I blinked slowly, my fingers tightening around the wooden ladle until my knuckles turned pale.

“I-I’ll make another pot,” I whispered, already reaching for his bowl.

Alpha Theron slammed the spoon against the table hard enough to make the dishes rattle.

“Oh, come now, Elyria.” His voice dripped with irritation. “If you’re still sulking over what I said earlier, this is a pathetic way to show it.”

I froze.

He leaned back in his chair with a scoff. “What is this? Punishment? You expect me to eat swamp water because your feelings got hurt?” His sharp amber eyes narrowed at me. “You did not even try. Preparing meals is the only responsibility you have in this packhouse.”

The only responsibility you have.

The words echoed louder than the sound of the spoon striking wood.

To them, that was all my existence amounted to.

Cooking meals.

Washing clothes.

Keeping the hearth warm.

Making sure their beds were prepared before nightfall.

I was the shadow moving silently through the halls of the packhouse while everyone else lived important lives.

It did not matter that I woke before sunrise every morning to prepare food for the warriors returning from patrol.

It did not matter that I stayed awake waiting for Theron whenever he returned late from alliance meetings in neighboring territories.

It did not matter that I raised our son mostly alone while Theron traveled between packs handling trade agreements and disputes.

None of it mattered because I was only a Luna in title.

Not in respect.

Not in value.

A real Luna stood beside her Alpha and advised him before the council fire. A real Luna was admired.

I was simply useful.

Once, long ago, I believed this life meant something.

I thought caring for my mate and tending to our home was honorable. The Moon Goddess herself blessed family bonds, did she not?

But what had all those years truly given me?

A son who rarely visited the packhouse anymore unless duty required it.

A mate who looked at me as though I were another burden strapped to his shoulders.

A father who spent half my life wishing another woman had been born in my place.

And perhaps the cruelest truth of all was this—

I allowed it.

I let myself fade quietly into the background until no one remembered there had once been more to me than this.

Tears blurred my vision as I lowered my head.

“I’ll prepare a fresh stew,” I said weakly.

Before anyone could answer, the heavy packhouse doors opened.

The sharp click of heels echoed across the stone floors.

“Well,” a smooth familiar voice said lightly, “this feels tense.”

My chest tightened instantly.

Marisella.

Of course it was her.

Even her presence carried elegance. Her dark silver cloak draped perfectly over her shoulders, embroidered with the crescent emblem gifted to high-ranking pack envoys. Moonstones glittered at her throat and wrists, reflecting the firelight with every graceful movement.

Marisella always looked untouchable.

Confident.

Admired.

The kind of woman people naturally turned toward.

The daughter my father had always wanted.

“I came to deliver the trade ledgers from the Northern Ridge Pack,” she said warmly, lifting a leather satchel. “I thought Theron might want to review them tonight so the council can finalize everything before the next full moon.”

My father immediately straightened in his seat.

“Marisella!” His entire expression brightened. “Come sit with us.”

Her eyes moved toward the table.

“Oh?” she said pleasantly. “You’re all dining already? Then perhaps I can join. I have been traveling since dawn, and the stew smells wonderful.” She smiled toward me. “Elyria always cooks well.”

Theron snorted.

“Not tonight.” He pushed the bowl away with obvious disgust. “It tastes terrible.”

Marisella blinked.

“I think she forgot seasoning exists altogether,” Theron continued dryly. “Honestly, the warriors would reject this.”

Heat flooded my face.

“How about we just head into town instead?” Theron suddenly said, standing from his seat. “The Silver Fang Tavern reopened after renovations. We might as well eat something decent.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely,” Marisella replied with an easy smile.

Father nodded immediately. “I heard they brought chefs from the western territories.”

Then Marisella looked at me.

“Elyria, come with us.”

For one brief, foolish moment, hope flickered inside me.

But Theron answered before I could even open my mouth.

“She can’t,” he said dismissively with a wave of his hand. “There’s still work to do around the packhouse.”

His eyes barely glanced at me.

“She can eat the stew herself so it doesn’t go to waste. Besides, we’ll mostly be discussing pack matters and trade routes. You know Elyria has no interest in those things.”

No interest.

As if anyone had ever allowed me to have one.

As if I did not dream of leaving these walls even for a single evening.

As if I did not want, just once, to sit at a table where someone served me instead.

Marisella hesitated slightly.

Then her smile returned.

“I’ll bring you something back from town then, cousin,” she said kindly. “Maybe honey cakes from the market.”

I forced myself to nod.

“Thank you.”

A few moments later, they were gone.

Their laughter echoed through the packhouse halls as servants opened the doors for them. I heard Theron’s deep voice, my father’s booming laugh, Marisella’s soft amusement blending together before fading into the distance.

No one said goodbye to me.

Silence settled heavily after they left.

I stood alone in the dining hall, surrounded by the smell of burnt herbs and disappointment.

Slowly, I sat down in Theron’s abandoned chair.

Then I lifted the same bowl he had spat into.

I tasted the stew.

Bland.

Too much water.

Too little salt.

He was right.

I had ruined it.

But not because I wanted revenge.

Not because I wished to hurt him.

I simply…

Could not taste anything anymore.

Numbness had settled so deeply inside me that even flavors seemed distant now.

My gaze drifted slowly around the packhouse dining hall.

The walls I had scrubbed myself after winter storms stained them with soot.

The curtains I stitched by hand during the famine years because the pack could not afford luxuries.

The wooden floors I knelt on countless times to polish before gatherings.

The winters I spent decorating the halls beneath moon lanterns so the pack would feel warmth during the cold season.

The birthdays.

The harvest feasts.

The full moon ceremonies.

Twenty-five years of devotion lived inside these walls.

And still…

I was not treated like a mate.

Not treated like a Luna.

I was treated like hired help that had overstayed her usefulness.

And somehow, that realization hurt more than every cruel word spoken tonight.

Quietly, I finished the bowl of stew myself.

Then I cleaned the table.

Washed every dish.

Wiped every counter.

Folded every cloth neatly like I always did.

When everything was finished, I climbed the staircase slowly and entered the bedroom Theron and I once shared as newly bonded mates.

The room felt enormous now.

Cold.

Empty.

The bed that once held whispered promises beneath moonlit nights now felt unfamiliar, like it belonged to strangers.

I sat at the edge of it and pressed a trembling hand against my chest where the mating bond rested faintly beneath my skin.

“I chose this,” I whispered brokenly.

At every insult…

Every dismissal…

Every lonely night…

I stayed.

I allowed them to shape me into someone small enough to ignore.

Someone silent enough to forget.

Tears finally spilled freely down my cheeks.

But through the ache, another thought slowly surfaced.

Quiet.

Fragile.

Dangerous.

Maybe I did not have to remain this way forever.

Maybe there were still pieces of myself buried beneath all this emptiness.

Pieces waiting to breathe again.

Before I became invisible.

And as distant laughter echoed faintly from outside the packhouse gates, I finally cried without restraint—

For the young woman I used to be.

And for the woman I still might become.

I slipped quietly from the bed before dawn fully settled over the pack grounds, careful not to wake Theron sleeping beside me. Pale moonlight filtered through the tall windows of the Alpha chambers, silver stretching across stone walls and thick furs. For a moment, I stood there remembering when waking beside my mate used to make me feel loved instead of painfully alone.

Then I crossed the room toward the wooden cabinet tucked into the corner.

That cabinet was the only thing in the packhouse that truly felt mine. Not the kitchens I spent decades tending. Not the endless duties expected of a Luna. Not the grand halls everyone praised me for maintaining. Those belonged to the pack, to Theron, to the family I had spent twenty-five years serving without complaint.

But inside that cabinet were the few things I had bought for myself.

The moment I opened it, my breath caught.

The carved wooden box on the second shelf sat empty.

I froze before frantically opening drawers with shaking hands. The moonflower powder I bought from southern traders was gone. The berry lip pigments wrapped carefully in silk cloth had disappeared too, along with the crystal perfume vial I had admired for nearly a year before finally buying it.

Gone.

Panic rose sharply in my chest as I searched the shelves again and again, though deep down I already knew the truth.

Without thinking, I hurried downstairs.

Theron sat near the hearth in the main hall, trade scrolls spread across the low table before him. Cedarwood smoke filled the air, but it did nothing to ease the ache growing inside me.

“Theron,” I asked carefully, “have you seen the cosmetics I kept upstairs?”

He barely looked up.

“Oh, those?” he replied casually. “I gave them to Marisella.”

The words struck so hard I forgot how to breathe.

“You gave them to her?” My voice cracked. “Theron, those were mine. I only bought them last week.”

That finally made him glance at me, amusement flickering across his face.

“Elyria,” he said with a short laugh, “what exactly do you need cosmetics for?”

I stared at him silently.

“It is not like you attend gatherings anymore,” he continued. “And honestly, you are too old to concern yourself with things like that now.”

My chest tightened painfully.

“No, truly.” He leaned back in his chair, almost entertained by my expression. “Have you looked at yourself lately? Those things no longer suit you.” Then he smiled faintly. “Marisella, on the other hand, carries herself beautifully. She works hard for this pack. She deserves nice things.”

Something inside me cracked.

“It was mine,” I said louder, my hands trembling violently. “I bought those with my own money.”

Theron rolled his eyes immediately.

“Your own money?” he repeated flatly. “Elyria, everything you own comes from me.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the truth burned too deeply.

Those things had not come from him.

For five years, I had cared for the moonblossoms and silver roses behind the packhouse myself. I watered them before sunrise and tended them long after everyone slept. During seasonal gatherings, I quietly sold flower bundles to merchants and visiting wolves, saving every moonstone coin little by little until I could finally buy something for myself.

Not once had I asked Theron for money that was not meant for the household.

I already knew how he would react.

Like I was selfish.

Like I was a burden.

So years ago, I stopped asking altogether.

And now the one thing I bought with pride after years of effort had been handed to another woman without hesitation.

Theron sighed heavily, as though I were the difficult one.

“Stop making such a fuss over something trivial,” he muttered. “I will replace them eventually.”

Eventually.

The word felt hollow, dismissive. Like he was calming a servant instead of speaking to his mate.

“You really do not care about me anymore,” I whispered before I could stop myself.

His expression hardened instantly.

“You are being dramatic again,” he snapped. “For once, think beyond your own feelings. Marisella practically saved this pack after securing those trade alliances. She deserves appreciation.” His voice turned colder. “You would not understand matters like this anyway. You know nothing about leadership or negotiations.”

Then he waved dismissively toward the kitchens.

“Now stop overreacting and prepare breakfast. I am starving.”

His words hurt more than a slap ever could.

I turned away before he saw the tears gathering in my eyes, but just as I reached the doorway, his lazy voice stopped me again.

“Oh, and I will be leaving tomorrow for a week,” he said casually. “There is a diplomatic journey to the southern territories. At least you will finally get a break from taking care of me.”

I said nothing.

What was left to say?

So I cooked.

Again.

Just as I always did.

Later that afternoon, our son arrived with his mate. The moment they entered the great hall, I smiled automatically, though it felt strange on my face now, like an expression I no longer recognized.

During dinner, they spoke excitedly about the upcoming trip south.

“I heard the Moon Tide Voyage is beautiful this season,” my daughter-in-law said brightly while servants refilled goblets around the table. “The ocean reflects the moonlight so clearly at night that the water looks silver.”

“There are hot springs too,” my son added with a grin. “And feasts every evening.”

I paused while pouring stew into their bowls.

“I thought this was supposed to be a diplomatic journey,” I murmured quietly.

My son laughed awkwardly.

“Well... partly official, partly recreational,” he explained quickly. “The allied Alphas are combining negotiations with festivities this year.”

Then he smiled at me almost guiltily.

“Do not worry, Mother. We will bring you something back from the southern markets.”

“A carved moonstone ornament would look lovely in your room,” his mate added warmly.

I forced a soft laugh.

“A simple keepsake would already be enough.”

Beside me, Father shook his head.

“If only you had taken interest in pack affairs years ago, perhaps you could have attended events like this too.”

I nodded quietly and smiled again because pretending no longer even hurt. Somewhere along the years, pain had settled into something dull and permanent, like an old wound that never healed properly.

That night, after everyone retired, I sat alone packing Theron’s clothes into the traveling trunk prepared for his journey. Thick fur-lined cloaks. Formal tunics embroidered with the Darkmoor crest. Ceremonial garments meant for gatherings beneath the full moon.

As I reached for another folded shirt, a soft glow flickered across the moonstone communication mirror resting on the desk nearby.

I frowned slightly.

Theron rarely allowed anyone near his correspondence mirror.

The enchanted stone pulsed again, lighting the dark room with pale silver. Without thinking, I glanced toward it.

Then froze.

A message shimmered across the mirror’s surface.

Moon Tide Voyage Reservation Confirmed.

My heartbeat stumbled painfully.

Slowly, I stepped closer.

The glowing text shifted, revealing more details.

Private ocean suite.

Sacred hot spring access.

Bonded couples’ retreat package.

Moonlit ceremonial dinners.

My fingers trembled violently.

Then I noticed another document attached beneath the reservation.

An invitation.

I stared blankly as enchanted ink revealed the names written across the page.

Alpha Theron Darkmoor

and

Lady Marisella Darkveil

request the honor of your presence

as we celebrate our sacred union beneath the blessing of the Moon Goddess aboard the Moon Tide Voyage.

The world tilted around me.

My knees gave out so suddenly that I collapsed into the chair behind me, one trembling hand covering my mouth as I stared at the glowing words over and over again.

No.

This was not simply a diplomatic journey.

It was not merely an affair hidden behind excuses and late-night meetings anymore.

It was a celebration.

A sacred union.

A public mating ceremony blessed before the Moon Goddess herself.

And everyone already knew.

My son knew.

My father knew.

The family I had spent twenty-five years loving and serving had known all along that Theron intended to replace me with Marisella.

Yet every day, they still sat at my table and allowed me to cook for them, clean for them, smile for them, while they quietly prepared another woman to stand beside my mate.

A broken sound escaped my throat as tears finally spilled freely down my face.

Not because of the cosmetics.

Not because of the journey.

But because I had given these people everything I was.

My youth.

My loyalty.

My love.

My entire life.

And in the end, it had meant absolutely nothing.

I covered my mouth to silence the sobs threatening to escape while laughter echoed faintly through the packhouse halls outside, the people I loved already planning their future together—

A future that no longer had any place for me.

“Elyria,” Theron had whispered to me once beneath the glow of the full moon, his voice warm and intimate as he pulled me against his side near the packhouse balcony, “you would take care of me better than anyone else ever could. Even better than Marisella.”

At the time, his words had wrapped around my heart like a blessing.

“I love her,” he admitted back then with a careless honesty that should have warned me. “The Moon Goddess knows I do. I want her. But Marisella would always choose ambition over me if it came down to it.” Then his fingers brushed lazily against my shoulder as he smiled down at me. “You’re different, Elyria. You’re loyal. You’re the kind of woman who stays. The kind who serves her mate without question. And for that, I’ll give you the best life you could ever dream of.”

I had believed him completely.

Like a fool, I believed every single word.

I let him bind our names together before the pack elders without complaint. There had been no grand mating ceremony beneath the sacred moon altar, no feast filled with music and dancing, no flowers woven into my hair by laughing friends. The official union had been quiet and simple, witnessed only by a few elders and sealed through blood, moonstone vows, and signatures pressed onto ancient pack records.

At the time, none of that mattered to me because I loved him so deeply that I mistook scraps for devotion.

Now, looking back, I finally understood the truth I had refused to see for twenty-five years.

Theron never truly chose me.

Not first.

Not completely.

I had simply been the safe choice waiting behind him while Marisella chased the future she wanted.

And when she finally returned willing to stand beside him, I became unnecessary.

No.

Worse than unnecessary.

I became convenient.

The woman who cooked his meals, prepared his clothes, and warmed his bed while another woman occupied his heart.

The next morning, not a single person in the packhouse asked whether I had slept well. No one noticed the swelling around my eyes from crying through the night or the trembling in my hands as I poured morning tea into polished silver cups.

The great hall buzzed with excitement instead.

Servants moved in and out carrying traveling trunks while laughter echoed near the hearth. Rich fabrics and expensive cloaks were spread across the couches, their scents filling the air with lavender oils, fresh leather, and imported perfumes from the southern territories.

I stood quietly near the edge of the room with my hands clasped together, watching everyone admire garments and jewelry as though this were the happiest occasion in the world.

My son turned toward me with a grin that reminded me painfully of the little boy I used to rock to sleep during thunderstorms.

“Mother,” he said excitedly, “aside from the alliance meetings, we’ll also be attending a sacred union ceremony during the voyage. Can you believe it? The entire event is supposed to be magnificent.”

For one terrible moment, my heart stopped.

I forced myself to blink normally.

“A union ceremony?” I repeated softly.

Marisella stood several feet away near the hallway mirror, holding a flowing white gown against herself while one of the servants adjusted the fabric around her shoulders.

The sight alone made my stomach twist painfully.

Still, I managed to ask, “Whose ceremony is it?”

Father scoffed immediately as though I had asked something foolish.

“What interest would you possibly have in that?” he muttered. “You are remaining here to oversee the packhouse while everyone else is away.”

Then his gaze sharpened slightly.

“And since when do you care about gatherings like these? It is someone from Theron’s alliance circle. Matters beyond your concern.”

I smiled.

At least, I think I did.

The expression felt weak and unnatural on my face now.

“Of course,” I murmured quietly.

“Do not worry, Mother,” my son added with a laugh, entirely unaware that every word felt like another knife twisting deeper into my chest. “We will bring you gifts from the southern markets. I know how much you enjoy those herbal oils and moonstone perfumes.”

Marisella giggled softly behind him before adding sweetly, “And we will send enchanted mirror images during the voyage so you can stay updated on everything.”

My chest tightened so painfully that breathing became difficult.

Before I could answer, footsteps echoed from the upper hallway.

Theron descended the staircase wearing a dark formal tunic embroidered with the Darkmoor Alpha crest, looking far more alive than he ever had inside this house with me.

Without even greeting me properly, he tossed a pile of clothing directly into my arms.

“I need these pressed before sunset,” he said flatly. “And be careful with them. The fabric came from the southern packs and costs more moonstones than you could imagine.”

I lowered my eyes immediately.

“Yes, Theron.”

The morning of their departure arrived far too quickly.

The packhouse was filled with noise from sunrise onward. Servants hurried through the halls carrying trunks while voices overlapped constantly with instructions, laughter, and excitement. The scent of perfume oils and fresh parchment filled the air as final preparations continued around me.

And through it all, I remained exactly where I always was.

In the background.

Quietly fixing collars.

Folding scarves.

Brushing lint from cloaks.

Adjusting buttons with careful fingers no one ever noticed unless something went wrong.

Then suddenly, a sharp cry shattered the busy atmosphere.

“My dress!”

Marisella’s voice echoed through the upper hallway in panic.

Everyone rushed toward the sound instantly, including Theron.

I followed behind more slowly, only to find Marisella standing near the guest chambers holding the white ceremonial gown in trembling hands.

A tiny tear had formed near the lower hem.

It was barely noticeable.

But judging by the horrified expressions around the room, one would think the entire dress had been destroyed.

Theron’s eyes immediately landed on me.

Rage flared across his face without hesitation.

“Elyria,” he snarled, “what did you do?”

My breath caught.

“I-I did not touch it,” I said quickly. “I only sent it to the seamstress yesterday along with the other garments. Perhaps they accidentally—”

“I specifically told you to oversee everything personally,” he snapped furiously. “Why would you allow strangers to handle Marisella’s ceremonial gown?”

“I was careful,” I whispered weakly. “I did not mean for this to happen.”

“Do you have any idea how valuable this dress is?” Theron barked. “Can you repay it if something worse had happened?”

The entire room fell silent.

I could feel every pair of eyes on me.

Humiliation crawled across my skin like fire.

“It is alright,” Marisella said softly then, stepping forward with that same gentle expression she always used whenever she wanted to appear kind. “Please do not be angry with her.” Her eyes flickered toward me briefly before returning to Theron. “She is still your mate.”

Theron let out a cold scoff.

“Unfortunately,” he muttered.

Then, without even glancing at me again, he wrapped one arm around Marisella’s shoulders protectively.

“Come,” he said gently to her, his voice immediately softer than it had been with me. “We will purchase another gown before boarding the voyage ship.”

Then he threw the damaged dress directly into my arms.

The silk pooled heavily against my chest as I stood frozen in place.

Around me, everyone resumed moving again as though nothing had happened. Servants carried trunks downstairs while my son laughed about missing the tide schedule, and Father complained about how long the preparations were taking.

No one looked at me.

No one asked if I was alright.

And when they finally left the packhouse together, laughing and discussing the celebrations awaiting them aboard the Moon Tide Voyage, not a single person turned back before stepping through the doors.

Not even once.