Chapter 3

I woke before sunrise the next morning.

Damon hadn't returned to our bed.

When I stepped into the dressing room, I found him standing before the mirror, fastening his collar. He didn't look at me.

I forced the words out. "We need to talk."

"About what?"

"About us." My voice held no anger now, only exhaustion. "I feel like a ghost here, Damon. I wake up every day feeling more invisible than the day before."

His brow furrowed in the mirror. "What are you talking about?"

"Mirella lives inside our marriage. She sits in my place. She whispers in your ear. And now Evangeline's ashes were planted in my room."

Damon turned around. "Don't twist what happened yesterday."

"I'm not twisting anything! I'm telling you what my life has become!"

For a second, something shifted in his eyes…a momentary flicker of guilt. He crossed the room and dropped to one knee before me, taking my cold hands in his.

"Nora..." he murmured, looking almost vulnerable. "Please don't do this."

My heart gave a desperate, painful thud. "Then make her stop, Damon. Tell her she can't wander into our private rooms whenever she wants. Tell her she can't treat me like I don't exist."

Damon looked down at the floor. "I can't do that to her."

I slowly pulled my hands out of his grip. "Why?"

"Because she is all that's left of Evangeline's blood."

"And what about me?" I whispered. "Am I your Luna?"

He hesitated, his voice tight. "You have the title, Nora."

You have the title. Not You are my Luna. Not I love you. Just the title.

"I don't want a title," I said softly. "I wanted a husband."

He had no answer.

That night, I didn't sleep in our bedroom. I took my personal belongings into the guest quarters, locked the door, and searched the northern territory networks.

Images filled my screen: rolling green hills covered in neat rows of northern grapevines, ancient stone cellars, and vast trade docks stretching toward the mountains.

And beneath the official seal stood Alpha Ryker Solberg.

He was pictured standing among the vines in a dark, simple tunic…broad-shouldered, steady, with clear gray eyes that looked completely unbothered by political games.

I don't make offers out of courtesy, Nora. I want you because you're good at the work.

Looking at those peaceful green hills, something inside me stopped aching and simply settled. For the first time, I allowed myself to imagine a life beyond the Carter Pack. A life where my competence wasn't an inconvenience, and where I didn't have to compete with a dead woman.

Over the next two days, I quietly began organizing my departure.

I packed small items into hidden travel cases…my mother's jewelry, my trade ledgers, my personal savings documents.

Mirella kept up her little warfare. She misplaced my personal belongings, had the servants play Evangeline's favorite violin melodies through the halls at night, and took over my seats at daily estate briefings.

I let her. Every petty victory she claimed only made my exit easier.

By Friday evening, Damon hosted a formal dinner for visiting regional trade envoys.

I dressed in a tailored ivory silk gown…sharp, and regal and I wore my mother's pearl earrings and kept my expression calm.

When I walked into the dining hall, the trade representatives lowered their voices in respect. Damon looked up, and for a fleeting second, raw admiration crossed his face.

Then Mirella walked in wearing a soft pastel dress, coughing delicately, and his gaze shifted instantly.

I took my seat at the head of the table opposite Damon. Throughout the meal, I conversed with the northern envoys about harvest yields and maritime transport tariffs, speaking with the authority I had spent years cultivating.

Then Mirella reached for the crystal wine decanter.

"Nora, let me pour you some moonwine," she said sweetly.

"No, thank you. I'm fine."

"Nonsense, you've had such a stressful week."

She leaned across the table. Her eyes met mine…and with a deliberate, smooth tilt of her wrist, she flipped the decanter.

Heavy crimson wine cascaded straight down the front of my white silk gown.

Gasps echoed around the table.

Mirella threw her hands over her mouth. "Oh my Goddess! Nora, I am so sorry! My hand slipped!"

I stared down at the deep red stain spreading across my chest.

Mirella leaned in close under the guise of wiping my dress. Her voice dropped to a thin whisper that only my wolf could hear: "You've had enough to drink anyway, Luna."

I looked up into her face. Her eyes were bright with vicious, unfiltered triumph.

Damon didn't even stand up. He didn't ask if I was alright.

He merely sighed, looking irritated at the disruption. "Someone, bring her a towel."

Laughter bubbled up in my throat, but I forced it down.

Bring her a towel.

I took the linen towel from the servant, dabbed once at the ruined silk, and then set it neatly on the table.

I looked at Damon. He couldn't even meet my eyes.

And in that moment, the last lingering thread of affection inside me snapped clean. There was nothing left to fight for. I stood up, excused myself with total composure, and walked out of the hall.