Caroline POV:

Three days later, I was back in the Pack House. I signed myself out Against Medical Advice. Staying in that hospital, surrounded by the scent of antiseptic and pity, felt too much like lying in a morgue. I moved like a ghost through the hallways of the mansion I had designed but never truly lived in.

I found Blake in his study. He was pacing, his pheromones sour with irritation.

He stopped when he saw me. He didn't ask how I was. He didn't look at the bandages wrapping my shoulder where the silver burns were still raw.

He was holding my diary. The one detailing my "Escape Plan"—logistics, bank accounts, safe houses.

"Is this a joke, Caroline?" He tossed the notebook onto the mahogany desk. It landed with a heavy thud. "Running away? It's a pathetic ploy for attention. Typical of a latent wolf. You have no wolf spirit, so you resort to human dramatics."

He didn't know my wolf was dead. He thought I was just 'latent'—a wolf who had never shifted. He didn't know I was a White Wolf, a rare bloodline that matured late. Or rather, I had been.

"It's not a ploy, Blake," I said, leaning against the doorframe for support. My leg was still weak. "It's a notification."

"I am the Alpha of the Blood Moon Pack," he growled, his eyes flashing gold. "I have a duty to protect the weak. Ariana has a damaged wolf soul. She cannot shift. She needs me. You... you are capable. You are an architect. You are strong. Why are you so jealous of a woman who has lost everything?"

"I lost my child three days ago, Blake," I said softly.

He froze. For a second, genuine confusion crossed his face. "What?"

Before he could process it, a mental scream tore through the room. It was Ariana, projecting via the Mind-Link so loudly that even I, with my severed connection, could feel the psychic backlash.

Blake! Help! The gallery! They threw fire! The Rogues!

Blake's head snapped up. The confusion vanished, replaced by instant, conditioned panic. Fire was the one thing wolves feared almost as much as silver.

"Ariana," he breathed.

"Blake, wait," I said, stepping forward. "We need to talk about the baby. About the blood you refused to give."

"Not now!" He roared, pushing past me. The force of his shoulder clipped my injured arm. I gasped, stumbling back. "She's in danger, Caroline! Get out of my way!"

He sprinted down the hall.

I opened my phone and opened the digital backup of the Ledger.

He abandoned the conversation about his dead child for her false alarm.

-10.

I limped after him. I had to see it. I had to see the choice he made with my own eyes.

By the time I reached the downtown art gallery, smoke was billowing from the entrance. It wasn't a Rogue attack. I could smell the accelerant—commercial gasoline. Rogues didn't use gas; they used magic or brute force. This was staged.

Blake didn't care. He rushed into the flames.

I stood by the curb, the heat licking at my face. Minutes later, he emerged. He was carrying Ariana bridal style. She was coughing, clinging to his neck, but she was spotless. Not a burn on her.

"Oh, Blake, I was so scared," she wailed, burying her face in his chest.

Above them, the structural beam of the gallery entrance—weakened by the fire—groaned.

"Look out!" I shouted.

Blake looked up. He saw the beam falling. He saw me standing in its path. He saw Ariana in his arms.

He pivoted. He used his Alpha speed to shield Ariana, turning his back to the debris.

The burning wood crashed down. It missed him. It hit me.

A heavy, flaming chunk of timber struck my thigh, knocking me into the gutter. The embers seared through my jeans, burning into the skin that was already struggling to heal from the silver poisoning.

I bit my tongue so hard I tasted blood to keep from screaming.

Blake looked over his shoulder. He saw me lying in the ash. His eyes widened.

"Caroline?"

"My lungs..." Ariana whimpered in his arms, though her breathing was clear. "The smoke..."

Blake looked at me, then at the woman in his arms. He tightened his grip on her.

"Medics will be here in two minutes," he said to me, his voice tight. "Stay there."

He turned and walked away, carrying the unharmed mistress to the ambulance, leaving his wife burning in the gutter.

I pulled my phone out with shaking hands.

He walked through fire for her. He left me to burn.

-20.

Caroline POV:

The burn on my leg was wrapped in bandages soaked in aloe and comfrey, an old pack remedy. I sat in the waiting room of the hospital—again.

I wasn't the patient this time. I had walked here from the gallery site because the ambulance had been "prioritized" for the Alpha's rescue.

I walked into the VIP suite. Blake was sitting by the bed, holding a glass of water to Ariana's lips. She was sipping it delicately, looking at him with wide, doe-like eyes.

"The smoke inhalation was minimal," Blake was saying, his voice low and soothing. "But the trauma... it reminded you of the attack ten years ago, didn't it?"

"Yes," Ariana whispered. "When the Rogues took my ability to shift... I felt that same fear today, Blake."

It was the oldest story in the book. Ten years ago, Blake had failed to save her from a Rogue kidnapping in time. Her wolf had been shattered. His guilt was the foundation of their relationship. It was a bond stronger than love, and far more toxic.

I cleared my throat.

Blake looked up. He didn't look guilty. He looked annoyed at the interruption.

"You should be resting, Caroline," he said. "The nurses said you have second-degree burns."

"I'm fine," I lied. I wasn't fine. I was hollow. "I came to give you this."

I placed a letter on the bedside table. It was my resignation from the Pack Charity Committee. It was the only official role I held. The Luna was supposed to lead the pack's social welfare. It was my one connection to the people.

"I'm stepping down," I said.

Blake picked up the letter. He scanned it, then nodded. "Good. You've been under a lot of stress. You're clearly unstable."

He turned to Ariana. "Ariana, you've been saying you want to feel useful to the pack again. To help you heal from your PTSD."

Ariana sat up straighter, a gleam of triumph in her eyes that she quickly masked with humility. "Oh, Blake, I couldn't possibly... that's Caroline's seat."

"Caroline just vacated it," Blake said, handing the letter to Ariana. "It's yours. You have a kinder heart, anyway. The pack needs someone who understands suffering, not someone who calculates everything like an architect."

I felt the air leave the room. He wasn't just accepting my resignation. He was regifting my identity. He was taking the last scrap of respect I had in this hierarchy and handing it to the woman who mocked me.

"Thank you, Alpha," Ariana cooed, clutching the paper to her chest. She looked at me and smirked. It was a small, quick movement, invisible to him.

"You should go home, Caroline," Blake said, not looking at me. "I'm staying here tonight to monitor her wolf spirit fluctuations. The doctor says the shock might cause a regression."

"She doesn't have a wolf spirit to fluctuate, Blake," I said coldly.

"Get out," he snarled. The Alpha tone vibrated in the air, making the glass of water on the table ripple.

I turned and walked out.

I sat on a bench in the hallway and opened the app.

He gave my Luna seat to her. He called her heart kind and mine calculated.

-5.

Total Remaining: 45.

Caroline POV:

It was our third mating anniversary.

In werewolf culture, the third anniversary is significant. It represents the solidification of the bond, the transition from new mates to established leaders.

I wore green. A deep, emerald velvet dress that hugged my curves. It was the color of the forest, the color of the home I used to build in my mind.

I sat across from Blake at Le Lune, the most exclusive restaurant in the territory. He looked handsome in his tuxedo, I had to admit. That jawline, those dark eyes that used to make my wolf howl with desire. Now, looking at him was like looking at a statue. Beautiful, cold, and stone.

"You look... nice," he said, checking his watch.

"Thank you," I said. "I ordered the venison."

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a long, velvet box. My heart gave a stupid, traitorous little jump. Maybe he remembered. Maybe he had bought me the enchanted drafting compass I had admired months ago.

He slid the box across the table.

Just then, his phone buzzed. He looked at the screen. Ariana.

"Don't," I said. It was the first time I had commanded him. "It's our anniversary, Blake. Don't answer it."

"It might be an emergency," he said, answering it anyway. "Ariana? What's wrong?"

I watched his face change from annoyance to concern.

"Calm down," he said. "Where are you? You're here?"

I turned my head. Ariana was standing at the entrance of the restaurant. She was wearing a shimmering silver gown that was far too bridal for a dinner guest.

And on her chest, pinned right over her heart, was the Moonstone Brooch.

The Blood Moon Pack's heirloom. The brooch that belonged to the Alpha's mate. It had been locked in the vault.

"She's having a panic attack," Blake said, standing up. "The crowd... the pheromones are overwhelming her senses."

Ariana stumbled toward our table, clutching her chest. "Blake... I couldn't breathe... I needed to find you..."

She collapsed into the chair next to him—my chair was opposite him. He immediately took her hands, pushing his Alpha aura into her to soothe her. It was an intimate act, sharing energy.

"Why is she wearing the Moonstone Brooch, Blake?" I asked, my voice deadly quiet.

Blake didn't even look at the brooch. "She needed a talisman. Something with Alpha energy to ground her. I let her borrow it from the vault."

"That is for the Luna," I said.

"It's just jewelry, Caroline!" He snapped. "She is hyperventilating. Do you have no empathy?"

Ariana looked at me, her eyes wet with fake tears. "I'm sorry, Caroline. I just felt so unsafe."

Blake looked at the velvet box on the table—my gift. Then he looked at Ariana, who was trembling.

"Here," Blake said. He picked up the box intended for me. He opened it. Inside were diamond earrings. Not the compass. Just generic, expensive diamonds.

He handed them to Ariana. "Focus on these. Look at the light in them. Ground yourself."

Ariana took the earrings. She held them up to her ears, looking at her reflection in the knife blade. "They're beautiful, Blake. They make me feel... safe."

He didn't take them back. He let her keep them.

I felt a sharp pain in my chest, right where the mating bond used to be. It wasn't the bond breaking—that was already gone. It was the death of my dignity.

"Excuse me," I said, standing up. "I need to go to the ladies' room."

I walked away. I didn't go to the bathroom to cry. I went to take a pill—a strong herbal suppressor to numb the phantom pain in my empty womb.

I took out my phone.

He gave the family heirloom to her. He regifted my anniversary present to her to 'soothe' her.

-15.

Total Remaining: 30.