Outside my room, I heard Drake's phone ring. His voice drifted through the partially open door: "Yes, Lilith, I'm coming. Don't worry."

I placed my hand protectively over my stomach, tears still drying on my cheeks. This child deserved better than a father who ran to another woman at every call.


Three days later, I was discharged from the hospital. Drake didn't come to pick me up—he sent a driver instead, claiming an "urgent meeting."

The mansion felt eerily quiet as I stepped inside. I headed straight for the master bedroom, desperate for a hot shower and familiar surroundings.

I pushed open the bedroom door and froze.


Lilith's nightgown lay across my side of the bed. Her perfume bottles had replaced mine on the vanity. The closet door stood ajar, revealing her dresses hanging where mine had been.

But what shattered me completely was the sight of our wedding photo—the one Drake had insisted on keeping by our bed for five years—now replaced by a picture of him and Lilith at some gala, her head resting intimately on his shoulder.


I had been erased. Replaced. While I lay in a hospital bed carrying his child, Drake had moved another woman into our bedroom.

"Luna?" Mrs. Harris appeared behind me, her face pale. "I tried to stop them, but Alpha insisted..."

"Where are my things?" My voice sounded hollow, distant.

She wrung her hands. "The guest room. Second floor, east wing."

The guest room. As far from the master bedroom as possible while still being in the same house. The message couldn't be clearer.

I nodded mechanically and turned away, not wanting her to see the tears threatening to spill.

The guest room was spacious but impersonal—no photos, no memories, nothing that marked it as mine. Just my clothes neatly arranged in the closet and my few personal items on the dresser.

As I unpacked my hospital bag, I heard voices from Drake's study below. The window was partially open, carrying their conversation up to me.

"The doctor said she needs rest," Drake's deep voice sounded tired, almost concerned.

"Of course," Lilith's sweet tone made my skin crawl. "But what about us, Drake? This pregnancy changes everything."

There was a pause. "I know."

"You promised we'd be together," Lilith continued. "You said you'd break the bond with her."

My heart stopped. I moved closer to the window, hardly daring to breathe.

"I will," Drake replied, his voice firm. "Nothing has changed. The bond will be broken."

"And the child?" Lilith asked softly. "What about the heir?"

Another pause, longer this time. "The child is mine. My blood."

"Let her have the baby," Lilith suggested, her voice calculating. "Then I can raise it as my own. We can be a family, Drake. The family you always wanted."

I waited, heart pounding, for Drake to reject this outrageous suggestion. To defend me, to defend our child.

But his response shattered what little hope I had left.

"We'll figure something out," he said, not disagreeing. "For now, just be patient."

I stumble back from the window, my legs giving way as I sink to the floor.

Tonight, I lie in the unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling. Down the hall, I can hear Drake pacing in the master bedroom, his footsteps heavy and restless.

Around midnight, his footsteps approach my door. He pauses outside, and for a moment, I think he might knock. My heart betrays me with a flutter of hope.

The doorknob turns slowly. I close my eyes, pretending to be asleep. Through barely-open lids, I see Drake's silhouette in the doorway. He stands there watching me for what feels like eternity, his breathing uneven.

He takes a step into the room, then stops. His hand reaches out slightly, as if wanting to touch me, then falls back to his side. I hear him whisper something—my name, perhaps?—so softly I can't be sure.

Then he places something on the nightstand and leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

When I'm certain he's gone, I reach for what he's left.