Aurora POV:

It took three days for my skin to knit together enough for me to leave the hospital. The scars on my chest were pink and angry, a map of my husband's betrayal.

I took a taxi back to the Pack House. The massive Victorian mansion stood on a hill overlooking the city, a symbol of the Blood Moon Pack's wealth and power. It used to look like a castle to me. Now, it looked like a prison.

I walked through the front door. The air changed instantly.

The scent of cedar and rain—Ethan's scent, the scent of the pack—was gone. It was buried under a suffocating layer of synthetic roses.

"Welcome back, Mrs. Bruce," a maid mumbled, rushing past me with a basket of laundry.

I walked up the grand staircase, my legs still weak. I headed toward the guest room where I had been sleeping for the past year, ever since Ilene 'needed' the master suite for her 'night terrors.'

But when I opened the door, my room was empty.

My bed was stripped. My clothes were gone. And my nesting corner—the pile of soft blankets and pillows that every she-wolf instinctively builds to feel safe—was dismantled.

"Looking for your trash?"

I spun around. Ilene was standing at the end of the hallway. She looked the picture of health, wearing a silk robe that cost more than my life was worth.

"Where are my things?" I asked, my voice steady.

"I had the servants burn them," she said casually, examining her fingernails. "They smelled like... failure. I'm redecorating. This floor is for high-ranking wolves only. The attic is free, I think."

"You burned my paintings?" My heart stopped. "My drawings of the ancestors? The history of this pack?"

"Oh, those scribbles?" She laughed. "Ethan said I could do whatever I wanted to make the house feel like home. And your creepy drawings didn't fit my aesthetic."

Rage, hot and unfamiliar, boiled in my gut. Those drawings were spiritual. They were channeled from the collective memory of the pack. To destroy them was a crime against our heritage.

"You have no right," I stepped forward. "You are a guest here, Ilene. A parasite."

Her eyes narrowed. "I am the future Luna. Ethan loves me."

"He pities you," I spat. "And he's too stupid to see you're faking."

Ilene's face twisted. She wasn't the fragile victim now. She moved toward me with a predator's grace—too fast for a human, too fast for a wolf-less cripple.

"You think you know everything," she hissed, backing me toward the staircase. "But you know nothing about power."

"Get out of my way," I tried to step around her.

She grabbed my arm. Her grip was iron. "You need to learn your place, Omega."

She shoved me.

It wasn't a little push. She put her full weight, enhanced by a strength she shouldn't have if her wolf was truly gone, into the blow.

I lost my footing.

The world tilted. I reached out for the banister, but my fingers grasped only air.

I fell backward.

My body hit the wooden steps with a sickening crunch. I tumbled, hitting my head, my shoulder, my hip. The world was a blur of spinning ceiling and sharp pain.

Crack.

I landed at the bottom of the stairs, my leg twisted at an unnatural angle. A scream tore from my throat, raw and agonizing.

Darkness edged my vision. Through the haze, I saw the front door open.

Ethan stood there, his keys in his hand. He looked from me, broken at the bottom of the stairs, to Ilene, standing at the top with her hand over her mouth in mock horror.

A sharp pain hit his chest—I saw him clutch his heart. The Mate Bond transferring my physical agony to him.

"Aurora!" he roared, rushing toward me.

"She fell!" Ilene cried out, her voice pitching into a sob. "I tried to catch her, Ethan! She was dizzy! She just fell!"

Ethan fell to his knees beside me, his hands hovering over my broken body. "Aurora, stay with me."

I looked up at him through one swollen eye. I wanted to tell him she pushed me. I wanted to tell him she was strong, that she was lying.

But as I looked into his panicked eyes, I saw it. He was already looking up at her, reassuring her with his gaze.

It's not your fault, Ilene.

He didn't say it, but I heard it in the way he looked at her.

I closed my eyes, letting the darkness take me. There was no point in speaking. In this house, the truth died long ago.

Aurora POV:

"Her spine is fractured. Her left leg is shattered. If she were human, she would be dead."

The doctor's voice was grim. I lay in the hospital bed—my second home this week—unable to move. A neck brace held my head rigid.

"Will she heal?" Ethan's voice. He sounded wrecked. Good.

"Slowly. Her wolf is... fading, Alpha. The bond is the only thing keeping her system running. If you don't mark her soon, her body might give up on the trauma."

Silence. A long, heavy silence.

"I can't mark her yet," Ethan whispered. "Ilene is..."

"Ethan," I croaked.

He rushed to my side. "I'm here. Don't try to move."

"I want... the Council," I managed to say. "I want to press charges. Attempted murder."

Ethan's face hardened. He pulled a chair up and sat down, taking my hand. I tried to pull away, but I was too weak.

"Aurora, listen to me. There are no cameras on the stairs. It's your word against hers."

"There are cameras in the hall," I whispered. "They would show... she pushed me."

Ethan looked down. He didn't meet my eyes. He looked conflicted, his scent souring with frustration.

"I checked the logs," he said quietly. "The system was down for maintenance. There is no footage."

My blood ran cold. "How convenient. Did Ilene tell you that? Or did her 'trauma' cause an electromagnetic pulse?"

"Stop it," he hissed, leaning closer. "Why are you so obsessed with blaming her? She was hysterical, Aurora. She said you tripped. Why would she lie? She can barely walk up those stairs herself without getting winded."

"She's playing you, Ethan. She's strong."

"She took a bullet for me!" He stood up, pacing the room. "She is an invalid because of me. I won't have you twisting an accident into a murder plot just because you're jealous."

"Jealous? She nearly killed me!"

"And if I launch an investigation, do you know what happens? The press gets wind of it. The stock prices tank because the Alpha's household is a war zone. Ilene gets dragged through interrogations she can't handle mentally. I am protecting the pack."

"You're protecting a monster."

"I am making hard choices!" He ran a hand through his hair. "Just... let it go. We will say you fell. That is the official story."

"You... you are a monster."

"I am an Alpha!"

"Make it difficult?"

A surge of energy, hot and white, bubbled up from the base of my spine. It wasn't the weak Omega energy I was used to. It was ancient. It was furious.

The glass pitcher of water on the bedside table suddenly shattered. Smash!

Water and glass exploded outward.

Ethan jumped back, staring at me. "How did you...?"

He looked at me, really looked at me. For a second, he saw something in my eyes that scared him.

But then, denial washed over his face. "You're in distress. Your energy is spiking because of the pain."

He pressed a button on the wall. "Nurse, give her a sedative. She's hysterical."

"No!" I gasped. "Ethan, look at me! I am not—"

Two nurses rushed in. I felt the prick of a needle in my arm.

The world began to swim.

"Sleep, Aurora," Ethan said, smoothing my hair back. "When you wake up, we will forget this happened. We will start over."

As the drug pulled me under, I had one clear thought.

There is no starting over.

He hadn't seen the truth because he refused to look. He was blind, willfully and pathetically blind.

I wasn't going to wait for him to kill me for real.

I wasn't going to the Council. They were all corrupt old men who bowed to money.

I was going to leave.

Not just the house. Not just the city.

I was going to leave the werewolf world entirely. I would disappear into the human world, where Alphas had no power and 'mates' were just a fairy tale.

I would become a Rogue. A lone wolf.

It was a death sentence for most. But lying there, drugged and broken, I realized I was already dead in this pack. At least out there, I would die free.

Aurora POV:

Two weeks later.

I moved like a ghost through the Pack House. I used a cane now, my leg still stiff, but I forced myself to walk upright. I wouldn't show weakness. Not anymore.

I had spent the last fortnight playing the role of the submissive, broken wife. I nodded when Ethan spoke. I stayed out of Ilene's way. I let them think they had won.

But in the shadows, I was busy.

I had contacted a human immigration lawyer, a man who specialized in "disappearing" people from abusive marriages. He didn't know about wolves, he just knew about cash. And I had plenty of that.

I had pawned every piece of jewelry Ethan had ever given me. The diamond earrings from our wedding? Sold. The emerald necklace from my twenty-first birthday? Sold.

They were just cold stones. They meant nothing compared to freedom.

I stood in the guest room, staring at a small backpack. It was all I was taking. A change of clothes, my sketchbook, a roll of cash, and a small vial of dark liquid.

Scent Masker.

I had bought it on the black market from a shady witch in the downtown district. It smelled like sulfur and rotten eggs, but it would hide my wolf scent for 24 hours. Long enough to cross the border into neutral territory.

"Going somewhere?"

I froze.

Ilene was leaning against the doorframe. She was always there, lurking like a bad smell.

"I'm going to the park to sketch," I said, keeping my voice flat. "The doctor said fresh air would help my recovery."

She eyed the backpack. "That looks heavy for a cripple."

"It's just art supplies."

She stepped into the room, reaching for the bag. "Let me see."

"Don't touch my things," I said, pulling it away.

"Ethan!" she screamed. "Ethan, help! She's attacking me!"

It was like a script she rehearsed every day.

Heavy footsteps pounded down the hall. Ethan appeared, looking harassed. He was wearing a suit; he had a board meeting in twenty minutes.

"What now?" he groaned.

"She has a bag! She hit me with it!" Ilene sobbed, clutching her arm. "I think she stole my jewelry!"

"I didn't touch her," I said, tired. So tired. "I'm just going to paint."

Ethan looked at me, then at the bag. Suspicion clouded his eyes. "Open it, Aurora."

"No."

"Open the bag. That is an Alpha Command."

My fingers twitched, fighting the order. But the command wasn't full force; he was distracted. I managed to unzip it just enough to show the sketchbook on top.

"See?" I said. "Paper."

Ethan let out a breath. "Ilene, stop it. She's just painting."

"But—"

"I have a meeting," Ethan checked his watch. "I'm late. Ilene, go to your room. Aurora, go to the park. Just... everyone stay away from each other."

He turned to leave.

"Ethan," Ilene gasped. She grabbed her chest, her face turning a spectacular shade of gray. "My heart... it's fluttering. I think... I think I need the Healer."

Ethan stopped. He looked at his watch, then at me, then at Ilene.

"I can call a driver for her," I suggested.

"No!" Ilene wailed. "Only you make me feel safe, Ethan!"

Ethan looked at me one last time. I stood there, leaning on my cane, my backpack hiding the ticket to my freedom. If he stayed, if he looked closer, he might see the desperation in my eyes. He might smell the sulfur of the masking potion through the zipper.

"I'll take her," Ethan said. "Go paint, Aurora."

He wrapped his arm around Ilene and walked her down the hall, cooing soft words of comfort.

He left me. Again.

I waited until I heard the front door close and the engine of his car fade into the distance.

I didn't go to the park.

I went to the bathroom and downed the vial of Scent Masker. It tasted like ash. I gagged, feeling the magic take hold, erasing my scent, erasing my identity.

I picked up my backpack.

I walked to the full-length mirror. The woman staring back was pale, thin, with a scar running down her neck. But her eyes... her eyes were burning with a silver fire.

I placed a hand on my flat stomach.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to the children I would never have with him. "I'm glad you never existed. He would have broken you too."

I turned my back on the reflection. I walked out of the room, down the stairs where I had almost died, and out the back door.

It was raining. Good. The rain would wash away my tracks.

I didn't look back at the Pack House. I limped toward the treeline, toward the border, toward the unknown.

For the first time in five years, I was alone. And it felt like breathing.