Chapter 2

JAYCEE POV:

Back in my mother's house, the silence was a heavy blanket, suffocating me. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, my own reflection a stranger's. My eyes were hollow, my skin pale.

Around my neck, the moonstone necklace Cohen had given me felt like a cold, heavy chain. It was meant to symbolize my future place as his Luna, the mother of his heirs. Now, it felt like a leash.

My fingers fumbled with the clasp. It was intricate, designed to be difficult to remove. Each tug at the silver links sent a phantom ache through my chest, a faint echo of the Mate bond that tied my soul to his. It felt like I was trying to tear a piece of my own skin off.

Finally, the clasp gave way. The necklace fell into my palm, its weight a dead thing. I didn't throw it. I didn't smash it.

I walked into the living room and placed it carefully on the stone mantelpiece above the empty fireplace. It would stay there as a reminder. A marker for a debt that had to be paid in blood.

I spent the rest of the day sorting through my mother's belongings. I packed her clothes into boxes for donation, the scent of her perfume clinging to the fabric, a ghost in the air. The only thing I kept for myself was a small, worn wooden box. Carved into the lid was a single name I hadn't used since I was a child: Miller.

In a drawer, I found a framed photo of the three of us from last summer. Me, my mother, and Cohen. He had his arm wrapped around my waist, a possessive, confident smile on his face. My mother was beaming beside us. Looking at his smile now made my stomach churn.

I took the photo out of its frame. I didn't rip it. With a pair of scissors from the kitchen drawer, I made a single, precise cut, separating him from us.

The part with me and my mother went into my wallet. His smiling face, I tossed into the fireplace.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I scrolled mindlessly through my phone, and then I saw it. Hillary had posted a new photo to her private social media account.

It was her and Cohen, at the closing ceremony of the summit. He was sliding a ring onto her finger-the Bolton family signet ring, a symbol of alliance and promise. They looked like a king and his queen, powerful and untouchable.

The image confirmed everything. My mother's life, my five years of devotion... we were just inconvenient details in a business transaction. We were loose ends to be tied up and discarded.

The last flicker of hope inside me died.

I walked back to the fireplace, my movements stiff and robotic. I picked up the moonstone necklace. Its surface was as cold as a tombstone.

I walked to the back door, opened it, and stepped out into the chilly night air. The woods behind the house were a wall of impenetrable darkness.

Without a second of hesitation, I drew my arm back and hurled the necklace with all my strength. It disappeared into the black, swallowed by the forest.