Chapter 3

I stared at my phone, finger hovering over my father's contact. The mansion felt cavernous around me, every tick of the antique grandfather clock in the hallway echoing through the empty rooms. After three years of marriage, I'd never felt more alone than in this moment.

With trembling fingers, I pressed call.

"Ava, sweetheart!" My father's voice boomed through the speaker, artificially cheerful. "What a pleasant surprise! How's my favorite daughter?"

"Dad," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I need to talk to you."

There was a pause, the background noise of his office fading as he presumably moved somewhere private. "What's wrong? You sound upset."

The dam broke. Words poured out of me—Alexander's betrayal, Lilith's pregnancy, Eleanora's threats, the public humiliation. With each revelation, I expected my father's outrage, his protective fury. Instead, the silence on the other end of the line grew heavier.

"Dad?" I finally asked. "Say something."

His sigh was heavy, defeated. "Oh, Ava. I—I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll help me," I pleaded. "I need somewhere to go, just until I figure things out."

Another long pause. "Sweetheart, you know I would if I could, but..."

"But what?"

"The business..." He cleared his throat. "Things haven't been what they seem."

Cold dread pooled in my stomach. "What do you mean?"

"Alexander has been funding us for the past two years," he admitted, his voice small with shame. "After the market crashed, we were finished. He stepped in—quietly, of course. No one knows except your mother and me."

The revelation hit me like a physical blow. "So all this time..."

"We can't oppose him, Ava. The entire family depends on his goodwill. Your sisters' education, your mother's medical treatments, everything." His voice took on a pleading quality. "Surely this is just a misunderstanding. Alexander has always been generous with us."

Generous. The word twisted like a knife. Not generous—calculating. He'd purchased my family's loyalty along with their daughter.

"I understand," I said, my voice hollow.

"Ava, please—"

"I have to go, Dad." I ended the call before he could hear me break.

I curled into myself on the massive bed that had never truly felt like mine, sobs wracking my body until exhaustion finally pulled me under.

* * *

Morning light streamed through the curtains I'd forgotten to close, harsh and unforgiving. My eyes felt swollen, my mouth dry. For one blessed moment, I didn't remember—then reality crashed back, heavier than before.

I reached for my phone, wincing at the missed calls from my father. I couldn't face him yet. Instead, I opened my news feed, a habit I'd developed to stay informed about Silver Moon Corporation's public image.

My own face stared back at me.

Not my face—a crude, unflattering photo taken at last night's gala, the moment before I'd collapsed. My expression was twisted in distress, eyes wide with humiliation. Beside it, a glamorous shot of Lilith, radiant in her midnight-blue gown. The headline screamed: "SILVER MOON HEIR SEEKS REAL LUNA: INFERTILE BETA WIFE'S TIME RUNNING OUT."

My stomach lurched. I scrolled down, each headline worse than the last:

"ALPHA ALEXANDER FINDS FERTILE GROUND: IS THE BETA LUNA BEING REPLACED?"

"SOURCES CONFIRM: SILVER MOON LUNA UNABLE TO CONCEIVE AFTER THREE YEARS"

"INSIDE THE SILVER MOON MARRIAGE: 'SHE KNEW IT WAS TEMPORARY' SAYS SOURCE"

The articles quoted "anonymous insiders" describing my "desperate attempts" to conceive, my "jealous outbursts" at company events, and my "inability to fulfill basic Luna duties." Each word was a carefully crafted lie, designed to paint me as the villain in my own tragedy.

I threw the phone across the room, watching it bounce harmlessly off a decorative pillow. Even in my rage, I couldn't afford to break it—it was probably the only thing I truly owned.

My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn't eaten since yesterday's lunch. The kitchen downstairs would be stocked, but the thought of facing the staff—who surely knew everything by now—was unbearable. I needed to get out, to breathe air that wasn't saturated with Alexander's scent and my own misery.

I showered quickly, threw on jeans and a sweater—casual clothes I rarely wore as Luna—and slipped out through the side entrance. My car keys felt foreign in my hand; Alexander had always insisted on drivers taking me everywhere.

The grocery store was fifteen minutes away, in a part of town frequented by middle-class wolves rather than the elite. I hoped anonymity might offer some protection.

I was wrong.

I'd barely filled half my cart when I heard them—a trio of voices, deliberately pitched to carry.

"Can you believe she showed her face in public?" The first voice, dripping with disdain.

"Some people have no shame." The second, followed by theatrical laughter.

I froze in the cereal aisle, my hand suspended over a box of granola. Slowly, I turned to see three women—all Alphas by their scent—standing at the end of the aisle. I recognized them immediately: Vanessa Thornhill, Diane Blackwood, and Regina Frost—all married to Alexander's business associates, all frequent guests at Silver Moon events.

They weren't looking at me directly, maintaining the paper-thin pretense that their conversation was private.

"It's just sad, really," Vanessa continued, examining an apple with exaggerated interest. "A true Luna would step aside gracefully rather than embarrass herself."

"And her Alpha," added Diane. "Poor Alexander, having to deal with such a spectacle."

"Well, what do you expect from Beta blood?" Regina's voice carried clearly down the aisle. "No understanding of proper protocol. No sense of dignity."

"Some people should know when they're not wanted," Vanessa concluded, finally turning to look directly at me, her smile razor-sharp.

Other shoppers had stopped, watching the drama unfold. I could smell their curiosity, their judgment, their pity.

The box of granola slipped from my numb fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud. I abandoned my cart where it stood and walked toward the exit, my back straight, my eyes forward, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me run.

But once outside, hidden behind the tinted windows of my car, the tears came in a flood. I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, gasping for breath between sobs.

This was my new reality. Not just a private betrayal, but a public execution of my reputation, my dignity, my very identity. Alexander wasn't just replacing me—he was erasing me, rewriting our history to justify his cruelty.

I don't know how long I sat there, but eventually the tears stopped, leaving behind a hollow emptiness that was somehow worse. I started the car and drove, with no destination in mind, just needing to move, to escape.

Night was falling by the time I returned to the mansion. I parked in the garage and sat in the darkness, dreading the emptiness that awaited me inside. The house had never been a home, but now it felt like a mausoleum—a grand monument to a life that was already dead.

As I finally dragged myself from the car and toward the side entrance, something strange happened. The air around me seemed to shimmer, and that unfamiliar heat coursed through my veins again. My reflection in the darkened windows showed eyes glowing with an eerie light—not the warm amber of a Beta wolf, but something brighter, almost silver.

And my scent—it was changing, becoming something I didn't recognize. Something that smelled of moonlight and ancient forests, of power and secrets.

I stumbled inside, my heart racing with fear and confusion. What was happening to me? Was this some delayed reaction to stress, to trauma?

Or was it something else entirely—something that had been waiting, dormant, for the perfect moment to awaken?

I made it to my bedroom just as the strange sensations peaked. Falling to my knees, I watched in the mirror as my eyes flared with that silver light one final time before fading back to normal.

But I knew, deep in my bones, that whatever had just happened wasn't over.

It was only beginning.