Chapter 2

I walked back to the pack house with my head held high, Emma's presence stronger within me than it had been in years. The morning sun warmed my face, a stark contrast to the cold determination settling in my chest. For the first time since I'd become Luna of the Silvermoon Pack, I felt like I was actually breathing.

*We did it,* Emma whispered in my mind. *We finally stood up for ourselves.*

I knew the storm was coming. Filing for mate bond rejection wasn't just unusual—it was practically unheard of for a Luna. But as I approached the imposing stone structure of the pack house, I refused to let my resolve waver.

The moment I stepped through the door, I heard Ryan's booming laughter echoing from his office. My wolf bristled, sensing the mockery before I even heard the words.

"A rejection filing?" Ryan's voice carried down the hallway. "She's throwing a tantrum, nothing more."

I paused in the corridor, my hand resting on the cool wall as I listened. I should have expected this reaction, yet it still stung.

"She'll come crawling back by dinner," Eleonora's smug voice replied. "She has nowhere else to go, no one else to be. What would she even do without the pack?"

"Poor thing," Amanda's falsely sympathetic tone made my teeth clench. "The pressure of being Luna clearly became too much for her fragile constitution."

I crept closer to the partially open door, peering through the crack. Ryan sat behind his massive oak desk, looking more annoyed than concerned. Amanda stood beside him, her hand resting possessively on his arm, her thumb making small circles against his skin. Eleonora lounged in a leather chair, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips.

"She'll back down," Ryan said dismissively, covering Amanda's hand with his own. "She always does."

The casual certainty in his voice ignited something in me—a burning anger that had been smoldering for years.

*He thinks we're weak,* Emma growled. *They all do.*

"Let her play her little game," Eleonora waved her hand. "It's not like anyone takes her seriously anyway."

I backed away from the door, my heart pounding. They were so confident in their control over me, so certain of my dependence. And why wouldn't they be? For eight years, I'd bent to their will, swallowed my pride, accepted my erasure piece by piece.

Not anymore.

I hurried to my quarters—the small suite I'd been relegated to after Eleonora had claimed it was "more appropriate" for the Alpha to have his own space. I needed my healing journals. If I was really going to break free, I'd need proof of my work, evidence of the innovations Amanda had stolen.

My hand froze on the doorknob to my apothecary. It wouldn't turn. I tried again, rattling the handle, but it remained firmly locked.

"Looking for something?"

I whirled around to find Amanda leaning against the wall, twirling a key ring around her finger. Her smile was sweet, her eyes glacial.

"That's my private workspace," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady.

"Was," she corrected, her smile widening. "Alpha Ryan agreed it would be best if all healing activities were consolidated under proper supervision. For the pack's safety, of course."

My stomach dropped. "My journals—"

"Pack property," she interrupted smoothly. "All innovations developed within Silvermoon belong to the pack. And as head healer, I'm the appropriate custodian."

Emma snarled, the sound reverberating through my mind. *She's taken everything. Our work. Our mate. Our son.*

"You can't do this," I whispered, though we both knew she already had.

Amanda stepped closer, her voice dropping to a confidential murmur. "Your little rejection stunt? Adorable. But let's be realistic, Sarah. You're nothing without this pack. Without Ryan's name. Without me allowing you the scraps of dignity you still cling to." She patted my cheek condescendingly. "Know your place. It's easier that way."

She sauntered away, the keys jingling mockingly in her hand. I stood frozen, staring at the locked door that contained years of my research, my creations, my identity.

Emma's growl grew louder, a rumbling that seemed to shake my very bones. *This is theft. This is war.*

I pressed my palm against the door, feeling a resolve crystallize within me. They had taken my work, my status, my son's affection. They thought they had left me with nothing.

But they were wrong. They had left me with the one thing I needed most: nothing left to lose.