Mireya

The chair beneath me gave a soft groan when I adjusted my posture, the sound barely audible in the heavy silence of the room. I didn’t look away from Dominic Ivyclaw—not even for a second—not even as the tension settled on my lungs like a slab of stone I couldn’t push off.

He looked exactly as he always did in public: flawless. Every line of him was polished to perfection. His pale blond hair was combed neatly back, not a strand out of place, and the silver cuff at his wrist caught the low office lighting, the Ivyclaw insignia etched into it gleaming like a silent warning. This was Ivyclaw Tower—his territory. His future throne.

The future Alpha.

The heir.

The man who once took my hands beneath twin moons and vowed himself to me in secret.

My husband.

And somehow, sitting across from him now, he felt like a stranger wearing Dominic’s face.

Without a word, he pushed his phone across the sleek glass table separating us.

“Take a look,” he said flatly.

My fingers hovered for a second before touching it. The surface of the glass was icy against my skin. I picked up the device, my pulse thudding in my ears, and tapped the screen.

The world stopped.

Ysabel.

My twin.

Her image filled the screen—bruised, swollen, barely recognizable. Her hands were restrained, her body shaking. When she screamed, it wasn’t just sound. It was pain made audible, ripping straight through me, tearing something vital apart.

A man’s voice followed—mocking, cruel, dripping with amusement. He spat insults at her, laughed at her terror, treated her like she wasn’t a living wolf at all. As if she had no family. No future. No worth.

Not a she-wolf.

Not someone’s sister.

Not someone who was supposed to be married someday.

Just something disposable.

And because we were twins, every blow felt like it landed on me too.

My hands trembled so violently I almost dropped the phone. “You absolute monster,” I breathed. “Where did you get this?”

Dominic leaned back, crossing his arms, relaxed—as though this were a routine briefing, not my sister’s suffering playing on repeat.

“The perpetrator sent it to Marianne,” he replied. “She thought I should be aware. Damage control and all that.”

Something feral rose inside me. Damage control? That’s what Ysabel’s agony was to him?

“What are you doing?” I demanded, my voice shaking despite my effort to steady it. “You know her. You know what she’s been through. She’s my sister.”

“I’m aware,” he said coolly. “So let’s not waste time. You have exactly three minutes.” His gaze hardened. “Hand over every piece of evidence you have. If you don’t…” He nodded toward the phone. “That recording goes public. Or perhaps I let certain outlets assume it’s you. No one could tell the difference. You and Ysabel share the same face.”

The room seemed to tilt.

I couldn’t draw air into my lungs. My thoughts scattered.

“You’d really do that?” My voice broke. “You’d burn my name in the High Wolf Court? After everything I sacrificed—after everything we built—”

Dominic exhaled impatiently. “You knew this arrangement had an expiration date. You’re an omega, Eya. No lineage. No history. The court only keeps you around because you serve a purpose.”

Something metallic clinked on the table.

A card.

“Ten million,” he said casually. “Give it to Ysabel. Let her buy herself comfort—luxury, distractions, whatever helps her forget. Frankly, it’s generous.”

I stared at the card, the Ivyclaw Bank emblem staring back at me like an insult.

“And Marianne?” I asked quietly, my teeth clenched. “Where does she fit into this scheme of yours?”

For the first time, something almost like softness crossed his features. Almost.

“She once protected me,” he said. “That matters.”

“She’s defending the man who violated my sister.”

Dominic didn’t react.

“She’s standing between justice and a monster,” I pressed.

He smiled faintly, empty of warmth. “That’s reality, Eya. Sometimes wolves bleed.”

I recoiled. “You were supposed to be my mate—”

“We were legally bound, not fated,” he snapped. “You never carried destiny’s mark.”

My wolf screamed.

“You swore to me,” I whispered. “You said you’d challenge even the Moon Goddess before ever choosing against me.”

He shrugged. “People change.”

My claws pressed painfully into my palms.

Memories surged without mercy.

Dominic driving me through hostile territories while I chased evidence. Dominic brewing tea at dawn when I collapsed over case files. Dominic kneeling beneath the stars, sliding a moonstone ring onto my finger, whispering, I don’t care what they say. You’re my only future.

Every word had been a lie.

The first time I faced Marianne in the High Wolf Court, her presence didn’t shock me.

Her expression did.

She stood confidently at the defense table, shoulders squared, pride gleaming in her eyes.

She was representing an Alpha so decayed in both body and soul he reeked of corruption—accused of abusing a rogue child barely seven years old. The kind of case that should have silenced the chamber with shared revulsion.

Marianne entered like she was about to save the realm.

“Esteemed members of the court,” she said smoothly, “even an Alpha deserves due process.”

I sat motionless at the prosecution table, jaw tight, my wolf restless beneath my skin.

She always cloaked rot in righteousness. Her arguments leaned on emotion rather than truth, but her confidence carried weight.

“He is an elder,” she continued. “A patriarch. A grandfather. Are we truly prepared to believe he would sacrifice everything for the unverified claim of a feral rogue pup with no affiliations?”

A low growl escaped me before I could stop it. My second’s hand landed firmly on my arm.

Later, outside, I didn’t seek her out.

She came to me.

I stood beneath the old willow near the courthouse steps, pretending to scroll through files etched into my memory.

“Mireya,” she called pleasantly. “Do you always glare at me like I’m the enemy?”

I met her gaze. “You shield predators. What else would you be?”

She sighed theatrically. “You think morality is exclusive to your side. That Alpha is frail. He has a family. Is ruining what little time he has left really necessary for your conscience?”

“A child was hurt,” I replied coldly. “Does she not deserve justice because she lacks a pack?”

She scoffed. “She’s the result of unmated wolves. A mistake, frankly.”

My body went rigid. Rage surged, hot and violent. I forced my voice steady. “The Moon Goddess watches, Marianne. Even when you hide cruelty behind logic.”

That exchange haunted me—especially when I remembered what I’d once warned Dominic about her.

“She’s not who you think she is,” I’d said. “She manipulates. She’s dangerous.”

He’d held me then, his scent grounding my wolf. “Say the word,” he’d murmured. “I’ll deal with her.”

I believed him.

Months later, Marianne was appointed legal counsel to Ivyclaw Pack enterprises. Not me. My record didn’t matter. My blood did.

She was acceptable. Presentable.

Then Dominic hired her again—this time as his personal adviser.

“We need more people,” he’d said offhandedly. “Besides… she’s intriguing.”

That word lodged deep, sharp and quiet.

Still, I stayed silent. I trusted love.

I shouldn’t have.

Because now, he wasn’t just influenced by her.

He was choosing her.

“I should’ve seen it,” I said dully. “The moment you replaced me. The moment you called her interesting.”

He didn’t argue.

“You’re not the man I married.”

“And you’re not the omega who knew her place,” he replied.

My vision blurred. “If I refuse… will you really destroy Ysabel? Destroy us?”

He smiled thinly. “Test me.”

Something inside me collapsed.

I signed.

I left without looking back.

Ivyclaw Tower felt hollow as I walked out, the crest above the doors meaningless.

Then my phone rang.

“Mireya—hospital. Now. Ysabel tried to end her life.”

I don’t remember the journey.

I only remember the hospital floor. My mother kneeling, bleeding, begging.

Ysabel—cold, lifeless.

“They could’ve saved her,” a healer whispered.

“They didn’t,” another said. “Orders.”

“From who?”

“Alpha Dominic. Marianne’s pet was injured.”

The world ended.

I collapsed beside Ysabel, sobbing apologies into silence.

My mother stood.

“We leave,” she said. “Five days. We take her ashes. And we never return.”

Mireya

My fingers were still wrapped around my sister’s shawl, stiff with dried blood, when my phone vibrated in my palm.

The name glowing on the screen made my stomach lurch.

Dominic Ivyclaw.

Once, that name meant safety. Devotion. The man who stood with me beneath moonlight and whispered vows no one else was allowed to hear. His scent used to quiet my wolf instantly—pine, steel, promise.

Now it made bile crawl up my throat.

I didn’t answer right away. My thumb hovered above the screen while my wolf growled deep inside my chest, low and warning. She sensed danger. So did I.

A message came through. It was from Dominic.

[Bring Marianne her handbag. She left it behind. She’s attending the royal auction. I’ve forwarded the location. You have an hour.]

No greeting. No softness. No acknowledgment of what I’d lost.

Just an order.

As if I were nothing more than a runner. A faceless omega. Not his wife—hidden or otherwise. Not an advocate of the High Wolf Court. Not a woman whose twin had just died.

My vision blurred as I stared at the screen. A broken laugh tore out of me, sharp and ugly.

He didn’t even know Ysabel was gone.

Or worse—he didn’t care.

I typed with shaking hands.

[I can’t.]

Barely seconds passed before another notification appeared.

A video attachment.

My heart slammed painfully against my ribs.

Not again.

I tapped it before I could stop myself.

The same footage flooded the screen. Ysabel’s screams. Her sobbing pleas. The way her terror echoed off unseen walls. The laughter—mocking, delighted—of the creature who had destroyed her.

I gagged and dropped the phone, stomach heaving.

My mother, huddled on the floor nearby like something already half-buried, reached out blindly. When her eyes found the screen, her breath shattered into a wail.

“She’s already dead!” she cried hoarsely. “What more does he want? Does he plan to grind what’s left of my child into dust before he’s satisfied?”

I crawled to her, gripping her shoulders, trying to anchor us both. “Mama… please. I’ll handle it. I swear by the Moon Goddess, I’ll stop him. I promise—”

The words broke apart in my mouth.

Because I had no idea how.

All I knew was this: we had five days. Five days before we disappeared completely. If Dominic sensed even a hint of that, everything would collapse. I couldn’t let that happen.

Not for my mother.

Not for Ysabel.

So I swallowed my fury until it burned. Picked up the purse.

And I ran.

The location Dominic sent was deliberately vague, as if meant to remind me how small I was. I pushed through the city, past ancient stone buildings carved with pack sigils, past nobles cloaked in gold-threaded finery, past Luna-blooded women draped in silk dyed with moon-blossom hues.

At last, I reached the auction estate—a vast, guarded hall blessed by royal decree, reserved only for aristocrats and those deemed worthy of standing beside them.

That’s when I saw him.

The man from the video.

Ysabel’s attacker.

He lounged casually against a marble column, immaculate in a tailored suit, a lazy smirk stretched across his face like he owned the world.

My steps faltered. Ice spread through my veins.

“So you’re Mireya,” he said smoothly. “Marianne mentioned you’d show up with her things.”

He adjusted his cuffs, navy fabric embroidered with a silver M. “Custom work,” he added smugly. “Commissioned by Alpha Dominic’s preferred tailor. Marianne thought it suited me.”

My grip tightened around the purse. Leather creaked under the pressure as my claws threatened to break through. My wolf snarled, barely contained.

“Your twin was entertaining,” he continued, voice dripping with filth. “You both carry the same desperate scent. Guess rot runs in the blood.”

Something snapped.

I hurled the purse straight at his face.

“How dare you!” I screamed, charging him. “You don’t get to speak her name! You don’t get to exist after what you did!”

I struck wildly—fists, claws, grief driving every blow. There was no technique, only pain and rage. I wanted him to hurt. I needed him to feel something.

Shouts erupted. The heavy auction doors swung open.

A familiar voice sliced through the chaos.

“Mireya.”

Marianne stepped forward, Dominic at her side. “Who exactly authorized you to attack my client?”

The courtyard fell silent.

Dominic’s arm slid around her waist, possessive, deliberate. She leaned into him naturally—like she belonged there. Like that space had never been mine.

“You owe him an apology,” she said coolly.

My whole body shook. “He murdered my sister. And you expect me to—”

“There has been no verdict,” she cut in smoothly. “What you’re saying borders on slander.”

Before I could respond, the auction announcer’s voice boomed from inside the hall.

“Our next piece—an anonymous donation. Untitled.”

The screen lit up.

I recognized it instantly.

Ysabel’s painting.

The blues she only used when she was drowning. The curled figure beneath a bleeding moon. The one she hid away. The last thing she ever created.

“No!” I screamed. “That’s hers! You can’t sell it! That’s my sister—give it back!”

Guards closed in as I fought against them, sobbing, half-mad with grief.

Marianne folded her arms, smiling faintly. “It was gifted to me. I donated it. You’re mistaken.”

“She would never give you that!”

Dominic’s voice turned sharp. “Enough, Mireya. One more outburst and you’ll be detained.”

I stopped.

Because if I didn’t, my mother would lose me too.

Marianne stepped closer. “You still haven’t apologized.”

“What…?”

Dominic’s tone was steady, unforgiving. “Get down. Say you’re sorry.”

I stared at him, the world tilting.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I gave you an order.”

I tried to speak—but his men moved first.

They yanked my hair, slammed me to the stone. Pain exploded. Blood blurred my vision.

Dominic crouched beside me, offering a handkerchief like a mockery. “Clean yourself,” he murmured. “You used to be impressive. Now you’re just an embarrassment.”

I slapped the cloth away. Forced myself upright.

He didn’t look back. His arm settled around Marianne’s shoulders.

“Dominic,” she purred, “you’re taking me home tonight, right?”

He kissed her slowly. “Always.”

That was the final fracture.

I walked home alone. No escort. No protection. Bloodied feet. Hollow chest. Autumn wind slicing through me.

The Ivyclaw estate rose ahead—once my sanctuary. Now a tomb.

At the door, I stopped.

Sounds drifted out.

Moans. Familiar. Intimate.

I stood there for nearly an hour.

Then I entered.

Clothes everywhere. Condoms on the bookshelf I built myself. The stench of sex clung to the air.

I didn’t cry.

I climbed the stairs.

And she stopped me.

Marianne. Wrapped in my towel. The blue one.

She smiled sweetly.

“Just so you’re clear, Mireya,” she said softly, venom under silk,

“I’m not the other woman.”

Mireya

The air was thick with something sharp and metallic—cold iron, treachery, intent—long before Marianne spoke a single word.

I should have trusted that instinctive chill the moment I found her inside Dominic’s private den. His inner sanctum. The one room in the estate guarded more fiercely than any vault. The space I had never once been permitted to step into, not even after becoming his wife. And there she was, standing comfortably before the safe, fingers gliding over the locking mechanism with practiced ease.

Like it belonged to her.

Like she had always belonged there.

The lock disengaged with a soft click. The safe door groaned open.

I stood frozen as she reached inside and removed a slim folder, neat and deliberate. She turned toward me slowly, triumph flashing in her eyes, and struck the folder against my chest without hesitation.

The impact stole my breath.

“Divorce papers,” she said lightly, as though delivering trivial news. “Filed, approved, finalized. You and Dominic are no longer married, Mireya. Honestly, you haven’t been for quite some time.”

My hands trembled as I opened it. Page after page burned my vision. Every clause was airtight. My name. My signature. Legal, undeniable.

I didn’t remember signing this.

But I had.

Buried in trust. Hidden beneath documents I never thought to question.

“He deceived me,” I murmured, the words barely audible above the pounding in my ears.

Marianne’s smile widened, sharp and predatory. “We’re attorneys. You know better than anyone that intent doesn’t matter. Ink does. If you were careless enough to sign blindly, that’s hardly his fault.”

I couldn’t move. My heart hammered violently as memories clashed with reality. Three years. Three years believing in a marriage that apparently ended long before today.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You keep pretending there’s still something binding you. But tell me—did he ever claim you properly? He never marked you. Never completed the bond. With me, though?” Her lips curved cruelly. “He did.”

My wolf stirred, wounded but alive, snarling deep within my chest.

“I’m just cleaning up what he left unfinished,” Marianne continued, cradling the folder as if it were precious. “You can consider this an act of mercy. By tomorrow, I expect you gone.”

I didn’t beg. I didn’t collapse.

I met her gaze evenly. “Then I hope the two of you find everything you deserve.”

My jaw clenched until pain bloomed, but I didn’t let it show. I turned away, each step tearing something raw inside me.

That night passed without sleep.

I packed methodically. Not with tears or hysteria, but with emptiness. The kind that settles after devastation, when grief has already burned everything down.

I folded dresses carefully—luxury fabrics chosen by him, jewels clasped around my throat like ownership. I boxed them all. Not to keep. Not to sell.

To erase.

When Dominic and Marianne left the estate the next morning—no doubt celebrating my removal—I contacted a courier. When he arrived, I handed over the boxes and the address.

He hesitated. “Ma’am… this location is an incineration facility.”

“Yes,” I replied evenly. “Make sure nothing survives.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Understood, Attorney.”

As the truck disappeared, so did the last remnants of that life. Silk and gold no longer meant anything. Neither did Dominic.

Then my phone rang.

I nearly ignored it—until I saw my mother’s name.

Her voice broke through the line in fractured sobs. “Mireya… they’re destroying your sister’s shrine. They’re pulling it apart—her resting place—”

The phone slipped from my hand.

I didn’t grab shoes. I didn’t think. I shifted partially, claws breaking through skin, vision blazing gold, and ran.

When I arrived, my mother was on the ground, clutching Ysabel’s urn like a lifeline. Blood smeared her palms where she’d been shoved aside.

I knelt beside her, fury tearing through me. “Who did this?”

She pointed weakly. “She said her dog died. She tried to take the shrine. She shoved me—she tried to throw your sister away!”

I turned.

Marianne stood near the half-open doors, eyes red with feigned tears, mouth curved smugly.

“Oh,” she said sweetly. “You’re here for another performance?”

My voice came out low and dangerous. “You knew this space was already claimed.”

She gestured toward a satin-wrapped box. “I need somewhere to bury my pet. Surely even you wouldn’t deny that.”

“That shrine was for my sister.”

She shrugged. “It’s not like she’s really in there, is she? After all, you’ve been hiding her ever since that video.”

The words cut deep—but I didn’t react.

Instead, I turned to the cemetery manager who had rushed over. “This shrine was purchased and registered under my sister’s name. We have documentation. My mother carved the plate herself.”

He nodded. “I remember. We don’t reassign occupied shrines. I’ll assist Miss Marianne elsewhere.”

Marianne screamed.

“She’s lying! She’s manipulating everyone! Her sister isn’t dead—and now she’s stealing from me!”

I ignored her. Carefully placed Ysabel’s urn back where it belonged.

“Heartless?” I said quietly. “That accusation suits you better.”

She collapsed theatrically behind me—until a familiar presence slammed into the space.

Dominic.

His aura crushed the air, alpha dominance radiating outward. Wolves backed away instinctively.

“Remove that,” he ordered coldly.

He lifted Marianne into his arms, cradling her protectively.

I stepped forward, blocking the shrine. “Do you even know whose remains those are?”

His gaze was empty. “And if I do? You brought this chaos on yourself.”

He gestured.

The urn was seized. It fell. Shattered.

Ashes scattered across the ground.

A boot crushed them.

My mother screamed and collapsed, clawing at dirt, sobbing uncontrollably.

I couldn’t move. My claws pierced my palms, blood dripping freely.

“That’s my sister,” I whispered. “That’s all that’s left of her.”

Dominic scoffed. “Keep lying. I’ll make your lie permanent.”

Then he left. Carrying her.

Silence followed.

I sank beside my mother, hands shaking as I gathered what little remained.

Ash. Bone. Soil.

The Moon Goddess gave no answer.

But I made a vow.

I would remember.

And I would make them pay.