On our mating ceremony day, another she-wolf bet my mate wouldn't leave me at the altar. He proved her wrong. Liam dropped my hand right there on the altar steps. Turned to his packmates. Laughed. "Emily's soft. A few nights without my scent and she'll come crawling back." His packmates erupted in catcalls. They called me a weak she-wolf. A bitch begging for a mark. Chloe sauntered up the aisle. Plucked the veil right off my head. Looped her arm through Liam's. Walked out of the chapel laughing. Every wolf in the chapel stared at me. I didn't cry. I didn't move. I stood there with the same composed expression I'd worn walking in. But only I knew the truth. I wasn't enduring anything. In that moment, I was carving him out of my life. One clean cut at a time. Deep inside me, my wolf let out one final whimper. And went dead silent. Liam glanced back over his shoulder. Almost approvingly. He left me with one last line. "That's the composure a future Luna should have. Go home and wait for me." I watched him walk away and almost laughed out loud. Composure? No. I was just done with him. My wolf was done with him. Three years later. Liam Fox showed up at my boutique with nine black Maybachs and a pink diamond ring. "Cooled off yet?" He smiled like the last three years had never happened. "I'm here to keep my promise." I didn't even look at him. I cradled my belly and said flatly, "Excuse me. My mate is waiting for me at the infirmary." "Cute. You strapped on a fake silicone bump for the drama?" Liam had one hand in his pocket. His gaze slid lazily across my stomach like he was watching a bad joke unfold. His voice carried that smug certainty I used to mistake for confidence. I met his eyes without flinching. "Mr. Fox. Move." The front of my boutique—Lambert & Co. on Madison—was sealed off by all nine of his blacked-out Maybachs. A drone hovered overhead trailing a banner across the morning sky. MARRY ME, EMILY. Pack members had started to gather. My staff stood pressed against the glass storefront. Phones were coming out. Whispers rippled around us. Liam didn't seem to register any of it. He stepped closer and held out a bouquet of red roses. "Three years, Emily. The tantrum's gone on long enough. Time to come home." He looked at me with what he thought was indulgent affection. "You know how I feel about she-wolves who throw fits. But for you—" he tilted his head "—I made an exception. I gave you three whole years." I looked at the roses in his hand. Three years ago, I'd been hooked up to an IV at the pack infirmary. Hives. Pollen reaction. He'd sent the exact same bouquet that day. Told me Chloe had picked them. Told me I should be grateful. I didn't reach for the flowers. I slid a hand over my stomach and took a small step back. "Liam. I'm not throwing a tantrum." I held his gaze. My voice was quiet. "I'm mated. I'm five months pregnant." Liam's pupils contracted. He drew in a sharp breath through his nose—instinctively, trying to catch my scent. Trying to confirm what his wolf was already telling him. But the only scent on me was Damien's. Possessive. Absolute. Wrapped around me and my wolf like armor. His face darkened. But he still refused to believe it. He laughed softly under his breath. Then he tossed the roses into the trash can at the curb like they were used napkins. "You'd really make up a lie like that just to get a rise out of me?" He pulled a Tiffany-blue velvet box from his inside pocket and snapped it open. A pink diamond. Six carats, easy. "We didn't get to finish three years ago. I'm making it up to you now." He didn't even kneel. He just held the box out. "Put it on. Tomorrow we'll pick out a Mating Gown. This time, I swear on the Moon Goddess—I won't walk." I almost laughed when I heard that. The Moon Goddess doesn't bless an Alpha who abandons his mate at the altar. He said it like he was handing me the keys to heaven. I looked at the diamond and felt nothing. That night three years ago, I'd peeled the dress off alone in my apartment. I'd taken a pair of scissors to the stained hem. Then I'd thrown both the scraps and the engagement ring into the fireplace and watched them burn down to ash. The part of my wolf that had once belonged to Liam Fox had let out one last whimper that night. And gone silent forever. From that moment on, Liam Fox was dead to me. "I don't need it." I stepped around him toward the curb. Liam's brow finally creased. He reached for my wrist. I twisted away. His hand grabbed empty air. "Emily. Enough." His voice dropped, low and warning. His Alpha aura flared. A few low-ranking she-wolves nearby flinched. Bared their necks on instinct. But I didn't move. "My patience has limits. Who is this performance for?" Right then his phone buzzed. A custom ringtone. A she-wolf's voice—breathy, sweet, helpless. "Liam? Did you find Emily yet? I'm not feeling so good… I'm really dizzy…" The kind of helpless little tone that had always worked on him. Liam's expression softened instantly. He held the phone up and pressed the voice reply. "Take something for it, sweetheart. I'll bring her home soon." Then he turned back to me. Harder again. "Chloe's sick. And she's still worried about you. You need to stop being so hostile toward her." A note of reproach crept into his voice. "What happened three years ago was a joke. The Sinclairs spoiled her—she doesn't always think things through. You're the mature one, Em. Why hold a grudge against a girl like that?" Sinclair. The pack his family had spent decades trying to bond with. Chloe's father was Liam's father's strongest pack ally. A mating between their bloodlines had been the Foxes' lifelong dream. I had been Liam's college rebellion. The she-wolf he'd picked up at a frat party because she wasn't on his mother's approved bloodline list. I watched him stand there—righteous, certain—and felt my stomach turn. It was the pregnancy. But the man in front of me made it worse. I drew in a slow breath and pushed the nausea down. "Liam. Do you not understand English?" I pointed to the Uber pickup zone. "My mate is waiting at the infirmary. Move." Liam's face went cold. His eyes dropped to my stomach. "Emily. You're really not going to stop? You'd stoop this low just to force me to apologize?"
"Stoop this low?" I rolled the words around in my mouth. They almost made me laugh. "Think whatever you want." I was done arguing. An Uber pulled up at the curb. I went straight for it. I yanked the door open. Slid into the back seat. One hand cradling my belly. Liam slammed his palm against the door before I could close it. "Which infirmary? I'll drive you." He stared down at me — every inch the entitled Sinclair heir. "I want to see for myself which rogue you hired to play house with you." I stared at his hand on the door. "Let go." "Emily. Don't push it." His patience was gone. He yanked open the front passenger door and got in. I sighed and gave the driver the address of a private pack infirmary in Midtown. The driver glanced from me to Liam. Hesitated. Liam tossed a handful of hundreds onto the dashboard. "Drive." The car merged into traffic. The silence was suffocating. Liam leaned back against the headrest, head tilted toward me. "You used to flinch at a flu shot." His gaze settled on my stomach, sharp and assessing. "And now you're walking around with a fake bump just to spite me?" "Take it off. Aren't you boiling in there?" I zipped my coat all the way up to my chin. Closed my eyes. Stopped answering him. Any adult Alpha's wolf should have been able to read what was written all over me. The mating mark scent on my skin didn't belong to him. He just refused to accept it. ⸻ Thirty minutes later, the car stopped at the infirmary. I got out. Liam followed. The lobby was hushed — the kind of quiet that only money could buy. I walked straight to the self check-in kiosk and tapped my insurance card. Liam stood at my shoulder, eyes on the screen. Obstetrics – Follow-up. 20 weeks. A muscle twitched at the corner of his jaw. Then he composed himself. "Quite a commitment to the bit." A cold little laugh. I took my slip and walked toward the elevators. He stayed glued to my side. On the third floor, I found an empty seat in the waiting area. I'd barely settled in when the elevator chimed again. Chloe Sinclair stepped out in red-soled stilettos, cradling a bouquet of white roses against her camel cashmere coat. She spotted us instantly and made a beeline over. "Liam. Em." She thrust the bouquet at me, all wide-eyed innocence. "I heard you were pregnant. I just had to come and congratulate you." The pollen hit me like a slap. I jerked my head away and sneezed hard. Liam frowned at her. "She's allergic to pollen. Keep them away from her." Chloe bit her lower lip. Her eyes welled up on cue. "Oh — Em, I'm so sorry. I totally forgot." She pressed a hand to her chest, eyes wide. "I was just so excited for you." Then she dropped the bouquet on the empty chair beside her and slid right down next to Liam, settling in like she belonged there. "But Em…" Her gaze drifted theatrically across my belly. "Isn't this all a little fast, though?" She covered her mouth with her fingertips and giggled. "The baby's already this big. You didn't just marry the first rogue who looked at you to get back at Liam, did you?" "And on such an important day — where is your Alpha, anyway? Did he leave you here all by yourself?" Liam didn't stop her. Didn't even glance her way. He was watching me. Waiting. Almost curious to see how I'd react. "Her Alpha's too busy to bother," he supplied for me, the sneer curling under the words. "What kind of paid actor takes a gig like this seriously?" I sat there listening to the two of them play off each other. Something cold and clear settled behind my ribs. This was the Alpha I had loved for seven years. He could stand in an infirmary waiting room and watch another she-wolf humiliate his pregnant ex — and pile right on for sport. "Excuse me — is Mrs. Lockwood here?" A healer's assistant appeared in the doorway of the exam suite, chart in hand. "That's me." I stood up. The healer assistant's eyes flicked from me to Liam, then to Chloe. "For your appointment today, I'll need your mate to sign some consent forms. Which one of you is the mate?" Liam stepped forward without thinking. "I am." I turned. My voice cut between us — flat, final. "He's not."
The healer's assistant froze mid-step. Her eyes flicked back and forth between me and Liam. Liam's outstretched hand — the one already reaching for the chart — hung in the air, suspended. His face darkened. "Emily. Don't do this." He lowered his voice. The warning underneath it was sharp. "This is an infirmary. Not the place for one of your scenes." I didn't look at him. I kept my eyes on the healer's assistant and offered her a polite, almost apologetic smile. "I'm sorry — I don't know these people. They followed me in. My mate is on his way. He'll be here any minute." The healer's assistant nodded smoothly — the way assistant do when they've seen worse — and tucked the chart back under her arm. "Of course, Mrs. Lockwood. Please wait out here until he arrives. Some of these forms have to be signed by the mate in person." She turned and disappeared back into the exam suite Liam's hand fell slowly to his side. He slid it into his trouser pocket — that same casual, in-control gesture I'd watched him use in a hundred Pack Council meetings. But his eyes had changed. There was something dangerous in them now. "Mrs. Lockwood. Strangers." He let out a short, brittle laugh. "Three years, and look at you, Em. You won't even let me sign as next of kin?" Chloe shot to her feet and clutched at his arm. Her white roses were forgotten on the seat behind her. "Liam, please. Don't get worked up." Then she turned to me. Right on cue, her eyes filled with tears. "Em — are you still upset about that silly little joke three years ago?" She sniffled. Voice quivering at exactly the right register. "I just made a bet with him. I was trying to make the reception more fun. How was I supposed to know you'd take it so personally and run off for three whole years?" She had reduced an Alpha walking out on his Luna at the altar to a silly little joke. She had reduced my breaking point to not being able to take a joke. I stared at her tear-streaked, doe-eyed face. I almost admired the sheer nerve of it. "Turning a mating ceremony into a bet — that was a joke?" I turned to Liam. "Leaving me at the altar in front of my parents and two hundred guests — that was a joke?" I looked back at Chloe. "Stepping on my gown. Yanking the veil off my head. Putting it on yourself and laughing all the way out of the chapel. Calling me a low-ranked she-wolf begging for a mark. Was that a joke too?" Chloe shrank back and ducked behind Liam. Liam's brow tightened. He stepped between us — putting himself in front of her like a shield. "Enough." His voice was hard now. "Chloe grew up with everything handed to her. Her wolf is still young. You're older than her, Em. Just once, can't you be the bigger person?" He looked at me with open disappointment. Like a parent at a pup who'd let him down. "You take one small thing and turn it into a three-year grudge. You weren't always this petty." This petty. I held his gaze. For that mating ceremony, I had stayed up half the nights of an entire month. Hand-stitching his initials — L.F. — into the inner cuff of his groom's shirt. By candlelight. Because I'd wanted something only the two of us would know about. I'd waited until two in the morning for him to come try on his tux. He'd never showed. Just a text. Too busy. I'd thought our mating day was the start of everything. It turned out to be the glass of poison he handed me with a smile. "Liam." I said his name quietly. "Do you really believe that all you have to do is crook your finger, and I'll come crawling back, baring my neck?" His eyes flickered. "That's not what I said." He shifted, recalibrating. "I just don't think you needed to mate with some random wolf to make a point." He paused. Softened his voice — that low, coaxing tone he used on the Council elders when a vote started slipping. "This so-called mate of yours can't even make it to a prenatal appointment on time. You really think he knows you better than I do?" He even remembered. "You hate needles. Someone always has to talk you through a blood draw. Does he know that?" I looked at him — that arrogant, self-satisfied tenderness on his face, like he thought he was being deep. Something close to pity prickled along the inside of my chest. "He doesn't need to know." I rested a hand on my stomach. "Because he's never let me face any of this alone." The door to the exam suite opened again. The healer's assistant stepped out with a slim stack of papers. "Mrs. Lockwood — these are from your previous intake. Could you confirm the information is correct?" She held them out to me. Liam was taller. He read over my shoulder in a single glance. His eyes snagged on the spouse signature line. And stayed there. Two words. Black ink. Confident, slanting strokes. Damien Lockwood.
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