Five years ago, on the night of a full moon, Lucian knelt before me.

He sliced open his wrist with a fang, and my blood mingled with his, sealing our mate bond.

From that moment on, I could feel every flicker of his emotion.

So when Victoria returned to New York from London, I felt it all—his shock. His longing. And the most painful of all, his obsession with her.

He started leaving me, more and more often.

To a normal woman, it would have been neglect.

But for me, it was physical torture.

Every time he turned his back on me to go to her, I felt the agony of my soul being ripped apart—not a sharp sting, but a deep, burning ache in the marrow of my bones.

The wolf inside me would curl into a ball in the depths of my consciousness, howling a silent scream.

…

I walked into the ballroom of The Plaza Hotel wearing a silver fringe gown of my own design.

It was supposed to be my moment of triumph—my jewelry collection had just won the CFDA American Innovator of the Year Award. Lucian had sworn under a full moon that he would celebrate me here.

He’d even pre-ordered the venison tartare.

I saw him there, dressed in a black custom-tailored suit, his golden eyes sweeping over me—cold and distant.

Then, the grand doors swung open.

Victoria walked in.

She was wearing the exact same Valentino Haute Couture gown. It was no coincidence. She had paid off my stylist.

As she glided towards us, she released a scent—sweet, intoxicating, with the desperate edge of an omega in distress. I knew she was using forbidden drugs. A Beta could never produce a scent like that naturally.

Every male wolf in the room was captivated.

I saw Lucian’s reaction—his pupils constricting.

"Happy five-year anniversary!" Victoria raised her martini, her voice loud enough for the entire room to hear. "And congratulations on the future pup—though I hear with Chloe's half-breed blood, that might be a bit of a challenge."

Lucian's hand suddenly tightened on my wrist.

He was suppressing something.

Victoria moved gracefully towards us, stopping a few feet from Lucian, and then—she pretended to stumble.

She fell against him.

Her hand landed on the side of his neck.

That is the most vulnerable spot on a werewolf.

A place only a true mate is allowed to touch.

"I don't feel well," she whispered in her most fragile voice, leaning into his arms. "Lucian, I'm scared."

I watched his expression transform.

The concern. The urgency. The raw, protective instinct I had never seen him direct at me—he shielded her like a fortress wall.

"Chloe, I have to take her home," he said without looking at me. "She's not well. I'll be back soon."

He let go of my hand.

As he swept Victoria into his arms and rushed for the door, the entire party watched—every single person saw the Alpha abandon his Luna on their anniversary.

At the last moment, Victoria glanced back at me over his shoulder.

A flash of victory sparked in her eyes.

Then she "accidentally" kicked her leg out.

Her heel struck the latch of a metal serving cart.

CRASH—

The ten-tier fondant cake came crashing down on me.

I didn't move.

My wolf was in a state of shock from my mate’s betrayal, unable to take over.

White cream, hard frosting, and the sterling silver wolf figurines representing the Sterling pack all slammed into me.

I heard the muffled laughter.

I saw the pity in the eyes of the other wolves—and for a Luna, pity is a deeper insult than any slur.