Chapter 2 2

Elara POV

The sun rose, casting long, mocking shadows across the sprawling estate. I hadn't slept a single second. The cold, hard fury from last night had solidified into something unbreakable in my chest.

I walked into the cavernous marble kitchen of Blackwood Manor. The morning light pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows did nothing to warm the sterile room. Mrs. Gable, the elderly Omega housekeeper, was wiping down the island.

"Coffee, please, Mrs. Gable," I said, my voice raspy.

She flinched, her eyes darting nervously toward the hallway before she slid a ceramic bowl toward me. Inside was a grey, gelatinous nutrient paste. The Alpha's mandate for his *wolfless* burden. No meat, no caffeine, nothing that could provide energy or pleasure. Just a tasteless sludge meant to keep my vital organs functioning.

I stared at the paste. The image of Declan's smiling, sunlit family eating a lavish breakfast flashed in my mind. A violent tremor shook my hands. I grabbed the ceramic bowl and hurled it.

It shattered against the pristine marble floor, the grey sludge splattering across the pristine white tiles. The sound was deafening in the quiet morning.

Mrs. Gable gasped, her face draining of color as she stared at the mess in absolute horror.

"Tell the Alpha," I said, my voice eerily calm, "that his Luna doesn't eat dog food."

I left her trembling in the kitchen and retreated to my assigned quarters-a small, oppressive study in the East Wing. My heart was pounding frantically. It was my first act of open rebellion in four years, but it wasn't enough. I needed to kill the last pathetic, lingering doubt in my soul.

I sat on the floor, closed my eyes, and did the one thing I had avoided since the day I was rejected. I reached for our severed mate bond.

Because I was wolfless, touching the broken bond was pure agony. It felt like dragging my bare hands across shattered glass. But I pushed through the tearing pain, forcing the connection open just a fraction.

A rush of foreign senses assaulted me. I *smelled* sun-baked grass and sweet picnic strawberries. I *heard* Karly Rowe's breathy, triumphant laugh echoing in his mind. And then, the killing blow. A child's pure, radiant joy pulsed through the bond, vibrating with Declan's overwhelming paternal love.

*Daddy, push me higher!*

The connection violently snapped shut. I collapsed onto the rug, gasping for air. The betrayal wasn't just visual anymore; I had felt his happiness with them. The last shred of my grief died, replaced by a hollow, freezing void.

A sharp knock at the foyer doors pulled me from the floor. I walked out to the grand entryway to find Sylvia Vance, Declan's ruthless assistant. She stood there in a sharp designer suit, holding a leather briefcase, her eyes dripping with disdain.

"The Alpha is displeased with your little kitchen tantrum," Sylvia sneered, pulling out a heavy parchment that reeked of dark magic-a Blood Pact. "Sign this. You will formally confess to emotional instability due to your wolfless nature, apologize for your outburst, and swear absolute silence."

I stared at the magical contract. Signing it would give Declan the legal right to lock me away in a psychiatric ward whenever he pleased. "No."

Sylvia's eyes narrowed, her arrogant facade slipping into pure malice. "The Alpha's patience is gone, Omega. Your mother's care at the human facility is a Pack charity, not an obligation. Sign it, or that charity ends today."

The threat to my mother's life snapped the last thread of my restraint. I didn't think. I just swung.

My palm cracked against Sylvia's cheek with a sickening smack. Her head snapped to the side, a bright red handprint blooming instantly on her pale skin. She stared at me in absolute, horrified shock. A wolfless Omega had just struck a high-ranking Pack member.

"Get out of my house," I commanded, my voice vibrating with a dark authority.

Sylvia backed away, her eyes flashing with murderous intent as her eyes glazed over-she was mind-linking Declan. She turned and fled out the heavy oak doors.

I stormed back to the study, my adrenaline surging. The war had officially begun. I moved the stormy seascape painting on the wall, revealing my hidden safe. I pulled out the burner phone and the USB drive containing the photos. I needed to contact Harper.

But as I reached for my regular phone to check the time, the screen lit up with a glaring red notification from the bank.

*Your primary account has been frozen by the administrator.*

My blood ran cold. The $50,000 monthly auto-transfer for my mother's life support was scheduled for today.