The Pregnant Luna He Chose To Ignore

I carried our child for eight months, yet to my husband, Alpha Damien, I was invisible.

When I placed the divorce agreement on his desk, he didn't even look up. He was too busy discussing nursery colors with Victoria, the woman who had taken my place in everything but title.

That night, agony ripped through me. I went into premature labor right in the hallway.

I grabbed Damien's arm, begging him to save our child.

But he shook me off.

He turned his back on his bleeding wife to comfort Victoria, who was faking a panic attack about paint swatches.

"Get the best doctors for Victoria!" he bellowed, leaving me to be wheeled into a cold storage room by a terrified intern.

While he held her hand, I lay alone in the dark, my body failing.

I didn't just lose the baby that night. I found out why I had been so weak.

My blood was full of silver nitrate. Victoria had been poisoning me for months, and Damien had been too blind to notice.

I signed the divorce papers on my deathbed and vanished into the storm.

Three years later, I returned. Not as a rejected Luna, but as the owner of the empire that was buying him out.

Damien stood before me at the Alpha Summit, gaunt and broken, holding the deed to his entire territory.

"I signed it all over to you," he whispered, falling to his knees. "Please, Elena. I know the truth now. I'll be your guard dog. Just let me make it right."

I looked down at the man who had let our child die.

"You can't buy me back, Damien," I said, stepping over him. "I'm not for sale anymore."

Chapter 1

Elena POV

My hand trembled-not from the weight of the paper, but from the sheer, crushing finality of what I was about to do.

I pushed the divorce agreement across the polished mahogany of Damien's desk. It made a dry, scraping sound, like a dead leaf skittering across cold pavement.

Eight months.

I had been carrying our child for eight months, my body swollen and aching, my ankles threatening to give out under the strain. Yet, standing here in the center of his office, I felt less significant than the dust motes dancing in the light.

"Just sign it, Damien," I whispered.

My voice didn't sound like my own. It lacked the pathetic, pleading tremor I had perfected over the last year. It was hollow. Empty.

Damien didn't look up. He was buried in a mountain of pack documents, his brow furrowed in that focused way that used to make my stomach flutter. Now, that same expression just made me feel cold.

He scribbled his signature on a budget report, flipping the page with a sharp snap of his wrist.

"Leave it there, Elena. I'm busy," he said, his voice flat.

He didn't ask what it was. He didn't notice the way I was gripping the edge of the desk just to keep from collapsing.

I was part of the furniture. A lamp. A chair. A Luna who took up space but offered no value.

I looked out the floor-to-ceiling window. The Pack lands were bathed in moonlight, alive with the sounds of families, of wolves running, of life. It looked so warm out there.

Inside here, the air conditioning was set to a temperature that chilled me to the marrow. I was in the heart of my home, yet I had never felt more like a trespasser.

Then, the smell hit me.

It was sweet, cloying, and suffocating. Moonflower.

It wasn't my scent.

The door behind me opened, and the scent intensified, coating the back of my throat like thick syrup. Victoria walked in. She didn't look at me. Her eyes were locked on Damien.

"You look tense, Alpha," she cooed.

She swept right past me, the fabric of her silk dress brushing against my arm-a deliberate, silken insult.

She moved behind Damien's chair and draped a cashmere shawl over his shoulders, her fingers lingering possessively on his neck.

It was such a natural, practiced motion. Domestic. Intimate.

Damien leaned back into her touch, a long sigh escaping his lips. He didn't pull away. He didn't tell her to stop because his wife was standing three feet away.

My chest tightened. It felt like a giant fist was squeezing my lungs, wringing the air out of them.

I looked down at my stomach, hidden beneath the oversized sweater I wore to mask the pregnancy he had never bothered to notice. The baby kicked-a sharp, rib-bruising protest against my distress.

"Damien," I said, forcing the name past the lump in my throat. "Please. Just sign the paper."

He finally looked up, but his eyes didn't find mine. They flicked to the document, then back to the file in his hand.

"I said later, Elena. Don't be a pest."

Victoria laughed. It was a soft, tinkling sound that grated on my nerves like broken glass grinding together.

She looked at me then, her eyes sweeping over my disheveled hair and baggy clothes with a toxic mix of pity and amusement.

"Oh, Luna," she said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You really think leaving the Pack Alpha will get you anywhere? What do you think you're worth without him?"

My breath hitched. I wanted to scream. I wanted to flip the desk. But I stood frozen.

I remembered the day I met Damien.

He had found me in the library, picked up a book I dropped, and looked at me as if I were the only person in the room. He had been kind. Gentle. That memory was the anchor that had kept me tethered to this sinking ship for so long.

But looking at him now, I realized that man didn't exist anymore. Or maybe he never did.

We were a business deal. A treaty between families. The passion had rotted into duty, and the duty had withered into annoyance.

"I need your signature on the logistics for the ceremony," Victoria said, sliding a folder directly on top of my divorce papers.

She covered my exit ticket with a party plan.

Damien smiled at her. A real smile. "Of course. And for the nursery? Did the contractors arrive?"

"Yes," Victoria beamed, placing a hand on her flat stomach. "They're painting it yellow. Just like you wanted."

The room spun.

He was building a nursery. For her. For a baby that didn't even show yet.

Meanwhile, his own heir was kicking my ribs, unacknowledged and unwanted.

The illusion didn't just crack; it shattered. The dust of my hope settled on the floor, leaving the air clear and sharp.

I took a deep breath. The scent of Moonflower was still there, but it didn't make me nauseous anymore. It just smelled like rot.

Enough, I said internally. I will not beg for scraps of love.

I looked at the divorce papers peeking out from under Victoria's folder. They weren't just legal documents anymore. They were a passport. A ticket to a life where I didn't have to be invisible.

I turned my gaze to the window again. The moon looked different now. It didn't look like his moon. It looked like mine.

"I'll leave it here," I said quietly.

Damien didn't answer. He was already pointing at a color swatch Victoria was holding.

I turned around and walked toward the door. My legs were heavy, but my spirit felt strangely light.

I was leaving. I was going to save myself, and I was going to save my baby.

Damien Sterling was a closed chapter in my book. And I had just turned the page.