The sound of low voices drifted from the pack hall as I approached, my arms full of ceremonial candles for tomorrow's Marking Ceremony. I had left Till's office to retrieve them, my mind buzzing with anticipation for what would finally make our bond official. After years of managing pack affairs together, of sharing his bed and his burdens, tomorrow would seal what everyone already knew—that I was his chosen Luna.

I paused outside the heavy oak doors when I heard my name.

"...seriously think Till's going through with marking Giselle?" The voice belonged to Derek, one of the younger Beta descendants who'd always seemed skeptical of my position.

"Honestly, I'm shocked," came another voice—Ryan, whose father had been my father's rival for the Beta position years ago. "I mean, everyone knows he's just been playing around with her. She's useful, sure, but Luna material?"

My blood turned to ice. The candles nearly slipped from my grasp as I pressed closer to the door, my wolf's enhanced hearing picking up every cruel word.

"Come on," Derek continued, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather. "Till's been clear about his feelings for Ariel. That's his real mate. This thing with Giselle... it's just convenience."

Ariel. The name hit me like a physical blow. I'd never heard Till mention anyone named Ariel.

"But the ceremony's tomorrow," Ryan said, sounding genuinely confused. "Why would he—"

"Because Giselle's been loyal," a third voice interrupted. Marcus Flint, Till's Gamma. My stomach dropped as his cold tone carried through the door. "She's done good work for the pack. Till hasn't decided what to do with her yet, but he's not heartless. She deserves something for all those years of... service."

The way he said 'service' made my skin crawl. Like I was some hired help who'd earned a pension.

"So he's just stringing her along?" Derek asked.

"Till knows what he's doing," Marcus replied with finality. "The girl's been useful, but she's not Luna material. Too emotional, too attached. A real Luna needs to be strategic, not lovesick."

Laughter rippled through the group, each chuckle driving deeper into my chest like shards of glass.

"Poor Giselle," Ryan said, though his tone held no sympathy. "She really thinks tomorrow's her big day."

"She'll figure it out soon enough," Marcus said. "Till's got bigger plans than playing house with his father's old Beta's daughter."

I stumbled backward, my hands shaking so violently that one of the candles crashed to the stone floor. The sound echoed through the corridor, and the voices inside the hall went silent.

Panic flooded my system. I couldn't let them find me here, couldn't let them know I'd heard. Moving as quietly as possible, I gathered the fallen candle and retreated down the hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Ariel. Ariel. The name echoed in my mind as I made my way back to Till's quarters—our quarters. Who was she? How long had Till been in love with someone else while I'd been sharing his bed, his life, his plans for the future?

I reached our bedroom and set the candles on the dresser with trembling hands. The room felt foreign suddenly, despite the fact that I'd been sleeping here for three years. The bed where we'd made love just this morning seemed to mock me. The desk where we'd planned pack strategies together felt like a stage set for an elaborate lie.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, my mind racing. Had I imagined the tenderness in Till's touch? The way he'd hold me after we made love, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin? The late-night conversations about our future, about the pups we'd have, about the legacy we'd build together?

Maybe I'd misunderstood. Maybe Ariel was someone from his past, someone he'd cared for before me. Maybe the others were wrong, gossiping about things they didn't understand.

But Marcus had been so certain. And he was Till's right hand, privy to information I wasn't.

I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to stop the spinning in my head. Tomorrow was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. The culmination of everything I'd worked for, everything I'd dreamed of since I was a teenager mourning my father and finding solace in Till's strength.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway made me straighten, hope flaring in my chest. Till was back. I could ask him directly, clear this up. Surely there was an explanation.

But the footsteps passed by our door without stopping.

Hours crawled by. I sat on the bed, then paced the room, then sat again. I rehearsed what I'd say when Till returned. How I'd bring up what I'd overheard without sounding accusatory or desperate. How I'd give him the chance to explain.

Midnight came and went. Then one o'clock. Two.

Till didn't come home.

I lay in our bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind churning through every interaction we'd had in recent weeks. Had there been signs? Moments where his attention seemed elsewhere? Times when his touch felt perfunctory rather than passionate?

The more I thought about it, the more details seemed to shift in my memory. The way he'd been working late more often. The hushed phone calls that ended when I entered the room. The slight distance I'd attributed to pre-ceremony nerves.

By dawn, I was exhausted but wide awake, my eyes burning and my stomach in knots. The morning light streaming through the windows felt harsh, unforgiving. Today was supposed to be my Marking Ceremony. Today was supposed to be the beginning of my real life as Till's Luna.

I heard movement in the hallway—pack members beginning their morning routines. Soon, the preparations would begin in earnest. The ceremonial space would be decorated. The feast would be prepared. The entire pack would gather to witness what they believed would be my ascension to Luna.

What they might actually witness, I was no longer sure.

I rose from the bed on unsteady legs and caught sight of myself in the mirror. My face was pale, my eyes red-rimmed. I looked like a ghost of the confident woman who'd gone to fetch candles the night before.

Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the pack stirring to life, preparing for what should have been the most important day of my life. But all I could think about was a name I'd never heard before last night.

Ariel.

And the terrible possibility that everything I thought I knew about my life, my love, my future, was about to crumble to dust.

The ceremonial hall felt like a tomb as Till's words echoed in the sudden silence. "I cannot, in good conscience, mark someone whose emotional instability threatens our pack's future."

My legs gave out. The ornate marble floor rushed up to meet me, cold and unforgiving against my knees. The hundreds of pack members who had gathered to witness what they thought would be my ascension to Luna now stared at me with a mixture of shock, pity, and uncomfortable fascination.

"However," Till continued, his voice carrying easily over the stunned crowd, "I want to thank Giselle for her years of dedicated service to our pack. Her contributions have been... valuable."

Service. The word hit me like a slap. After everything we'd shared, everything I'd given him, I was being dismissed like a retiring secretary.

The woman beside him—Ariel, the name that had haunted me all night—stepped forward with practiced grace. She was beautiful in a way that made my chest ache, with flowing auburn hair and delicate features that spoke of noble bloodlines. Everything I wasn't.

"My fated mate," Till announced, his hand finding hers with a tenderness I thought had been reserved for me. "Ariel Lane."

The crowd erupted in confused murmurs, but I barely heard them over the roaring in my ears. Fated mate. The sacred bond that supposedly transcended choice, politics, convenience. The bond I'd foolishly believed we shared.

I watched in numb horror as Till turned to Ariel, his eyes soft with an affection I'd never seen before. When he lowered his head to her neck, exposing his own throat in return, the intimacy of the gesture shattered something fundamental inside me.

The marking was swift, efficient, and devastating. The scent of their bonded blood filled the air, sealing what I'd thought was mine. Ariel's soft gasp of completion was the sound of my world ending.

"Giselle." Marcus Flint's voice cut through my paralysis. Till's Gamma stood beside me, his expression professionally neutral but his eyes cold. "You need to leave."

I looked up at him, then at the crowd of faces surrounding me. Some looked away in embarrassment. Others watched with the morbid curiosity of people witnessing a public execution. A few—the younger ones, the ones who'd never fully accepted my authority—couldn't hide their satisfaction.

Somehow, I found the strength to stand. My legs shook, but they held. I lifted my chin, drawing on every lesson my father had taught me about dignity in defeat, and walked from the ceremonial hall with as much grace as I could manage.

Behind me, I heard Till's voice resume the ceremony, introducing his new Luna to the pack as if I'd never existed.

The next three hours passed in a haze of disbelief. I sat in what had been our bedroom, staring at the walls, trying to process what had just happened. The sounds of celebration drifted up from the main hall—laughter, music, the clinking of glasses raised in toast to the new Luna.

A knock at the door made me look up. "Come in," I called, my voice hoarse.

It was Elena, one of the younger pack members who'd always been friendly to me. Her face was flushed with excitement, but her expression grew awkward when she saw me.

"Giselle, I... Alpha Till has called an emergency meeting. All pack members are to report to the main conference room immediately."

I stood, smoothing down my dress—the same ceremonial gown I'd worn expecting to be marked as Luna. "Of course. Let me just—"

"Actually," Elena interrupted, her cheeks reddening further, "the Alpha specifically said... you're not to attend."

The words hit me like a physical blow. In all my years at Till's side, I'd never been excluded from a pack meeting. Even as a teenager, after my father's death, I'd been welcomed into the decision-making process.

"I'm sorry," Elena whispered, then hurried away, leaving me alone with the devastating realization that my exclusion wasn't an oversight—it was deliberate.

I paced the room as voices echoed from the conference hall below. What were they discussing? Leadership transitions? My replacement? The redistribution of the responsibilities I'd handled for years?

The meeting stretched on. One hour. Two. Three. I found myself straining to hear fragments of conversation, but the soundproofing was too good. All I could make out was the occasional rise and fall of voices, the scrape of chairs, the rustle of papers.

When the doors finally opened and pack members began filing out, I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to know what had been decided about my future—if I even had one here.

I rushed downstairs, my heart hammering as I spotted Till near the conference room entrance, surrounded by his inner circle. Ariel stood at his side, already looking perfectly at home in her new role.

"Till!" I called out, pushing through the crowd of departing pack members.

He turned, his expression hardening when he saw me approaching. The conversations around us died as people realized what was happening.

"Please," I said, my voice breaking as I reached him. "I need to understand. Three days ago, you were in my bed. You were holding me, telling me how proud you were of everything we'd built together. How can you stand there with her and pretend none of that mattered?"

The crowd had gone completely silent now, everyone straining to hear this public confrontation. I should have cared about the spectacle I was making, but desperation had stripped away my pride.

I dropped to my knees in front of him, tears streaming down my face. "Just tell me why. Tell me what I did wrong. Tell me how I failed you so completely that you could humiliate me like this."

Till's jaw tightened, his Alpha aura flaring with irritation. "Giselle, this display is exactly why—"

"I gave you everything!" I cried, my voice echoing off the stone walls. "My loyalty, my body, my heart, my future. I've spent six years building this pack with you, and you threw me away like I was nothing!"

"Enough." His voice cracked like a whip, silencing my sobs. "This emotional outburst is precisely why you're unfit to be Luna. A true leader doesn't break down in public, doesn't create scenes that destabilize the pack."

He gestured to Marcus, who stepped forward with several other deltas. "You're clearly unable to accept the reality of the situation. For the stability of the pack, you're confined to quarters until you can conduct yourself appropriately."

"Confined?" I stared up at him in disbelief. "Till, you can't—"

"I can and I will." His voice was ice-cold, the voice of an Alpha issuing an unbreakable command. "Marcus, escort her to the isolation quarters. Confiscate her communication devices. She's not to have contact with anyone until I decide otherwise."

Strong hands gripped my arms, hauling me to my feet. I struggled instinctively, but the deltas were too strong, and my wolf was too broken to fight back effectively.

"Till, please!" I screamed as they dragged me away. "Don't do this! After everything we've been through, don't—"

But he had already turned away, his arm sliding around Ariel's waist as he guided her toward the stairs. She glanced back at me once, her expression unreadable, before disappearing from view.

The deltas hauled me through corridors I'd walked freely for years, past pack members who averted their eyes or watched with uncomfortable fascination. They brought me to a villa on the outskirts of the pack grounds—a place I'd only visited once before, when we'd used it to house a rogue who'd been caught stealing.

The basement was cold, sparse, and utterly isolated. A single bed, a small table, a bucket in the corner. The deltas stripped me of my phone, my tablet, even the small communication device I used for pack business.

"Alpha's orders," Marcus said as the heavy door swung shut. "You'll be fed three times a day. Other than that, you're not to be disturbed."

The lock clicked into place with a finality that echoed through my bones. I was alone, truly alone, for the first time since my father's death.

I sank onto the narrow bed and finally let myself break completely, my sobs echoing off the concrete walls of my new prison.

The basement was a tomb of concrete and silence.

Three days had passed since Marcus locked me in this windowless cell, and the isolation was eating away at whatever sanity I had left. The single bulb overhead cast harsh shadows that seemed to shift and dance, mocking me with their movement while I remained trapped in this suffocating stillness.

I'd tried everything. When the first guard came with breakfast on day two—a silent delta whose name I didn't even know—I'd grabbed his arm through the slot in the door.

"Please," I'd begged, my voice hoarse from crying. "Just tell Till I need to speak with him. Tell him it's important."

The guard had stared at me with dead eyes, pulled his arm free, and walked away without a word.

I'd tried again at lunch. And dinner. And with the next guard, and the one after that. Each time, I was met with the same stone-faced indifference, as if I were already a ghost haunting these walls.

By the third day, desperation had given way to a hollow numbness. I lay on the narrow cot, staring at the ceiling, my mind cycling through the same torturous questions. How had I been so blind? How had I missed the signs that Till was planning to discard me? What had I done to deserve this?

The concrete floor was ice-cold against my bare feet when I paced, which I did obsessively, counting steps to mark the passage of time. Forty-three steps from wall to wall. Sixty-seven from the door to the back corner. Numbers became my anchor to reality when everything else felt like a nightmare I couldn't wake from.

The smell of the place—damp stone, industrial disinfectant, and something else I couldn't identify—had seeped into my clothes, my hair, my skin. I felt contaminated by it, marked by this place of exile and shame.

Sleep came in fragments, broken by dreams of Till's hands on my body, his voice whispering promises he never meant to keep. I'd wake gasping, reaching for him in the darkness, only to remember where I was and why.

On the morning of the fourth day, I was curled on the cot when the pain hit.

It started as a dull ache low in my abdomen, like the beginning of my monthly cycle. I shifted position, thinking it would pass, but instead it intensified, becoming a sharp, twisting agony that made me gasp and curl tighter into myself.

"What—" I breathed, pressing my hands to my stomach as another wave of pain crashed through me.

Then I felt it—warmth spreading between my thighs, sticky and wrong. I looked down and saw blood seeping through my clothes, more blood than I'd ever seen from my body.

Panic exploded in my chest. "Help!" I screamed, rolling off the cot and stumbling toward the door. "Something's wrong! I need help!"

The pain was getting worse, cramping through my entire core like someone was twisting a knife in my gut. I pounded on the metal door with both fists, my voice cracking as I shouted.

"Please! Anyone! I'm bleeding!"

Silence answered me. The same terrible silence that had been my only companion for three days.

Another wave of pain dropped me to my knees, and I felt more blood flowing, warm and terrifying. The concrete floor was cold against my palms as I tried to steady myself, but the world was starting to spin.

"Till!" I screamed his name with everything I had left. "Till, please! I need you!"

But he wasn't coming. No one was coming.

The blood was pooling beneath me now, dark and spreading. I could smell the metallic tang of it, could feel my strength ebbing with each pulse that left my body. My vision was starting to blur at the edges, gray creeping in like fog.

I don't know how long I knelt there, calling for help that never came. Time became meaningless as the pain consumed everything else. I was dimly aware of collapsing fully to the floor, my cheek pressed against the cold concrete, my hands clutched uselessly over my cramping abdomen.

The last thing I remembered was the taste of copper in my mouth and the terrible understanding that I was going to die alone in this basement, forgotten and discarded like everything else Till no longer wanted.

I woke to voices and movement, the harsh glare of medical lights burning through my eyelids. Someone was lifting me, carrying me, and I tried to speak but only managed a weak moan.

"...lost a lot of blood..." a woman's voice was saying. "...need to get her stabilized..."

"How long was she down there?" Another voice, male, angry.

"Guard found her during the noon meal delivery. Could have been hours."

The world swam in and out of focus as they moved me. I caught glimpses of ceiling tiles, fluorescent lights, concerned faces hovering over me. The antiseptic smell of the medical wing replaced the dank odor of the basement.

When I finally surfaced fully from the haze of unconsciousness, I was lying in a clean bed with soft sheets and warm blankets. An IV drip was attached to my arm, and the steady beep of monitors filled the quiet room.

"You're awake." The voice was gentle, familiar. I turned my head to see Elara Vance, the pack's head healer, sitting beside my bed. Her kind face was creased with worry and something that looked like anger.

"Elara?" My voice came out as a whisper, my throat raw from screaming.

"Easy," she said, reaching out to touch my forehead. "You've been through a trauma. Your body needs time to recover."

Memory came flooding back—the pain, the blood, the desperate hours of calling for help. "What happened to me?" I asked, though part of me already knew, already understood the horrible truth my body was trying to tell me.

Elara's expression grew even more gentle, the kind of careful softness medical professionals used when delivering devastating news. "Giselle, honey, you suffered a miscarriage. You were pregnant, and your body... it couldn't hold on."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Pregnant. I'd been carrying Till's child, and I hadn't even known. The cramping, the blood, the agony—I'd lost his baby while locked in that basement, calling his name.

"How far along?" I whispered.

"About six weeks, from what I can tell. Early enough that you might not have noticed the signs, especially with everything you've been through."

Six weeks. That meant conception had happened during one of those tender nights when Till had held me close, when he'd whispered about our future together. When he was already planning to throw me away.

Tears began sliding down my cheeks, and I didn't try to stop them. "Does he know?" I asked. "Does Till know about the baby?"

Elara hesitated, her jaw tightening. "I sent word to the Alpha about your condition. Protocol requires it when there's a medical emergency."

"And?"

The silence stretched between us, heavy with meaning. Finally, Elara spoke, her voice carefully controlled. "There's been no response."

No response.

I'd lost his child, nearly died from blood loss, and Till couldn't even be bothered to acknowledge it.

The man who'd claimed to love me, who'd shared my bed just days ago, felt nothing about the loss of our baby.

This—losing a child I'd never known I carried, while the father remained coldly indifferent to both our suffering—this was a kind of agony I hadn't known existed.

What a “no response”.