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.

Aurora POV:

Freedom was a brutal thing. It was cold rain, mud sucking at my boots, and a leg that screamed with every step.

I made it three miles. That was it. Three pathetic miles.

I was cutting through the dense forest near the eastern border, thinking I was clever, thinking the rain hid me. But I hadn't accounted for the patrols being doubled because of the upcoming gala.

A twig snapped. Before I could even turn, high-beams cut through the darkness, blinding me. An SUV roared out of the service road, tires spinning in the mud.

"There!" a voice shouted.

I tried to run. I scrambled up a wet embankment, my fingernails digging into the dirt, but my bad leg buckled. I slid back down, landing face-first in the slush.

Strong hands grabbed me. Not gently. They hauled me up like a sack of potatoes.

"Got her," the Beta growled into his radio. "She was trying to cross into Rogue territory."

"Bring her back," Ethan's voice crackled over the comms. It was ice cold. "Now."

The drive back was silent. I sat in the back, shivering, mud caked in my hair, realizing that my escape hadn't just failed—it had doomed me.

They didn't take me to a cell. They took me to a dressing room.

"Stand still," the stylist snapped, yanking the corset tighter. "Alpha Ethan wants you presentable."

I looked at myself in the mirror. I was pale, gaunt, and my eyes were dead. They had dressed me in a long-sleeved gown to hide the burns on my chest and the bruises on my arms. It was a mockery of elegance.

The door opened, and Ethan walked in. He looked dashing in his tuxedo, the very image of a powerful Alpha. But when he looked at me, his eyes were cold.

"You tried to run," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "On the night of Ilene's birthday gala. Do you have any idea how that would look to the investors? The Luna, running away like a rogue?"

"I am not your Luna," I whispered. "I am your prisoner."

"You are my wife," he corrected, adjusting his cufflinks. "And tonight, you will act like it. Ilene has been through enough trauma. We need to show the pack that we are a united front supporting her."

"You want me to celebrate the woman who poisoned me?"

"It was an accident!" Ethan roared, causing the stylist to flinch. He took a deep breath, composing himself. "Tonight is about the pack's stability. Do not embarrass me, Aurora. That is an order."

He didn't use the Alpha Command, but the weight of his authority was heavy enough.

We entered the ballroom. The air was thick with the scents of expensive perfume, champagne, and the musk of high-ranking wolves. Hundreds of eyes turned to us.

Ethan gripped my arm. It looked like a supportive gesture, but his fingers dug into my flesh, a silent warning.

Then, she appeared.

Ilene descended the staircase like a queen. She wore a dress of shimmering silver that hugged every curve. Around her neck, glittering under the chandelier, was a necklace made of moonstones and diamonds.

My breath hitched.

That necklace. It was the 'Tears of the Moon.' It was an heirloom of the Bruce family, traditionally given to the Luna on her first mating anniversary. Ethan had told me it was being repaired for five years.

"Happy Birthday, Ilene!" the crowd cheered.

She beamed, walking straight to us. She ignored me and placed a hand on Ethan's chest.

"Thank you for the gift, Ethan," she purred, fingering the necklace. "It makes me feel so... protected. Like I truly belong here."

"You do belong here," Ethan said softly.

The humiliation burned hotter than the Wolfsbane. The pack members whispered behind their hands. They looked at Ilene with admiration and at me with scorn. To them, I was just the barren, wolf-less placeholder who refused to step aside for the true heroine.

"Oh, Aurora!" Ilene turned to me, her eyes wide and innocent. "I have something for you, too. Since you couldn't get me a gift, I thought I'd give you a memento. To help you... remember."

She handed me a beautifully wrapped box.

My hands trembled as I took it. "I don't want this."

"Open it," Ethan commanded. "She is trying to be kind."

I pulled the ribbon. The lid fell off.

Photos spilled out. Dozens of them. They scattered across the polished floor.

They were high-resolution, graphic photos of the rogue attack five years ago. Ilene bleeding on the ground. Ethan screaming. The gore was vivid.

"No!" Ilene suddenly shrieked, jumping back. "No! Why did you bring those? Why are you showing me those?"

She fell to her knees, clutching her head, hyperventilating. "The blood! Take them away! She's trying to kill me!"

The room went silent. It wasn't just awkward; it was hostile. The glare of the pack burned into my skin.

I stood frozen, the empty box in my hand. "I didn't... you gave this to me..."

"You sick, jealous bitch!"

Ethan didn't just shout. He snarled. The sound was guttural, the sound of a wolf on the brink of violence.

He shoved me aside to get to Ilene. The force of his push sent me stumbling. I tripped over my own gown and fell onto the scattered photos.

The sharp edge of the glossy paper sliced my cheek. A thin line of blood trickled down my face.

"Get them out of her sight!" Ethan bellowed at the warriors. He gathered the sobbing Ilene into his arms.

He turned to me, his eyes glowing amber. "I knew you were weak, Aurora. But I didn't know you were cruel. You did this to trigger her PTSD. You want her to suffer because you envy her."

"Ethan, look at the box," I said, my voice calm amidst the chaos. "It has her handwriting on the tag."

"Enough of your lies!"

He stood up, lifting Ilene. The crowd parted for him. He looked at me with pure disgust.

"You are a stain on this pack," he spat.

He walked away, carrying her.

I sat on the floor, surrounded by the horrific images of the past, blood dripping from my cheek onto my white dress. No one helped me up. They just stared, their judgment heavy and suffocating.

I touched the cut on my face. It stung.

But strangely, my chest didn't hurt anymore. The heart that used to break for him was finally, mercifully, going numb.