Chapter 3

The silence that followed Mallory's accusations felt like a living thing, pressing down on my chest until I could barely breathe. Around me, the assembled pack leaders leaned forward in their chairs, their faces carved with judgment and disgust. The forged evidence lay spread across the table like a death sentence written in my own handwriting.

"This is a serious matter," Elder Davidson's voice boomed through the hall. "Treason against one's own pack is punishable by exile or death."

I found my voice, though it came out as barely more than a whisper. "Those documents are fabricated. I've never met with any rogues, never betrayed pack secrets. This is all lies."

"Lies?" Mallory's voice carried a perfect note of wounded disbelief. "Luna Silva, I understand you're desperate, but accusing me of forgery only makes this worse."

Alpha Davidson slammed his hand on the table. "Enough. We demand a formal investigation. If Luna Silva is indeed a traitor, she must face the consequences."

The words hit me like physical blows. A formal investigation meant weeks of interrogation, of having every aspect of my life dissected and examined. It meant pack members testifying against me based on Mallory's poisonous whispers. It meant Christopher watching silently as they destroyed what little remained of my dignity.

I looked toward my mate, desperate for any sign that he believed in my innocence. Christopher sat rigid in his Alpha chair, his jaw clenched tight, but his eyes... his eyes held nothing. No faith, no doubt, no emotion at all. Just cold, empty distance.

"Christopher," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Please. You know me. You know I would never—"

"The investigation will proceed," he said flatly, not meeting my gaze. "Elder Davidson is right. We cannot ignore evidence of this magnitude."

The room tilted around me. My own mate, the man bound to me by the Moon Goddess herself, had just condemned me without a single question about my innocence.

I stumbled from the meeting hall, my legs barely carrying me through the hostile stares and whispered accusations. Behind me, I heard Mallory's voice, sweet and concerned: "I hope we can get to the truth. For everyone's sake."

That night, I sat alone in my study, staring at the computer screen with trembling fingers. The Nevada research facility's application portal glowed before me, the cursor blinking in the name field. Silva. I typed my maiden name slowly, each letter feeling like a small act of rebellion.

The acceptance email arrived three days later, just as the pack elders were scheduling my formal interrogation. Dr. Scottie Taylor's message was brief but warm: "We're excited to welcome you to our research team, Miss Silva. Your background in biochemistry and unique cultural perspective will be invaluable to our werewolf genetics program."

I printed the letter and folded it carefully, tucking it into my jacket pocket like a lifeline.

Christopher found me packing that evening. He stood in the doorway of our bedroom, watching as I folded clothes into a small suitcase with mechanical precision.

"Where do you think you're going?" His alpha tone tried to command, but I heard something else underneath—uncertainty, maybe even fear.

"I need to talk to you," I said without looking up. "About what's really happening here. About Mallory's lies and your willingness to believe them over your own mate."

His face hardened. "Mallory is fragile, Irene. Her condition—"

"Her condition is an act!" The words exploded from me. "She's manipulating you, Christopher. She's been manipulating all of us for years, and you're so blinded by her performance that you can't see what she's doing to me. To us."

"I won't listen to you attack someone who's already suffering—"

"I'm suffering!" I whirled to face him, my control finally snapping. "I've lost two babies while you comforted her through fake crises. I've been systematically destroyed by her lies while you stood by and watched. I'm your true mate, Christopher. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Pain, maybe. Recognition. But then his expression closed off again, cold and distant.

"Mallory needs protection. She can't handle stress or conflict. I won't have you making her condition worse with your accusations."

The words hit me like a physical blow. After everything—the years of neglect, the lost pregnancies, the public humiliation—he was still choosing her.

I walked to my dresser and pulled out the formal rejection papers I'd prepared, my hands surprisingly steady as I set them on the bed between us.

"Then I formally request rejection of our mate bond," I said quietly. "I, Irene Silva, Luna of the Silver Moon Pack, reject you, Christopher Montgomery, as my mate and Alpha."

Christopher stared at the papers, his face pale. The rejection would cause us both excruciating pain—a tearing of souls that most wolves never recovered from. But as I watched his expression, I realized with crushing clarity that he felt nothing but relief.

"If that's what you want," he said simply, reaching for a pen. His signature was swift and decisive, like he was signing a business contract rather than ending our sacred bond.

The pain hit immediately—a searing agony that started in my chest and radiated through every nerve. I bit down hard on my lip to keep from crying out, tasting blood as the mate bond shattered like glass inside me.

Christopher doubled over slightly, his face twisted in pain, but when he straightened, his eyes held only cold indifference.

"I'll have the pack lawyers process this," he said, his voice distant. "You have twenty-four hours to leave pack territory."

He walked out, leaving me alone with the broken pieces of our bond and the crushing weight of his final rejection.