be good for Daddy."

The endearment—the one he'd never used for Willow—twisted in my chest like a blade. As soon as the front door closed behind him, I doubled over, a violent coughing fit seizing me.

When I pulled my hand away from my mouth, the tissue was stained bright red.

Blood. Dr. Patterson had mentioned internal bleeding in the later stages. I stared at the crimson stain, my hands shaking as I crumpled the tissue and threw it in the trash.

Upstairs, I could hear Briar singing to herself, her sweet voice drifting through the house like a mockery of the family I'd always dreamed of having.

Six months. Maybe less.

And Sterling was already planning our erasure.

The Pack House gleamed under the chandelier lights, every surface polished to perfection for Sterling's monthly Alpha gathering. I stood in the foyer, smoothing down my black dress—the one I'd worn to our mating ceremony seven years ago, back when I still believed in fairy tales.

"Mommy, why are we dressed up?" Willow tugged at her pink party dress, the one I'd bought her for special occasions that never seemed to come.

"It's a Pack dinner, sweetheart," I said, forcing brightness into my voice. "Daddy wants us to meet everyone."

A lie. Sterling hadn't wanted us there at all. But as his Luna, my absence would have been noticed, questioned. So here we were, playing the part of the perfect family while my body slowly consumed itself from the inside out.

The great room buzzed with conversation as Pack members mingled, their voices creating a warm hum of belonging I'd never quite felt part of. Sterling stood near the fireplace, commanding attention effortlessly in his charcoal suit, every inch the powerful Alpha.

But he wasn't alone.

Ivy sat in the chair beside his—my chair, the Luna's place of honor—looking radiant in emerald silk that complemented her auburn hair. Briar perched on her lap like a perfect doll, her platinum curls catching the light as she smiled at the admiring Pack members surrounding them.

"Oh my goddess, she's absolutely precious," gushed Mrs. Henderson, the Pack's head of social affairs. "Those eyes! Like little amethysts."

"She's Sterling's daughter," Ivy said with practiced modesty, her hand stroking Briar's hair possessively. "The resemblance is unmistakable, don't you think?"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. I felt my chest tighten, that familiar stabbing pain making it hard to breathe. Dr. Patterson's words echoed in my mind: *six months, possibly less.*

"Mommy?" Willow's small hand slipped into mine. "Why is everyone looking at the other little girl?"

I glanced down at my daughter—Sterling's daughter, though he'd never acknowledged it—and my heart cracked a little more. Her dark hair was neat, her dress clean and pretty, but she might as well have been invisible. Not one Pack member had so much as glanced our way since we'd arrived.

"They're just... excited to meet someone new," I managed.

Sterling's gaze found mine across the room, cold and dismissive. No warmth, no acknowledgment of the bond that was slowly killing me. He looked through me like I was already a ghost.

Maybe I was.

"Harper!" A familiar voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. Sarah Chen, one of the younger Pack members, approached with a strained smile. "You look... well."

A polite lie. I could see myself reflected in her eyes—hollow, fading, a shadow of the vibrant Luna I'd once tried to be.

"Thank you," I said. "This is my daughter, Willow."

Sarah's smile faltered slightly as she looked down at Willow, who pressed closer to my side. "Oh. Yes. She's... grown."

The awkwardness was suffocating. Even the Pack members who'd once been friendly now treated us like uncomfortable reminders of something they'd rather forget.

"Excuse me," Sarah mumbled, hurrying away toward the group surrounding Ivy and Briar.

Willow tugged on my dress. "Mommy, why won't anyone talk to me? At my birthday party, nobody came. And now nobody wants to see me."

The innocent question hit me like a physical blow. How do you explain to a five-year-old that her father has already chosen a replacement family? That the Pack can sense the shift in power, the changing of the guard?

"They're just busy tonight, sweetheart," I whispered, my voice barely steady.

But Willow was too smart, too perceptive. Her dark eyes—Sterling's eyes—filled with understanding that no child should have to carry.

The dinner bell chimed, and Sterling's voice boomed over the crowd. "If everyone would take their seats, we'll begin."

I moved toward the head table, toward my rightful place as Luna, but stopped short. Ivy remained seated in my chair, Briar on her lap, both of them glowing under Sterling's protective presence.

"Oh, Harper," Mrs. Ashford called out, her voice carrying across the room with deliberate volume. The Pack matriarch rose from her seat, wine glass in hand, her silver hair gleaming like armor. "I think there might be some confusion about seating arrangements."

The room fell silent. Every eye turned toward us—me standing frozen in the middle of the room, Willow clinging to my hand, while Ivy and Briar occupied the seats of honor.

"You see," Mrs. Ashford continued, her voice sweet as poison, "we've recently learned some... interesting information about Pack lineage."

My blood turned to ice. I could feel the trap closing around me, but I was powerless to stop it.

"Briar is Sterling's biological daughter," Mrs. Ashford announced, raising her glass. "His true heir. Which means, by Pack law, Ivy should be recognized as his true Luna."

The words hit the room like a bomb. Gasps and murmurs erupted from the gathered Pack members. I felt my knees threaten to buckle as the full weight of the ambush settled over me.

This wasn't just a dinner. It was a coup.

I looked desperately toward Sterling, waiting for him to deny it, to defend me, to remember the vows we'd made. But he stood silent, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on some point beyond my shoulder.

His silence was an admission.

"As the senior Pack member," Mrs. Ashford continued, "I believe it's time for Harper to step down gracefully. To acknowledge what we can all see—that her time as Luna has come to an end."

The room held its breath. Willow's hand tightened in mine, her small body trembling as she sensed the danger surrounding us.

"Step down?" I found my voice, though it came out as barely a whisper.

"To Omega status," Mrs. Ashford clarified with false sympathy. "It's the natural order of things, dear. Surely you can see that?"

Omega. The lowest rank in the Pack hierarchy. They wanted me to publicly humiliate myself, to strip away the last shred of dignity I had left.

I looked around the room at faces that had once smiled at me, Pack members who had celebrated our mating, who had accepted me as their Luna. Now they watched with hungry anticipation, waiting to see how far I would fall.

"Mommy?" Willow's voice was small, scared. "What's happening?"

I couldn't do this to her. Couldn't let her watch me be destroyed in front of everyone.

"We're leaving," I said, my voice stronger than I felt.

I turned toward the door, Willow's hand still in mine, my head held high despite the whispers that followed us. But as we reached the threshold, I couldn't help but look back.

Ivy had moved to Sterling's side, her hand resting on his arm as she smiled up at him with victorious satisfaction. Briar sat in my chair like a tiny queen, accepting the adoration of the Pack that should have been welcoming my daughter.

And Sterling—my mate, my husband, the father of my child—watched us leave without a word.

The door closed behind us with a soft click, sealing our fate.

The Pack had chosen their new Luna.

And we were already ghosts.