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.

All the stories say that children are innocent.

Ryan Ward is indeed innocent.

But I can’t bring myself to ignore him either.

From that night on, he became a frequent visitor to my territory.

He would often hide under the tree in my yard, watching me, sometimes bringing little trinkets he had made himself.

A carved wooden wolf figurine, wild berries he had picked outside.

Sometimes, he would even give me things that William had given him.

How could he know that everything William had was actually part of my pack’s inheritance?

By early spring, the flowers in the territory had bloomed.

Isn’t spring the season of renewal?

So I stopped pushing Ryan away. Instead, I began to let him help me with certain tasks.

For example, delivering messages to the warriors outside.

William had imprisoned me here, claiming I was ill and needed seclusion, cutting me off from the outside world.

But if the Lycan King knew about my situation, I could escape this nightmare.

So I told the somewhat confused Ryan:

“Just give it to any warrior you see. Tell them it’s a letter from Princess Estelle, meant for the Lycan King.”

He agreed and then ran off, his coat flapping in the wind, stirring up a flurry of petals.

I didn’t expect Ryan to be gone for so long.

When I saw him again, it was five days later.

His eyes were evasive when he met my gaze, and he stood before me with the same awkwardness as when we first met, speaking before I could:

“I gave it to the warrior at the gate, Luna. They took it.”

I didn’t say anything, so he stepped closer, cautiously asking:

“Luna, have you been feeling better?”

The concern in his eyes seemed genuine.

Countless times before, Ryan must have asked his mother the same question, over and over:

“Mom, are you feeling better?”

I felt an inexplicable irritation.

Yes, his mother had poisoned me, causing me to lose my pup. And I, in turn, had killed her and was now using him.

This was destined to be an unending cycle of hatred.

Yet here he was, caring for me, tending to my well-being. How absurd was that?

So I turned and walked away, but Ryan panicked.

He was so young, stumbling after me in his haste, tripping on the porch and hitting his head hard enough to leave a large bump.

Ryan’s eyes immediately welled up with tears.

“Lu…Luna.”

When I didn’t stop, he quickly wiped his eyes and pulled something from his sleeve.

It was a silver wolf pendant.

The quality was poor, full of imperfections.

His hands, holding it, were rough with calluses, a mess of scars and blisters.

Ryan presented it to me as if it were a treasure.

He said:

“Luna, my mother used to say that all women in the world love beautiful things.”

“She had a pendant like this once, and she cherished it. So I thought you might like it too.”

William was a scoundrel.

It took me a long time after our marking to admit that truth.

He had climbed to his position by stepping on the remains of my pack, the Coleman Pack. I thought he would be grateful.

But instead, he kept a chosen mate outside, someone he truly cared for.

Despite his so-called love, that woman and her pup had lived in hardship, because William didn’t dare touch anything from the pack.

Now, his own pup had to do manual labor just to earn a little money, his hands ruined with calluses.

I thought of that woman again.

If you could see your pup living like this in the Ward Pack, would you regret it?

I didn’t know, and I never would.

I just took the poor-quality pendant and almost reached out to touch his injured head.

But my hand stopped halfway.

I said:

“Why did you have to be her pup?”

Yes.

Why did you have to be *his* pup?

Ryan didn’t fully understand, yet he seemed to grasp a little.

He smiled awkwardly, reaching up to touch the bump himself:

“Luna, if you had known my mother, you would have liked her too.”

“She was kind and gentle. Everyone in our neighborhood loved her.”

“If she were still alive, she would have…”

His voice trailed off, the rest of his words stuck in his throat.

“She’s not alive anymore. She’s gone… I didn’t even get to see her body.”

For the first time, the boy broke down in front of me, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed uncontrollably.

And all I could do was grip the pendant tighter and tighter in my hand.