The moment Riana stepped off the plane onto the rain-slicked tarmac of Ambrose City’s airport, she let herself hope—just for a moment—that her husband might be there to greet her.

But fate had never been particularly kind to her. Inside her bag, her phone buzzed relentlessly with birthday wishes—pack members, distant cousins, colleagues, friends—all except the one that mattered.

Wesley Winters.

Alpha of the Winters Pack. Her husband of seven years.

A wry, familiar smile touched her lips. Seven years. Why did she still expect anything different from Wesley? Even sharing a daughter hadn't been enough to win his heart.

Their marriage had begun in a haze of passion, a one-night stand sealed by an unexpected pregnancy, binding two strangers who felt no destined bond. But their families had been delighted; it was the most advantageous alliance for both packs. Their years together had been less a marriage and more a cohabitation of distant roommates.

So what had compelled her to be such a hopeful fool? To cut her business trip short, haul her designer luggage through the storm, and take a redeye flight back here?

"Mommy, you have to come back on time! Daddy promised we'd celebrate your birthday together this year!" Her daughter's innocent smile flashed in her mind.

Willa. Her miracle. The one beautiful thing to come from that chaotic night.

Though her marriage to Wesley had begun in disgrace, their daughter was a treasure they both cherished.

Her thumb hovered over Wesley's contact - still saved as "Beastly" in her phone after all these years. For Willa, she could endure one more civil conversation. For Willa, she'd pretend they were still the picture-perfect family the Pack expected.

The call connected.

"Hello?" A sultry female voice answered. Not Wesley.

Riana's blood turned to ice.

“Delilah.” Riana didn’t need to ask. The voice alone was enough to make her claws extend, piercing through her manicured fingertips.

Her half-sister. The daughter of the woman who’d shattered her family—her mother’s life.

If her marriage to Wesley was a tragedy since the beginning, then Delilah's dramatic claim of being Wesley's fated mate at their wedding reception had been the final act.

The Regalia elders had shipped the girl off to Switzerland that very night, but the damage was done - Wesley now had permanent proof that Riana was the villain in his love story.

A rather beautiful villain, she thought with a smile.

“Oh, Riana,” her half-sister crooned, saccharine-sweet. “How are—”

“Put Wesley on.” Her voice was ice. She had no interest in how this bitch had returned; it was obvious her so-called husband was involved. Riana didn't need more bombshells to fray her nerves.

She was only here to fulfill her daughter's wish, to provide the long-awaited family reunion.

“Mm, he’s… occupied. In the shower.” A deliberate pause that was meant to mock Riana. “We just finished hot yoga. He’s all… slippery.”

Hot yoga? Riana scoffed inwardly. Wesley had always been the most sought-after Alpha, before and after marriage; she knew that. Though theirs was a political match, he had, until now, tacitly respected certain boundaries. It was one reason she had endured this far. But with Delilah back, were all bets off? The bitterness within her deepened.

As if determined to witness her complete humiliation, Delilah simpered, "Seven years watching my mate shackled to a woman he despises? You can't imagine what we'll be making up for tonight."

The world swam before Riana's eyes. Hearing it confirmed was entirely different from suspicion. Fury, hot and vast, throbbed in her chest. "Put Wesley on the phone now!"

"Don't be so upset, sister,” Delilah gigled. “Anger causes wrinkles~ No amount of spa visits will fix that then. Wesley might be even less inclined to come home."

Riana seethed. Delilah was barely a year younger; what gave her the guts to mock her age? Riana's grip shattered her phone screen, glass biting into her palm. Blood welled - the perfect metaphor for this farce of a marriage.

"You were never my sister," she hissed at the broken device, whispering to herself. "Just like your mother was never his Luna."

Riana would never forget the last scene for her mother: her mother's vacant eyes staring at the ceiling, the ceremonial dagger still clutched in her lifeless hand. The Regalia elders had called it "noble sacrifice."

Riana knew better. It was murder by a thousand cuts - every whispered insult, every public slight, every time Father brought his mistress to pack gatherings instead of his lawful wife.

Riana brushed away a single, rebellious tear and lifted her chin. No. She would not cry over a pathetic man and a worthless reason. So Wesley had forgotten his promise. She hadn't been eager to celebrate with him anyway. She was here for Willa.

Sliding into her red sports car, the quiet cabin seemed to amplify the agony tearing through her. Her mother's despair, the contempt in Wesley's eyes after their one-night stand, Delilah's triumphant smile shattering their wedding, seven years of icy isolation, and her daughter's hopeful gaze... The weight of it all threatened to crush her.

Why? Why did her life have to be like this? She had believed seven years of loyalty and cooperation would show Wesley her sincerity, that he would want to build a warm family haven for Willa with her. But Delilah returns, and he betrays their arrangement without a second thought.

Did her years of compliance make him think she was weak?

If that's what he believed, he was in for a rude awakening.

Riana dried her tears. By the time she stepped out of the car, her usual pride was restored, a mask of cool composure firmly in place. Her daughter was waiting for her somewhere in the manor.

Now, nothing else mattered. All she wanted was to hold her daughter in her arms, to breathe in her familiar scent, to let that warmth soothe her aching heart.

The grand foyer swallowed Riana whole as she stepped inside, the silence pressing against her like a physical weight.

Flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the marble floors, amplifying the hollow ache in her chest. Disappointment. An old, familiar friend. She shoved it down—just like always.

Until this moment, she hadn’t realized—not even her own daughter had messaged her.

Was she planning a surprise?

She pursed her lips into a smile.

Her six-inch Louboutins—diamonds glinting like frost—lay discarded at the entrance. Barefoot, she padded through the cavernous halls, the cold marble biting into her skin.

Then, a familiar presence.

“Good evening, Madam Luna.” Mrs. Leah, the omega housekeeper who’d been taking care of her for years, stood with quiet sympathy. “Shall I bring you supper? Tea?”

Riana forced a smile. "Where’s Willa?"

A hesitation. "She’s asleep." Then, softer: "Happy birthday, Madam."

Riana nodded with a thankful smile. Well, at least someone remembered her birthday.

Upstairs, a sliver of light bled from beneath Willa’s door. Still awake? Riana’s pulse jumped. Maybe—just maybe—her daughter had waited up for her.

She eased the door open.

Willa hunched over her desk, golden curls spilling over her shoulders, fingers deftly threading beads onto a delicate string. The sight sent a fragile hope fluttering through Riana’s ribs.

A gift. For me. What else could it be?

"Willa, sweetheart."

Her daughter startled, whirling with wide gray eyes—then scowled. "Mom! You can’t just barge in! Aunt Delilah always knocks!"

Riana froze.

Delilah. In her home. Around her child. Since when?

Had Wesley grown so brazen?!

She'd only been gone a month, and her daughter's world had been upended. The room smelled of crayons and bubblegum, fairy lights twinkling like stolen stars. This was her child, the one person who made her sacrifices mean something—

Willa scrambled to gather scattered beads. Riana knelt, fingers brushing a stray pearl. "Let me help."

"No! It has to be perfect." Willa clutched a shimmering bead, her face alight with devotion. "It’s for Aunt Delilah. Dad says she deserves the best birthday surprise."

The words struck like a silver blade. Her breath vanished.

Her own birthday. Forgotten.

By her husband. By her daughter.

By the two souls she’d bled for, endured a hollow marriage for.

She stood there, invisible in her own home, watching her child lavish love on the woman who’d never soothed her nightmares, never braided her hair while humming ancient lullabies.

Her claws pricked at her palms.

"Willa." Her voice was too quiet, too raw. "Do you remember what today is?"