Two months have passed.
The Autumn Equinox Gala has turned the pack grounds into something ripped from a luxury magazine spread—endless strings of delicate lights, tables draped in imported linens, champagne flowing like water. The elite of our world are here, wearing their wealth as armor in a silent, glittering competition.
And I am here too, moving through them like a ghost, a tray of drinks in my shaking hands. The cloying scent of expensive wine hangs in the air, and my stomach clenches in violent protest.
For weeks now, I’ve been on intimate terms with every bathroom in this manor. The morning sickness is relentless, a constant, humiliating reminder of a night I’ve tried desperately to forget. It’s the kind of nausea that makes you plead with any higher power that might be listening.
I tell myself it’s stress. I tell myself it’s a virus. I tell myself it’s just my body being difficult, as usual.
Denial is a comfortable blanket, and I’ve wrapped myself in it tightly.
As I navigate the crowd, I feel the weight of their indifference. Being the family’s greatest disappointment has one advantage: near-total invisibility. My parents, ever strategic, have positioned me as a server, well away from anyone important who might remember I exist and ask awkward questions.
Olivia holds court near the stage, swathed in a gown that likely cost more than my entire education. She moves with that polished, future-Luna grace, charming everyone within reach.
For two months, since that morning, she’s been waging a subtle war—dropping hints, making vague comments, but never delivering the final blow. I suspect she enjoys the suspense more than the reveal.
Then, Alpha Charles Valdemar takes the stage, his sons flanking him. My heart doesn’t just skip a beat; it seems to freeze solid.
Because Benjamin and Alexander are there, dressed in their formal pack attire, embodying every conflicted dream and nightmare I’ve had since that night.
Neither has spoken to me. Not a word, not a look. Absolute silence.
Alpha Charles raises his glass, and the crowd stills. “Tonight,” his voice booms, effortlessly commanding, “we celebrate the future of our pack.”
No. Please, no.
“It is with great pride,” he continues, “that I announce the engagement of my heir, Benjamin, to Olivia Roscente.”
The tray crashes from my hands. Crystal shatters on marble in a deafening cascade, a symphony of destruction that marks the exact moment my world fractures. Every eye in the room swivels toward the source of the noise—toward me.
But I am rooted to the spot. I can’t breathe. The entire scene narrows to Olivia gliding toward Benjamin as if claiming a prize, slipping her arm through his with a victorious smile.
The ring on her finger catches the light—a monstrous ruby encircled by diamonds, a statement of ownership in gemstone form. She displays it like a conqueror’s trophy. Benjamin stands beside her, his expression the perfect, unreadable mask of an Alpha heir. He does not look at me.
Then she kisses him. It’s a performance, a public branding. Any fragile, foolish hope I’d been clinging to withers and dies right there amidst the sparkling wreckage at my feet.
The crowd erupts in applause and cheers, the sound merging into a distant, meaningless roar.
I stumble back, the crunch of glass under my shoes loud in my ears. My hand flies to my mouth as my stomach heaves. I turn and run.
Past the opulent guest bathrooms, down a service corridor, into the stark, utilitarian staff restroom—a place no one important would ever deign to enter. I barely make it to the sink before my body rebels, emptying itself until I’m gasping and trembling.
When the spasms finally subside, I slide to the cold tile floor, my cheek pressed against its unglamorous surface. My hand moves to my abdomen, and the truth I’ve been dodging for weeks crashes over me with the force of a tidal wave.
This isn’t stress. This isn’t a bug.
I haven’t had a period. Not since before my heat.
Two months ago.
Oh, god.
I haul myself up, splashing icy water on my ashen face. The reflection in the mirror is familiar—the same disaster of a person—but now there’s a new, terrifying variable.
The thought triggers another surge of panic that I force down with a shuddering breath.
I have to get out of here.
The drive to the nearest human town takes forever. Each mile is a countdown. The 24-hour pharmacy is blindingly bright. The pregnancy tests sit innocently on the shelf, a cruel punchline. The cashier rings up my purchase without a glance.
In the bathroom of an all-night café two blocks away, I hold my future in my hands. Three tests. Three verdicts.
I perch on the closed toilet lid, heart hammering against my ribs, and watch.
Two lines. A plus sign. The digital one makes me wait, a blinking hourglass mocking my frayed nerves.
Then it appears, in cold, clinical letters: Pregnant.
Fear, sharp and absolute, brings a terrifying clarity.
I’m carrying either Benjamin’s or Alexander’s child. Benjamin is now engaged to my sister. Alexander acts as if I don’t exist. My mother’s threat from two months ago echoes in my skull: “I’ll rip it from you myself.”
She meant it. They all will.
And if it’s discovered that an Alpha heir is the father? The baby and I will disappear. We’ll become one of those pack secrets, buried and never spoken of again.
The drive home becomes a frantic planning session. The cash I’ve secretly saved for years. The fake ID from a brief rebellious phase. The go-bag I’ve kept ready since I was a teenager, always knowing I’d need to run one day.
I just never imagined it would be like this.
My mind races through possibilities—where to go, how to disappear, how to survive alone and pregnant, completely cut off from the pack.
The house is dark and silent when I slip through my window just past midnight. The gala is still in full swing, everyone toasting the happy couple while I stuff a backpack with essentials.
One bag. One chance. One impossible situation that is now my reality.
My mother’s words haunt me as I climb back out: “Before it can draw breath.”
Not going to happen. Not to my child. Not while I’m alive.
The ancient forest swallows me whole. The trees, silent witnesses to generations of pack history, now watch the wolfless daughter flee, carrying a potential heir deep within her. Behind me, the music and laughter of the gala continue, oblivious.
They won’t notice I’m gone until morning. By then, I’ll be a ghost, a forgotten footnote.
My hand rests on my stomach as I move deeper into the shadows. “Just you and me now,” I whisper into the darkness. “Let’s hope you got their resilience, and not my spectacular talent for catastrophe.”