Chapter 3

Peyton returned home that night carrying the scent of another woman—vanilla musk, laced with something metallic. Not mine. Not from this house.

"The pack had issues with a trade contract," he explained, brushing a kiss against my forehead like everything was normal.

But normal had died the moment I saw him touch Opal's stomach.

I nodded, too exhausted for pretense. "I'm tired. Let's just head home."

He smiled, ever the perfect mate. "How about lunch at the Italian place you love? You always cheer up after their truffle pasta."

I pulled my arm away. "No, thanks."

A flicker of confusion crossed his face, quickly masked by a gentle nod. "Of course."

When we stepped into our den, Sofia was waiting.

My breath caught.

She sat with perfect posture, her long black hair braided tight, eyes sharp as daggers. The Omega who once switched my Moon herb supplements—the one who caused my miscarriage—now lounged in my home like a princess inspecting her kingdom.

"Look who finally came home," she said, rising and gliding toward Peyton. "You haven't visited in two weeks. Mother says you've been ignoring your family ever since you mated with her."

Her eyes flicked to me like I was a parasite she couldn't burn off.

Peyton's expression softened at the sight of his sister. "Sofia. You're feeling better?"

"For now," she said, voice syrupy. "I came to take you home for supper. Mother misses you."

I stepped aside, feeling the familiar sting of not belonging.

"I'll go upstairs," I murmured. "You haven't seen your family in a while. Don't let me keep you."

Peyton turned to me quickly. His eyes searched mine. "Are you okay? You're pale again."

"I'm just tired," I said. "The gallery wore me out."

Sofia snorted. "I told you she's weak. Always has been."

My claws itched.

Peyton ignored the jab. He moved to my side, brushing his fingers across my cheek. "Go lie down. I'll have Lola bring you tea and minestrone soup."

Sofia rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you coddle her like she's made of glass."

He turned to her, tone clipped. "She's my mate."

But the words felt shallow.

I climbed the stairs to our room. My sanctuary.

And I began to pack.

One by one, I folded my clothes into a travel bag. My hands trembled, not from fear—but from fury.

Fury at myself—for loving him too long.

Fury at him—for turning our bond into a lie.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Peyton:

"Sweetheart, I'm staying with Mom tonight. She's not well. Please rest and don't wait up. I love you."

I stared at the screen.

Five years. Five years of marking, mating, mourning. And now this?

He'd never once stayed away overnight without a valid reason.

Now, suddenly, his mother was unwell?

I saw the truth in Opal's smirk. Felt it in Sofia's sneer.

He wasn't staying with his mother.

He was staying with the mother of his unborn child.

I booked a train ticket to the northern provinces.

I heard they don't care about bloodlines up north.

I heard they accept lone wolves.

I didn't know what I'd find there.

But I knew what I was leaving behind.