I walked out of the DARPA facility and bypassed the main transit lines, heading instead to a dusty corner of an overflow parking lot. Sitting there was a 2012 Toyota Corolla with a dented rear bumper. It was entirely unremarkable, which was exactly why I bought it. Adrian knew nothing about this car, just as he knew nothing about the independent salary I earned under the alias "Dr. Patterson."

I slipped behind the wheel, wincing as my bandaged right hand brushed against the rough plastic of the gear shift. The blistered skin pulled tight, sending a hot spike of pain up my wrist. The sterile smell of old fabric was a welcome comfort, and I merged into the city's rush-hour traffic using only my left hand for the wheel whenever the pain became too sharp. My destination was a neutral territory downtown, a district of pre-war luxury towers and uniformed doormen where the elite went when they didn't want to be tracked by Pack politics.

I found Seraphina's heavily guarded building and parked across the street, perfectly concealed behind an idling delivery van. I killed the engine. In the suffocating silence of the dark cabin, I didn't feel sorrow. I felt a cold, hyper-focused calm. I was no longer a wife waiting for her husband; I was a hunter waiting for her prey.

At 6:47 PM, a custom black Maybach glided to a halt in front of the building. The vanity plate read SLVCST 1.

Adrian stepped out of the driver's seat. A second later, the revolving glass doors of the tower spun, and Seraphina emerged. She wore a skin-tight crimson dress, but my eyes immediately locked onto her forearm. Resting there, gleaming under the streetlights, was the custom silver-free Birkin. The ultimate status symbol, bought with Silvercrest Pack funds.

She laughed, throwing herself into Adrian's arms. He caught her waist, pulling her flush against him, and kissed her with a desperate, cherishing hunger he had never once shown me.

My expression didn't change. I raised my phone, holding it steady with my left hand while my right remained cradled against my chest, the bandaged fingers curled inward to avoid pressure. I zoomed in, capturing the license plate, the passionate embrace, and the undeniable proof of his embezzlement hanging from his mistress's arm. I recorded every damning second until they climbed into the Maybach and disappeared down the avenue.

A moment later, my phone screen lit up with a new message. Because I was wolfless and lacked an Inner Wolf, I was entirely cut off from the Pack's Mind-Link. Texting was his only way to maintain his illusion of control.

Working late. International dinner. Don't wait up.

I stared at the casual, practiced lie. He truly believed I was just a simple-minded Omega, too weak to ever question him. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a second before I typed a single word.

Okay.

I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and started the engine. I drove aimlessly for a while, eventually crossing the bridge that connected the glittering city to the darker, forested edges of the suburbs.

I pulled into a desolate parking lot near the water. The area was pitch black, illuminated only by the distant, hazy glow of the city skyline. I put the car in park, and suddenly, the dam broke.

Four years of being a broken Luna, of enduring the whispers, the neglect, and the suffocating scent of his betrayal, crashed over me. I let my injured right hand fall limp in my lap, the bandaged knuckles resting against my thigh, untouched. My left hand remained on the steering wheel, fingers curled loosely around the leather. I sobbed into the freezing, empty air. I cried for the girl who thought the Moon Goddess had blessed her with a mate, and I cried for the woman who had been systematically destroyed by him.

But the tears didn't last long. They ran dry, leaving behind a hollow, freezing void in my chest.

I wiped my face with the back of my left hand, my skin tight and cold. I picked up my phone with my left hand, ignoring the barrage of meaningless Pack notifications, and switched it to silent. I looked out through the windshield at the ink-black water. It was as still and dead as my marriage.

I cradled my right hand gently in my lap, the bandages still visible beneath the dim glow of the dashboard lights. The pain was a dull, constant ache-a reminder that my body no longer healed the way it once had. But the pain in my chest was worse. That wound, he had been carving for four years.

I took a deep breath, my voice steady and echoing with absolute finality in the quiet car.

"I, Elara Vance, will reject you, Adrian Caldwell, as my mate."

The words hung in the air, an irreversible vow to the darkness. I turned the key in the ignition and steered the Corolla back toward the Silvercrest Pack House, ready to face whatever the rest of this endless night would bring.

Chapter 4

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