Chapter 2

ELARA POV:

"Excellent," Director Alistair's voice came through the phone. "Your placement is confirmed. We will expect you in Switzerland in one week."

One week. Six months of total isolation. It was perfect. It was the only way to sever a bond that was now a source of pure poison.

I walked through the Alpha suite I shared with Damien like a ghost in my own life. The whole place felt like a museum of our love. A silver cup engraved with our names from our mating ceremony. A framed photo from our first trip together, his arm wrapped around me, both of us smiling like fools.

A wave of revulsion washed over me.

I grabbed a trash bag from the kitchen. The silver cup went first, shattering against the marble floor with a satisfying crash. The photo frame followed, glass splintering over his lying face.

I tore through the closet, pulling out his clothes-the expensive suits he wore to his "diplomatic meetings." They all carried the faint, lingering scent of other packs, other she-wolves. Souvenirs from his business trips, trinkets from his betrayals, all of it went into the bags.

Finally, I packed my own things. My books, my clothes, my healing tools. I arranged for a courier to deliver them to my best friend Ayla's territory in the Silver Creek Pack. By dawn, every trace of me was gone, except for my body.

He came home the next evening. He walked in, smiling, and tried to wrap his arms around me.

"I missed you," he murmured, his face moving towards my neck.

But all I could smell on him was Cassia. Her cheap, cloying Omega scent was all over his skin, in his hair. I recoiled as if burned, shoving him away with a strength that surprised us both.

"Elara?" His brow furrowed in confusion.

He pulled a small box from his pocket. "A gift. From my trip."

Inside was a small vial of essential oil, held in an ornate silver container. It was the same oil Cassia used. And he had forgotten, in his web of lies, that I was severely allergic to silver. The metal burned my kind, a weakness known to every werewolf. For my own mate to forget was not carelessness. It was a sign that in his mind, I had already ceased to exist.

I stared at the silver, at the proof of his utter disregard. The anger was a cold, hard knot in my stomach.

"Damien," I said, my voice flat. "We should have a child."

I wanted to see his face. I wanted to see how he would lie his way out of this one.

He stiffened. "Elara, we've talked about this. The pack needs my full attention. It's not the right time."

His phone rang. He glanced at the screen, and I saw Cassia's name. In the background, I could hear a child crying.

"It's business," he said quickly, turning away. "I have to take this." He walked out onto the balcony, his voice dropping to a soothing murmur.

While he was gone, my phone pinged with a message from an unknown number. A single, anonymous link. My fingers trembled as I clicked on it, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach.

It led to a public photo gallery.

Her page was public. A gallery of her life. A life with my mate. Dozens of photos of Damien with Leo. Damien pushing Leo on a swing. Damien holding Leo on his shoulders at a pack festival. Damien asleep on a couch with the boy curled on his chest.

And below each picture, comments from members of our own pack.

"Such a beautiful family, Alpha!"

"Leo is the spitting image of you!"

The whole pack knew. Everyone but me. I was the fool. The Luna-in-waiting who was nothing more than a placeholder.

A violent wave of nausea overcame me. I ran to the bathroom, emptying the contents of my stomach into the toilet. As I knelt there, shaking, a horrifying realization dawned. It wasn't just the shock.

My cycle was late.