Jenna POV:

The Wolfsbane made my limbs feel like lead. I dragged myself upright. My throat felt raw, like I’d swallowed broken glass.

My phone rang on the floor.

Husband.

I didn't answer. It rang again. I picked it up.

"Jenna?"

It was Ivana. Her voice dripped with false sweetness.

"Oh, good, you're alive," she said. "Corbett was worried. He wanted to call an ambulance, but I told him you were just attention-seeking. Again."

"You... poisoned... me," I rasped.

"Don't be silly. It was just a nut allergy. Or maybe you're just weak. Elenor would have shaken off a little Wolfsbane in minutes."

She knew.

"Where is he?"

"In the shower. Washing off your scent," she giggled. "He feels dirty after you made that scene."

I hung up.

I needed to leave. Now. But with the Wolfsbane in my system, if I tried to shift, my bones would break and never knit back together.

I stumbled toward the studio for my father's case.

The room was empty. The Essence Organ was gone.

"Looking for this?"

Corbett stood in the hallway, a towel wrapped around his waist. Clean. Unbothered.

"Where is it?" I demanded, leaning on the doorframe.

"I moved it to the guest house," he said casually. "Ivana has taken an interest in aromatherapy. Since you're obviously not using it for anything productive, I gave it to her."

The world tilted.

"You gave... my father's legacy... to her?"

"It's pack property. Besides, your father owed Elenor a debt. Consider this repayment."

"That is stealing," I whispered.

"It is reallocating resources," he corrected. "And stop wheezing. It's annoying."

He walked away.

I stood there, staring at the empty space.

Inside my mind, my wolf stopped pacing. She stopped whimpering. She sat down, turned her back to the mental image of Corbett, and went stone still.

The silence of a grave.

I walked back to my room. I reached under a loose floorboard and pulled out a velvet pouch. A single vial.

Wolfsbane Neutralizer. My father’s last invention.

I downed it.

Liquid fire exploded in my stomach. I curled onto the bed, biting my pillow to stifle the screams as the neutralizer hunted the toxins.

Corbett never came to check on me.

When the sun rose, I was weak, but clean. I looked in the mirror. The woman staring back was no longer a wife. She was a ghost.

And ghosts have nothing left to lose.

Jenna POV:

The next morning, I walked downstairs. The house smelled of rain—the heavy, ozone scent of a gathering storm.

Ivana was in the living room. She had set up a makeshift easel. Next to her sat a row of my father's vials. She was uncorking them, sniffing, and leaving them open.

"You're ruining them," I said.

Ivana jumped, knocking over a blue bottle.

Moon Rain.

My father distilled it for my eighteenth birthday. It was the only thing I had left that carried his scent.

Smash.

The blue liquid splattered the white rug. The smell of pine needles and pipe tobacco hit me instantly.

"Oops," Ivana said, smiling.

I dropped to my knees, hands frantically scooping at the soaked rug. "No, no, no." Glass sliced my palms. Blood mixed with the oil.

"It smelled like dirt anyway," Ivana sneered.

A growl ripped from my throat. Not human.

I looked up. My canines extended. My eyes shifted to glowing gold.

Ivana stumbled back. "Corbett! Help! She's shifting! She's going to kill me!"

Corbett was there in an instant. He saw me on the floor, bloody hands, bared teeth.

He didn't smell the grief. He only saw a threat to his precious charge.

"Stand down!" he bellowed.

He grabbed the back of my shirt and threw me. I crashed into the wall.

"You mad dog!" he spat. "Are you insane? Growling at a pack member?"

I held up my bleeding hands. "She broke it. She broke the Moon Rain."

"It's just perfume, Jenna! Look at you! You're bleeding all over the floor. You're unstable."

He stepped between me and Ivana, shielding her.

In werewolf culture, when a mate is injured, the instinct is to heal. To lick the wound. Corbett looked at my sliced palms and curled his lip in disgust.

"Clean yourself up," he said. "And clean this mess. If I find one shard of glass, you'll sleep in the cells."

He put an arm around Ivana. "Come. Let's go to the studio. The air here is toxic."

They walked away.

I sat against the wall. The pain in my chest was gone. The bond wasn't just broken. It was dead.

I stood up. I didn't clean the rug.

I went to the kitchen, wrapped my hands in paper towels, and walked out the back door to the garage. I grabbed the go-bag I’d hidden weeks ago. Inside was my passport and a vial of Scent Masking Agent.

I applied the agent. It smelled like nothing. It erased me.

Tonight was the Pack Charity Gala. Corbett expected me there.

I would go. But I wouldn't be the Jenna he knew.

Jenna POV:

The Pack House ballroom was suffocating.

I wore a long-sleeved black dress to hide the bandages. I had sold my grandmother's diamond earrings an hour ago. The cash was taped to my thigh.

Corbett stood at the front, holding a champagne flute. Ivana was beside him in a silver gown that looked suspiciously like my altered wedding dress.

"Welcome," Corbett boomed. "Tonight is about healing. My sister-in-law, Ivana, has turned her trauma into beauty. I present: Broken Memories."

He pulled the cloth from an easel.

The painting was a crude depiction of a wolf crying blue tears mixed with blood and glass.

She had painted my breakdown. She had painted the destruction of my father's legacy and titled it her trauma.

"Ivana captured the pain of living with mental instability," Corbett said solemnly, looking at me. "We must support the fragile."

The spotlight swung to me. Three hundred pairs of eyes. The crazy Luna.

I walked forward. The crowd parted, sensing the strange, cold void where my scent should be.

I reached the stage. Corbett looked down, smug. He thought I was coming to apologize.

"You like the painting, Jenna?" Ivana chirped into the mic. "I think it captures your... essence."

I ignored her. I looked at Corbett.

"You think I am fragile," I said. My voice wasn't amplified, but in the silent room, every wolf heard it.

"Jenna, don't make a scene," Corbett warned, his Alpha tone vibrating.

I raised my left hand. With my bandaged right, I gripped the platinum mating ring.

I pulled. It scraped over the knuckle.

The moment the metal left my skin, a shockwave hit the room. A collective gasp. To remove a mating ring in public was a declaration of war.

I dropped the ring on the table next to the painting. It clattered loudly.

"I am not fragile, Corbett," I said clearly. "I am just finished."

I closed my eyes, found the thick, pulsating cable of our Mind-Link, and visualized a pair of shears.

Snip.

I slammed a mental wall down. The link severed. The constant background noise of his emotions vanished. Silence. Blessed silence.

Corbett stumbled back, clutching his chest. "Jenna!" he roared, eyes flashing red. "I command you to stop!"

The Command washed over me.

But I didn't kneel.

I was already halfway out the door. The Command faltered. Why? Because in my heart, I no longer recognized him as my Alpha.

I pushed through the double doors into the night.

"Where to?" the taxi driver asked.

"The airport," I said. "International terminal."

As the car pulled away, I saw Corbett running out the front doors, frantic, sniffing the air.

But thanks to the masking agent, I was already a ghost.