CELESTRIA POV
Senna Carveth stands in my dining room wearing my husband's shirt, and I finally understand what it feels like to want to kill someone.
My wolf explodes inside my head—snarling, clawing, demanding I shift and rip that smug smile off her face. My hands grip the edge of the table so hard the wood cracks under my fingers.
"Oh, Celestria!" Senna's voice drips fake sweetness like poison honey. "I didn't know you'd still be here. Dorian said you usually skip breakfast."
Because I can't stomach eating while he parades his affairs in front of me.
She walks to the coffee pot—my coffee pot, in my dining room, in my house—and pours herself a cup like she owns the place. Her auburn hair is messy. Bedroom messy. And that shirt she's wearing? I gave it to Dorian for his last birthday.
The birthday he spent with her instead of me.
"Senna." My voice comes out flat. Dead. "Get out of my house."
She laughs. Actually laughs, the sound sharp and cruel. "Your house? Sweetie, this is the Pack House. It belongs to the Alpha. And since Dorian and I have an understanding now—"
"Understanding?" The word tastes like acid.
"Well, yes." Senna sits down in the chair Dorian just left, curling her legs under her like a cat. "He told me about his brilliant idea. The open marriage thing. Honestly, it's perfect. You get to stop being so pathetically clingy, and I get to stop hiding."
My wolf howls with rage. Six years. Six years of this woman sleeping with my husband, and now she gets to parade around like she's won some prize.
"You think he'll mate you," I say quietly. "After he's done with me."
Senna's smile widens. "I don't think. I know. Everyone knows you were a mistake, Celestria. A healer's daughter? No Alpha blood? You were never good enough for him. The only reason he mated you was because the Moon Goddess forced his hand."
Each word is a knife, but I don't flinch. Can't flinch. Because if I show weakness now, she wins.
"Once you're gone," Senna continues, examining her nails, "Dorian can reject you properly and choose someone worthy. Someone with the right bloodline. Someone like me."
"Someone who sleeps with mated males?" I raise an eyebrow. "What an accomplishment."
Her eyes flash gold—her wolf rising. "At least I can keep a man interested. What's your excuse? You're so boring that your own mate would rather be with anyone else."
The truth of it hits like a punch to the stomach. Because she's right. Dorian doesn't want me. Hasn't wanted me in years. And I've been so desperate to hold onto the scraps of our bond that I've let him treat me like garbage.
No more.
I stand up slowly, and something in my expression makes Senna's smile falter.
"You're right," I say softly. "I am boring. I've spent six years being the perfect Luna. Planning events. Managing finances. Keeping this pack running while Dorian plays with his toys."
I walk around the table toward her. She shifts uncomfortably.
"I've been so busy being perfect that I forgot to live. Forgot to be happy. Forgot that I deserve better than a mate who treats me like I'm invisible."
Senna stands, trying to maintain her superior attitude. "So what? You're going to take Dorian's advice? Sleep around? Please. You don't have it in you."
My wolf snarls agreement with something dark and reckless building in my chest.
"Maybe you're right," I say, stopping right in front of her. "Maybe I don't. But you know what? I'm going to find out."
I grab my phone from the table and walk toward the door.
"Where are you going?" Senna calls after me, sounding less confident now.
I pause at the doorway and look back at her. Really look at her. She's beautiful—I can admit that. Curves in all the right places. Confidence that comes from knowing she's wanted. Everything I'm not.
But she's also desperate. Clinging to a man who won't even make her his official mate. Settling for being the other woman because she thinks it's better than being alone.
At least I have more self-respect than that.
"I'm going to take my husband's advice," I say sweetly. "And loosen up."
The walk from the dining room to the garden feels like walking through water. My legs shake. My hands tremble. But I keep my head high, my shoulders back, my face calm.
I am a Luna. I will not break where anyone can see.
The garden is my refuge—rows of roses I planted myself, a fountain that drowns out the sound of the packhouse, stone benches where I've cried more times than I can count.
I make it to the farthest bench before my legs give out.
Then I break.
Sobs tear from my throat—ugly, gasping sounds I've been holding back for hours. Days. Years. My whole body shakes with the force of it. Six years of pain pouring out all at once.
I've given everything to this pack. To Dorian. I've smiled through the humiliation. Pretended not to notice the affairs. Made myself smaller and quieter and more perfect, thinking that if I just tried hard enough, he'd love me.
But he never will.
And I'm done trying.
"Celestria?"
I look up, tears streaming down my face, and see Isolde running toward me. My best friend. The only person in this whole pack who actually cares if I'm okay.
She drops onto the bench beside me and pulls me into her arms. "What happened? I felt your distress through the pack bond. Talk to me."
Between sobs, I tell her everything. The open marriage. Senna in our dining room. Six years of being not enough.
Isolde's eyes flash gold with fury. "That absolute bastard. I'm going to rip his—"
"No." I grab her arm. "Don't. He's the Alpha. He can do what he wants."
"That doesn't make it right!"
"I know." I wipe my eyes, my breath still hitching. "But fighting him won't change anything. He doesn't want me, Isolde. He never did."
Isolde is quiet for a long moment. Then she pulls out her phone.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
She doesn't answer, just scrolls through something, her jaw set in determination. Finally, she finds what she's looking for and shows me the screen.
It's a website. Crimson Veil, it says at the top. Elegant black and red design.
"What is this?"
"An escort service," Isolde says bluntly. "For supernatural clients. Completely discreet. Completely professional."
I stare at her like she's grown a second head. "You want me to hire... what? A prostitute?"
"I want you to take back your power." Isolde's green eyes bore into mine. "Dorian suggested an open marriage, right? So open it. But on your terms. One night with someone who'll actually make you feel wanted. Someone who won't treat you like you're worthless."
"Isolde, I can't—"
"Why not?" She grabs my shoulders. "You've been faithful for six years while he's screwed half the territory. You've been perfect and proper and it got you nothing. So stop being perfect. Stop being proper. Do something for yourself for once."
My wolf stirs, interested despite everything.
"I wouldn't even know how—"
"I'll help you." Isolde's voice softens. "You deserve one night where you feel beautiful. Wanted. Cherished. Even if you have to pay for it."
I look at the website again. At the promise of discretion. Of one night where I'm not the broken Luna or the unwanted wife.
Just Celestria.
"Think about it," Isolde says, standing up. "I'm heading into town for supplies. Come with me. We'll get coffee, talk, and if you decide you want to do this... I'll help you make the call."
She walks away, giving me space to decide.
I sit alone in my garden, staring at my phone. At the website that promises escape.
My phone buzzes with a text.
From Dorian: Don't wait up tonight. Senna and I have plans.
Something inside me snaps. Not breaks—snaps. Like a rope pulled too tight finally giving way.
I open my contacts and find Isolde's number.
Me: I'm in. Let's go.
Her response is immediate: That's my girl. Meet me at the front gate in ten.
I stand up, wipe my tears, and head back to the packhouse to grab my purse.
I pass Senna in the hallway. She's still wearing Dorian's shirt, still wearing that smug smile.
"Going somewhere?" she asks.
I smile back—a real smile this time. "Yes. I'm going to take your advice."
"My advice?"
"I'm going to stop being boring."
I walk past her, leaving her confused in the hallway, and something feels different. Lighter.
For six years, I've played by rules that only applied to me.
Not anymore.
I'm almost to my room when my phone buzzes again. Another text. But not from Dorian this time.
From an unknown number: We've been watching you, Celestria Wynter. And we have information about your husband that will change everything. Meet us tonight at The Violet Hour. Come alone. Trust no one.
My blood turns to ice.
Someone's been watching me?
What information?
And how do they know my full name?