Kelsey POV:

The news reached me through the Pack’s public broadcast channel, a frequency that hummed in the back of my mind like static—one I hadn’t figured out how to fully sever yet.

Bennett was demanding a "Test of Loyalty" for Aria.

To prove she was worthy of being the Luna—and to silence the growing whispers about the legitimacy of her pregnancy—she had to cross the Whispering Woods alone. It was a stretch of forest infamous for Rogue activity, a death sentence for the weak.

I sat in my small apartment in Paris, staring at the rain streaking the window, blurring the city lights into abstract smears of gold and grey.

It was theater. Pure, manipulative theater. Bennett was risking the mother of his "heirs" to prove a point to the Elders? Unlikely. He was a man of legacy, not chance. He had undoubtedly arranged for her safety beforehand; the Rogues were likely paid off or cleared out.

My phone buzzed on the table.

But it wasn't a text. The real disturbance was a phantom vibration at the base of my skull, an invasive itch I couldn't scratch.

*Kelsey.*

It was Aria. The Mind-Link was frayed, stretched thin over the thousands of miles between us, but she was pushing through with hysterical strength.

*Go away,* I projected back, visualizing a brick wall slamming down between our consciousnesses.

*I just wanted you to know,* her voice echoed in my head, saccharine and dripping with triumph. *Bennett is fighting the Elders right now. He's screaming at them. He says he would burn the territory down before he lets anyone question my honor.*

I took a sip of water, forcing my hand to remain steady against the porcelain mug.

*He never raised his voice for you, did he?* she taunted, her mental projection sharpening into a blade. *He never fought for you. You were just the furniture he inherited from his father.*

A sharp pain spiked behind my eyes. It wasn't heartbreak. It was the physical recoil of truth. She was right. Bennett’s love for me had been a quiet, suffocating thing. His love for her was loud, violent, and reckless.

*Do you think he loves you?* I asked her across the bond, my mental voice weary. *Or does he love the idea of an heir? He loves his legacy, Aria. You're just the vessel.*

A ripple of cold, mental laughter echoed in the silence of my mind.

*I don't care what he loves,* Aria replied, her tone shifting instantly from sweet to icy. *I don't love him, Kelsey. I love the power. I love the title. And this pregnancy? It's my ticket to the throne. Bennett is a tool. Just like you were.*

I gasped aloud in the empty room. The sheer, calculated cold-bloodedness of it made me nauseous.

*I'm going to tell him,* I threatened, though even I could hear the weakness in my resolve.

*He won't believe you,* she scoffed. *He thinks you're jealous. He thinks you're barren and bitter. Watch the live stream, Kelsey. Watch me become the Queen you never could be.*

Panic flared in my chest. Not for me, but for Bennett. He was a fool, blinded by his own ego, but he didn't deserve to be destroyed by a monster like her.

I reached for the deeper bond, the ancient tether connected to Bennett.

*Bennett!* I screamed mentally, pouring every ounce of urgency into the link. *Listen to me! She's using you! The pregnancy is a lie!*

There was a pause. A static silence that stretched for a heartbeat too long.

Then, his voice came through, cold and distant as the moon.

*Stop it, Kelsey. You're embarrassing yourself. Let us be happy. You are nothing to me now.*

The connection slammed shut like a heavy iron door. He blocked me.

I sat there in the silence of my apartment, the rain still drumming against the glass. My Inner Wolf didn't howl. She didn't cry. She just let out a long, heavy sigh of relief.

He was gone. Truly gone.

I walked to the window and threw it open, letting the cold, crisp Parisian air wash over my face, cleansing the scent of the pack from my lungs.

"Goodbye, Bennett," I whispered.

Kelsey POV:

Just as I predicted, the internet was flooded with images of the so-called "Test of Loyalty."

It had gone exactly as I expected. A Rogue—clearly a staged actor, likely paid off by Aria—had attacked. Bennett had intervened, taking a "grievous wound" to protect his pregnant mate.

The photo on the screen was a masterpiece of propaganda. It showed Bennett in his human form, blood streaming down his chest, standing over a weeping Aria.

The caption read: *Blood for Blood. Love Conquers All.*

I stared at the pixels, waiting for the familiar pang of panic. But I felt nothing. Absolute zero.

I zoomed in on Bennett's face. He looked pale, his skin waxy under the camera flash. The claws had gone deep. Wolfsbane, perhaps? If the rogue had been armed with treated claws, the healing would be slow and agonizing.

A year ago, I would be mixing poultices right now. I would be pacing the floor, my heart in my throat, already packing a bag to rush to his side.

Now, I simply closed the tab.

I picked up my paintbrush. The canvas in front of me was a swirl of grays and blues, a storm breaking apart to reveal a white moon.

My phone rang, shattering the quiet. It was Mark.

I hesitated, watching the name flash on the screen, then answered.

"What do you want, Mark?"

"The Alpha... he's asking for you," Mark said, his voice tight with stress. "He's feverish. The wound isn't healing right. He keeps mumbling about the Luna."

"Aria is right there," I said, my voice devoid of sympathy.

"He means you, Kelsey."

"I am not the Luna," I reminded him. "I resigned."

"He wants you to come to the Coronation," Mark said, abruptly shifting tactics. "He thinks... he thinks it would show unity. If you gave Aria your blessing, the Elders would calm down. He's willing to pay for your flight. He even bought you a gift."

I laughed. It was a harsh, jagged sound that startled me.

"A gift?"

"A necklace," Mark said, sounding hopeful. "Sapphires. He said they match your eyes."

The silence that followed was heavy.

"My eyes are hazel, Mark," I said softly. "Aria has blue eyes."

Dead silence on the other end.

"Tell him no," I said, cutting the cord. "Tell him I'm busy living my life. And Mark? Tell him that the next time he wants to stage a fight to impress a girl, he should make sure the rogue doesn't use real poison."

I hung up before he could stammer a reply.

I looked back at the painting. It needed something. It was too cold.

I dipped my brush in red paint. Not the color of blood. The color of life. Of roses. Of dawn.

With a steady hand, I slashed a vibrant red line across the gray storm.

My Inner Wolf stretched inside me, shaking off her slumber. She felt stronger today. The phantom weight of the Pack was gone. I didn't have to worry about the harvest. I didn't have to worry about heirs.

I just had to worry about me.

Kelsey POV

The invitation arrived by courier, demanding attention before I even opened it.

It was heavy, cream-colored cardstock embossed with gold leaf lettering.

*You are cordially invited to a Private Viewing at the Musee d'Orsay. A gesture of peace and appreciation from Alpha Bennett Randolph.*

A handwritten note was clipped to the formal stationery.

*I remember how much you loved the Impressionists. Please. Let me make it up to you. Just one evening. - B.*

I shouldn't go.

My brain screamed at me to burn it, to watch the gold lettering curl into ash.

But curiosity is a dangerous thing. It is a poison that tastes like hope. A small, treacherous part of me wanted to see him. I wanted to see if the regret I had sensed in his letters was real.

So, I treated the evening like a battle.

I dressed in a sleek black dress that hugged curves I had spent years hiding under modest Luna robes. I put on red lipstick—a shade dark enough to look like a warning.

The museum was closed to the public. It was silent, echoing with the ghosts of history and the faint hum of climate control.

Bennett was standing near a Monet, staring into the blurred strokes of a water lily pond. He looked thinner. His arm was in a sling.

"Kelsey," he breathed when he saw me.

For a second, his eyes lit up. It was genuine warmth, familiar and heartbreaking.

"Bennett," I said, keeping my distance. "Why am I here?"

"I wanted to show you I care," he said, stepping closer, his voice thick with emotion. "I wanted to give you a memory that wasn't... painful. I rented the wing. Just for us."

The air shifted.

The cloying scent of vanilla drifted in, choking out the smell of old oil paint.

"And it was such a brilliant idea," a voice cooed.

Aria stepped out from behind a statue. She was wearing a white gown that looked suspiciously like a wedding dress, the fabric pooling around her like spilled milk.

She linked her arm through Bennett's good one, staking her claim.

"Didn't he do a good job?" Aria beamed at me. "I told him, 'Bennett, poor Kelsey loves old paintings. We should do something nice for her before we officially take over.'"

My blood ran cold.

"You... you planned this?" I looked at Bennett.

\He looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight, but he nodded. "Aria thought it would be a good closure. She organized the catering. She picked the flowers."

"And look!" Aria clapped her hands. "I found this in your old room. Bennett said I should give it to you."

She pulled a velvet box from her purse. Inside was the sapphire necklace Mark had mentioned. The one for blue eyes.

"It's a parting gift," Aria smiled, her teeth white and predatory. "Since you're just a guest in our story now."

I looked at Bennett. He was letting her do this. He was letting her take credit for his apology, twisting it into an act of pity.

"You really are a puppet," I whispered, the realization settling in my chest like a stone.

"Kelsey, don't be rude," Bennett frowned, the warmth in his eyes replaced by confusion. "Aria is trying to be kind."

"Kind?" I laughed, a harsh sound that bounced off the high ceilings. "She's marking her territory, Bennett. And you're just the fire hydrant."

I turned around, my heels clicking sharply on the floor.

"Enjoy the art," I called over my shoulder. "It's the only thing real in this room."

I walked out into the Paris night. I didn't cry. I didn't shake.

I felt nothing but a profound, icy clarity.

He was gone. The boy I loved was dead.