Three months into my pregnancy, I was poisoned by my mate's mistress, resulting in a miscarriage that left me unable to bear children.

That same day, I strangled her with my own hands.

My mate, William Ward, Gamma of the Ward Pack, has hated me ever since. He locked me away in a secluded cabin for three long years.

Three years later, he brought a frail child back from the pack’s outpost and told me to raise him.

He said the child’s name was Ryan Ward, the son of a seamstress from the outpost.

As I looked at the thin, obedient boy, my gaze flickered with realization.

William didn’t know that his beloved mistress, in her dying moments, had repeated one phrase over and over.

She had cried out:

“Ryan, my son…”

I couldn’t help but laugh, feeling for the first time in years a glimmer of hope.

==============================

When I strangled that mistress, her slender, pale neck had snapped like a fragile twig in the wind.

The fishing line I used left deep cuts on my hands, my blood mingling with hers, but I felt no pain—only a dark, twisted satisfaction.

Even three years later, whenever I dreamt of that moment, I’d wake up smiling.

That urge to experience it again grew stronger when Ryan arrived in my cabin three days ago.

“My Luna, your medicine.”

He knelt beside my bed, holding the bowl of medicine with both hands, his eyes cast down in deference.

The liquid was bitter, but I took the bowl and drank it without hesitation.

When William had brought him to my cabin, I’d been surprised.

He thought I didn’t know—that this was the child of his mistress.

He lied to me, claiming Ryan was the son of an unmarried seamstress, hoping I’d raise him and give him legitimacy.

He thought he could deceive me, but he didn’t realize I’d already lost my mind.

I’d gone mad the moment my child was taken from me.

These were the first words I spoke to Ryan in three days:

“Has your mother always lived at the outpost?”

Ryan froze, his head bowing even lower.

“I never knew my father. My mother raised me alone at the outpost since I was born.”

“Three years ago, she went out to gather herbs and fell off a cliff. She never came back.”

“They never found her body. Gamma William took pity on me and asked you to take me in.”

His words were meek, and they confirmed what I already knew.

He didn’t know his mother was a mistress. He didn’t know William was his father.

And he certainly didn’t know that I was the one who’d killed his mother, her body buried beneath the massive oak tree in the forest, feeding its roots day after day, year after year.

The irony was almost poetic. Did that woman ever imagine, when she poisoned me, that it would come to this?

I closed my eyes, threw the medicine bowl to the ground, and lunged at Ryan, my hands wrapping around his neck.

The porcelain shattered with a loud crash.

I pressed hard, and Ryan’s face turned red.

He was so obedient—so obedient that even in this moment, he didn’t struggle, his eyes wide but calm as I tried to end his life.

How could that wretched woman have raised such a good child?

If my child had lived…

If my child had lived!

“Die!” I screamed, pinning him to the ground, my hands tightening as that dark satisfaction surged through me again.

“Estelle!”

William’s voice rang out in panic, and a dart pierced my shoulder a second later.

I cried out in pain and collapsed, only to be met with William’s furious kick.

“You’re insane!”

He kicked the dart deeper into my shoulder, the pain so intense I nearly blacked out.

As I looked up at him, I felt a strange detachment, as if I were seeing a stranger.

This was my mate.

My grandfather, the Lycan King, had personally handed me over to him during our mark ceremony.

“Estelle! You lunatic!”

His eyes were bloodshot as he cursed me:

“A woman like you, dishonorable and unfaithful, doesn’t deserve to be the granddaughter of the Lycan King! You should die! Die! Die!”

William lost all control, not caring if he killed me, kicking me over and over until I was barely conscious.

“I… I’m sorry! It’s my fault! Gamma! Gamma!”

Ryan, who had just recovered his breath, suddenly threw himself between us.

For the first time in three days, he broke into tears, clutching William’s leg and sobbing:

“It’s my fault! All my fault, Gamma! Please, don’t hurt the Luna! Don’t hurt her!”

Hah. This child.

William Ward took Ryan Ward away and called a healer for me.

He could vent his anger, but he couldn’t risk my life.

There were those above him eyeing his position, and during the three years I was imprisoned, he feigned illness to the outside world. How many waves of probing eyes came and went?

Without anyone to tend to me, it was inevitable—I fell ill in the middle of the night.

This time, the dream was uneasy. I didn’t see Cleo Moore, but instead, I dreamt of the past.

It was back when William was just a low-ranking Gamma in the Ward Pack.

He found me hunting by the cliffs, carefully placing the rabbits he’d hunted one by one into my catch.

When I caught him, he said:

"Luna, your health is fragile, and I fear you might overexert yourself. I only wanted to ensure you didn’t return empty-handed."

It was before his mother fell gravely ill.

I went to his home to see her, and he held his ailing mother in his arms, yet he never once asked for my help.

He said:

"Luna, you shouldn’t have to see such suffering. You were born to live without worry."

It was before he tentatively placed the necklace he’d spent all his savings on around my neck.

He said:

"Luna Estelle, you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on."

How pitiful it is that women cling to such fleeting affections. I defied my grandfather’s wishes and brought the entire Coleman Pack with me to mate him.

In the early days of our mating, he treated me with genuine care.

But then, my grandfather, the Lycan King, shielded the current King from an assassin’s claws and died that very night. The entire Coleman Pack was burned to the ground in retaliation.

Every one of the thirteen hundred souls in that pack was consumed by the flames.

My brother, my father, even my toddling nephew.

It must have hurt so much. Did they cry in pain?

And what was I doing at that time?

I was throwing a tantrum because William had glanced at another woman.

How laughable, how despicable.

Why wasn’t I the one consumed by those flames?

I’ve thought that more than once.

From that day on, the King, pitying me as the last of the Coleman Pack, promoted William to Alpha.

He even issued a decree: any pup I bore would be the heir to the Coleman legacy.

My first pup would carry the Coleman name.

He was to be the future of our pack!

He was the only hope I’ve clung to all these years.

But I don’t understand why.

Why, when I drank the tea offered by that unfamiliar woman on the street, did it all go wrong? She was kind, her scent gentle as she said:

"It’s a hot day, Luna. This will refresh you."

From that day, my pup turned into a pool of crimson, flowing endlessly, endlessly.

I was pulled back into the flames of that horrifying night.

That woman deserved to die.

And so did others.

When I mated, my mother told me that males were the most unreliable creatures in the world.

I knew that hearts could change in an instant.

But it wasn’t until after I killed Cleo, and William went mad, whipping me with a fury I’d never seen, that I realized.

His true heart was never mine.

So, was it really that woman who deserved to die?

A cold touch brushed my forehead, jolting me awake.

Outside, a clap of thunder lit up the room, and there, kneeling by my bed, was Ryan Ward, gently placing a cool cloth on my head.

He flinched when he saw me wake, a few drops of water flicking from his hand.

I suddenly remembered a time when William had caressed my belly, his scent soft:

"Estelle, our pup will be the finest this world has ever seen."

In the long darkness of the night, I let out a heavy breath.

"How dare you come here?" I asked him.

"Aren’t you afraid I’ll kill you too?"

Ryan was silent for a long time.

Finally, he rinsed a new cloth and said in a low voice:

"Luna, from the moment I first caught your scent, I knew."

He pressed the cloth to my forehead, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.

"You must be in so much pain."

"Luna, you’re someone who worries others."

"Just like my mother, crying by the window every night three years ago."

Another crack of thunder echoed outside.

Another spring rain had begun to fall.

That night, Ryan stayed by my side and told me stories about his mother.

His voice was soft, almost hesitant, as he spoke:

"My mom used to sell handmade crafts to make a living. She could earn about twenty dollars a day, but it was never enough to keep us well-fed. Sometimes, she’d take me to the woods behind the pack house to forage for herbs and roots."

"There was this one plant—sweet but toxic. I almost died from eating it once. My mom was so scared; she held me all night, calling my name over and over."

He paused, his eyes distant, then continued:

"She was so skilled with her hands. Whenever my clothes got torn, she’d mend them and sew these little symbols into the fabric."

"Sometimes it was a paw print, sometimes a crescent moon."

"She said she’d heard about a rare breed of cat—Maine Coons—that wealthy humans kept as pets. She wanted to sew one for me, but she’d never seen one before."

When he talked about Cleo, his eyes lit up, as if he were reliving something warm and tender.

I didn’t say anything, just watched him quietly. He seemed to realize he’d spoken too much and grew uneasy. After a long silence, he knelt by my bed and whispered,

"Luna, you’re like my mother."

His voice was so quiet, but I heard it. And I also heard the rustling of the leaves from the oak tree outside the window.

Are you crying?

"I’m nothing like your mother," I said, my voice cold and distant. "Not at all."

"Leave this place. Before I decide to kill you."

With that, I turned away and closed my eyes.

The sound of his footsteps never came. He didn’t leave.

That night, I didn’t dream.

But I felt the blanket being pulled over me, again and again.

And the cool cloth on my forehead was replaced, time after time.