Chapter 2

Ember POV

I slipped my phone back into my scrub pocket, the three-day countdown burning a hole in my mind. Before I could take a step, heavy boots scuffed against the seamless vinyl floor. Two of Damien's elite Warriors blocked my path, their broad shoulders forming a wall of muscle.

Their eyes dropped to the official medical slate clutched to my chest.

"Hand it over, Luna," the larger Warrior grunted, extending a calloused hand. They were here to scrub the official record. To protect their Alpha's pristine public image from the reality of his bleeding mistress. Later, I would understand why: Damien had signed the consent form in a haze of guilt and possessiveness, but now, he must have realized the medical slate now contained a narrative that could be weaponized by his political enemies. A ruptured corpus luteum caused by rough mating with a female who was not his Luna was the kind of scandal that could fracture an Alpha's hold on power. He needed the original record destroyed.

I took a step back, my grip tightening on the slate. The Warrior's eyes flashed gold, and he extended his claws in a silent threat. I didn't flinch.

"Healer's records are sacrosanct, witnessed by the Goddess," I said, my voice echoing like cracking ice in the sterile hallway. "Touch it, and you defy Her will."

The ancient Pack Law hit them harder than a physical blow. Both Warriors froze, their wolves hesitating at the invocation of the Moon Goddess.

"Enough."

The air instantly thickened with the suffocating scent of crisp cedar and impending storm. Damien shoved past his men, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. He didn't waste time arguing with a *wolfless* Omega. His eyes bled to pitch-black, and the crushing, invisible weight of his *Alpha's Command* slammed into the hallway.

"*Give. It. To. Me.*"

The Warriors immediately dropped their gazes, submitting to the power. As a *wolfless*, I didn't have an inner wolf to force me to my knees, but the psychic pressure felt like a vice tightening around my skull. I held out for three agonizing seconds, my nose beginning to bleed, before he lost his patience and violently snatched the slate from my hands.

Damien reached into his tailored suit jacket, pulled out a checkbook, and scribbled furiously. He slapped the paper onto a nearby metal medical cart. One hundred thousand dollars.

"For your silence," he sneered, his voice dripping with disgust.

The check fluttered off the cart, landing face-up on the cold floor.

Before I could respond, the sliding doors of the trauma bay hissed open. Paramedics wheeled Allena out on a gurney. Through the cluster of medical staff, her eyes found mine. On her pale, tear-stained face, a weak, triumphant smile bloomed-a deliberate, venomous smirk meant to remind me that she had won.

Damien immediately shifted his massive frame, completely blocking my view of her. He stroked her hair gently, a low, guttural growl vibrating from his chest. His inner wolf, Tyrant, claiming and protecting his prize. It was a silver blade straight to my soul, twisting deep.

As Damien escorted her toward the private exit, I noticed Leah, my young Omega apprentice, standing near the nurses' station. She was staring after the Alpha with wide, starry eyes, completely oblivious to the ugly truth.

I bent down, picked up the check, and crumpled it into a tight ball. I walked over to Leah, letting out a heavy, clinical sigh.

"It's a tragedy, really," I murmured, keeping my tone steeped in professional sorrow.

Leah blinked, snapping out of her daze. "What is, Dr. Wilder?"

I leaned in closer, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "The Alpha. You saw the trauma. A ruptured corpus luteum, but... not from a wolf." I let the silence stretch until Leah's eyes widened in horror. "It's *The Waning*. His inner wolf is disconnecting. He had to use a cold, unnatural instrument in his panic to perform."

Leah gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. I knew the Omega gossip mill. Through the Pack's Mind-Link, the humiliating rumor of the Alpha losing his power and fertility would spread like wildfire before sunset. It would strike at the very foundation of his rule.

Leaving Leah trembling with the scandalous secret, I walked into the empty locker room.

The heavy-duty shredder sat humming in the corner. I fed the crumpled check into the slot, listening to the satisfying, violent screech of the metal blades tearing Damien's hush money into confetti.

I stripped off my bleach-scented scrubs and slipped into my wool trench coat. Pushing through the trauma center's exit, the biting winter air hit my face, filling my lungs with a clarity I hadn't felt in seven years.

The illusion was dead. Now, it was time to head back to the penthouse, open the safe, and prepare the real paperwork.