Chapter 2
That ruby ring wasn't just a symbol of the Foster Pack Luna.
It was the very token of the bond ceremony between Alpha Yves and me.
Witnessed by the pack, blessed under the full moon, it had once carried my initial—engraved by his own hand.
To prove his devotion, he had carved an “M” into the inner band himself.
Now, as my eyes locked onto it, it felt like claws slashing straight through my heart.
The letter had long been scraped off.
In its place, a freshly etched “W”.
W for Wendy.
Becky roared in my mind:
“She’s wearing what’s ours, Miya! How much more will you take?!”
I swallowed the bitter taste rising in my throat.
I stepped forward, ready to speak.
But Alpha Yves beat me to it, voice as cold as silver:
“Miya is dead. This woman’s just a rogue who came to ruin a celebration. Anyone who dares slander Wendy again—won’t walk away unpunished.”
I froze in place. I couldn’t breathe.
“Alpha Yves,” I said quietly, voice hoarse, pulled from somewhere deep inside. “Say it again—who am I?”
His eyes flickered—hesitation. He leaned in and whispered:
“Miya, you heard them. If I say it’s really you, Wendy’s name will be ruined.”
“Sam entrusted her to me. I can’t let her be shamed. You’ve always been smart. Just… bear with it.”
Becky snarled:
“Smart? You’re his Luna, not his servant! Stop bearing it!”
He didn’t look back.
He called for Beta Ross and told him to “take care” of me.
Said feeding me leftovers from his newborn’s blessing banquet would be a kind gesture.
A good deed to bring luck to the baby.
Behind me, the crowd’s voices rose again in waves of joy, praising his bond with Wendy, his elder brother’s mate, as the Moon Goddess’s grace.
But inside me, there was nothing but silence.
Becky hissed:
“They pray for her and treat the real Luna like filth. Hypocrites. Cowards.”
Ross clearly recognized me.
He didn’t speak.
Just handed me clean clothes and led me to a side guest room.
I frowned. “Shouldn’t I be going to the Alpha’s quarters?”
He stayed quiet.
Doubt twisted in my chest.
I pushed past him, storming down the hall, and flung open the door to the master bedroom.
It used to be mine.
Ours.
Now, everything was different.
The curtains were pink. The sheets were floral.
Wendy’s favorite perfume hung in the air.
Even the photos on the walls—gone were mine.
All replaced by pictures of Yves and Wendy smiling, embracing.
Becky whispered:
“He’s erased us from his life completely.”
I stood still.
Tears slipped silently down my cheeks.
“He didn’t save us,” I murmured. “Because he was afraid we’d ruin his future with her.”
“We are not a ruin,” Becky said softly. “We’re his fated Luna. That ring was ours first.”
Outside the door, Ross lingered.
His expression was tight, conflicted.
He said nothing.
I turned to the baby crib tucked in the corner.
I spoke calmly.
“Where is Lambert?”
Ross hesitated.
I pressed.
Finally, he said it.
“In the omegas’ room.”
My chest tightened.
The omega’s room.
A cold, damp place that smelled of rust and old blood.
Becky exploded:
“He put our pup in that place?! Our son?!”
I ran.
My feet stumbled across the grass.
I yanked open the heavy, rusted metal door.
The air hit me—mildew and blood.
Then I saw him.
Lambert.
Five years old.
Holding a torn photo of the two of us.
Locked in omegas’s room with a fully grown hunting dog.
His arms.
His legs.
His little face.
Covered in cuts.
Some wounds were so deep, I could see bone.
The dog beside him was sleeping—its mouth stained with dried blood.
Lambert carefully edged away from the beast.
He crawled to the food bowl, bent down, and started eating.
It was rotten, slop-like scraps.
But he devoured it like he hadn’t eaten in days.
Becky screamed in my mind:
“Let me out! I’ll tear that Alpha to shreds! No one harms our pup and walks away!”
And then I remembered…
Wendy, just hours ago, holding her chubby baby in her arms, glowing with praise and smiles.
And my son…
My son was eating dog food with omegas.
