POLLY:

The velvet box in my hand feels like I'm carrying every dream I've ever had.

I've rehearsed this moment a thousand times. Standing before Murphy as his Luna, finally acknowledged. The box contained platinum cufflinks—engraved alongside our initials. They cost more than a dying woman should have spent, but I wanted him to remember. To know that even with death's shadow following me, I believed in us.

The Alpha Hall was glittering. Chandeliers cascaded from ceilings, each one throwing prismatic light across marble floors.

The noble families. The council. Wolves in expensive suits and gowns.

And me.

I stand among London's werewolf elite, in my simple burgundy dress.

I've dreamed of this day since I was a girl. Being Luna wasn't just a title to me—it was a purpose. I had plans, so many dreams.

I wanted to lead, to be someone who mattered, someone who made a difference.

Today was supposed to be the beginning of everything.

Instead, it feels like the end.

I can feel them watching. Whispering.

That's her. The cursed one.

She's worse than the woman with the issue of blood, isn't she?

How can she even show her face here?

My hands shake around the velvet box. The tremor isn't from nerves—it's the sickness, the poison that's been eating me alive for eight years, the curse that marks me as unclean in their eyes.

Three months.

That's all I have left.

Three months until my body finally surrenders to whatever darkness claimed me the night Esme was born.

But today I thought Murphy would honour me. Just this once. I thought I could stand beside him and pretend I wasn't dying.

The ceremony begins with ancient horns, low and resonant. The crowd falls silent. My heart hammers against my ribs so violently.

I am certain they can smell the decay on my skin no matter how much perfume I wear.

Murphy appeared at the far end of the hall, and even after everything—after all the coldness, the distance, the disgust—my breath still catches.

Tall and commanding. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his jaw sharp, his eyes the colour of steel. He wore the ceremonial robes.

And when the Alpha crown was placed on his head by Elder Cornelius, power radiated from him in waves so strong the weakest wolves in the room visibly shuddered.

The hall erupted in applause.

I waited.

He would look for me now. He would call me forward.

“Thank you,” Murphy’s voice boomed across the hall, silencing the crowd instantly. “It is an honour to stand before you as your new Alpha. But no Alpha rules alone.”

My heart leapt into my throat.

This was it.

Finally.

“I am proud to present the woman who will stand beside me as Luna,” Murphy continued, and I took a trembling step forward. “A woman of grace, purity, and impeccable bloodline. A woman worthy of leading Harrowfell pack into a new era.”

He extended his hand toward the side of the stage.

And Elowen Pembroke stepped into the light.

She was beautiful— draped in a red gown. Diamonds dripped from her neck and wrists.

She took Murphy’s hand, and he pulled her close.

“Lady Elowen Pembroke,” Murphy announced, his voice filled with pride I hadn’t heard in years. “Daughter of Duke Ian Pembroke, commander of the northern armies. My Luna.”

The applause was deafening.

I couldn’t breathe.

The velvet box slipped from my fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud that no one heard over the celebration.

Elowen’s eyes found mine across the crowd, and she smiled. It was the smile of a woman who knew exactly how thoroughly she had destroyed me.

“Of course,” she said, her voice carrying effortlessly confident, “some may have questions about previous… arrangements.” Her gaze dropped to me, standing below the stage like a servant. “But we simply cannot have someone cursed representing Harrowfell pack, can we?”

The murmurs started immediately.

Cursed.

Unclean.

Like the woman with the issue of blood.

My vision blurred. My legs felt like they might give out, but I forced myself to stay standing. I wouldn’t collapse. Not in front of them all.

“This union strengthens us,” Murphy continued, as if I didn’t exist. As if I hadn’t spent eight years as his wife. “Duke Pembroke commands armies. His alliance is crucial for our pack’s future.”

I wanted to leave but my body moved on its own, pushing through the crowd until I was at the stage. Murphy’s eyes finally landed on me.

“Murphy,” I whispered, my voice shaking so badly. “Please. It’s our anniversary. I’m—I’m dying. Can’t you just… for three months, can’t you just let me be Luna? Let me have this one thing before I—”

“Emotional blackmail,” Murphy cut me off. “That’s all you ever do, Polly. Always using your condition to manipulate me.”

“I’m not—”

“I am tired,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear. “Tired of living with a cursed woman. Tired of the shame. Do you think I want to spend one more day pretending you’re fit to be my wife, let alone my Luna?”

The crowd had gone silent, feeding on my humiliation.

“Murphy, please—”

Elowen laughed—a sound that cut deeper than Murphy’s cruelty. She picked up a bottle of red wine from the table and stepped down from the stage.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she cooed, tilting her head. “Still clinging to fantasies.”

She uncorked the bottle.

And poured it over my head.

The wine was cold, soaking through my hair, my dress, running down my face. I gasped, and Elowen placed one hand on my chest and shoved.

I hit the marble floor hard, the impact jarring through my already aching bones.

The crowd gasped, but no one moved to help me.

“Mom!”

Small footsteps rushed toward me, and then Mjay was there—my son, my beautiful boy—dropping to his knees beside me, trying to help me up with his small hands. Tears streaming down his ten-year-old face. I was just eighteen when I birthed him.

“Mjay, get away from her!”

My head snapped up.

Esme.

My daughter stood a few feet away, her small face twisted with anguish. She was eight years old, with Murphy’s dark eyes and right now she looked at me like I was poo.

“Mom, stop!” Esme sobbed, her voice breaking. “Just stop! Do you know what they do to me at school? Do you know what they say?”

“Esme, baby—”

“They call me the cursed girl’s daughter!” She was crying so hard she could barely speak. “They say I’m tainted! They say I’ll end up like you—sick and disgusting and—”

“Esme, that’s not—”

“You are cursed!” she screamed, her whole body shaking. “Dad’s right! Everything he says about you is true! You’re cursed and everyone knows it—”

She broke down completely, collapsing to the floor, and my heart shattered.

“Please,” Esme begged, looking up at me with Murphy’s eyes. “Please, Mom. Can you stop being my mom?”

My heart broke.

“Esme—”

“I mean it!” She gasped for air between sobs. “Can you just—just go away? Let Elowen be my mother instead? Please? I’m begging you, just—just stop ruining my life!”

The words I almost said climbed up my throat, desperate to escape:

It was because of you.

You were born on Queen Morwenna's vigil.

Children born on that day always died, and I begged her to take me and save you.

This curse—this sickness—it was the price I paid so you could live.

Everything I had suffered, I had suffered for you.

But I couldn’t say it.

I couldn’t let her carry that guilt. I couldn’t let her spend the rest of her life knowing she had killed her mother just by being born.

So I swallowed the truth and reached for her instead.

“Esme, sweetheart—”

She jerked away from my touch, as if I had burned her.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Baby, I’m dying,” My voice breaking. “In three months, I’ll be gone. You might—you might regret this. Please—”

“There you go again!” Esme wailed. “Emotional blackmail! Just like Dad said!"

I looked at the child I had given up my life for and I saw no love in her eyes. Only a desperate, aching need for me to disappear.

“All right,” I heard myself say. “All right, Esme. I’ll stop being your mother.”

Esme’s tears stopped. She stared at me, shocked.

“You… you will?”

“Yes.” The word cost me everything. “If that’s what you want. I’ll… I’ll let Elowen be your mother. You can forget about me.”

For a moment, Esme just stared. Then her whole face lit up with relief—with happiness—and she jumped to her feet.

“Really? You mean it?”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“Thank you!” Already turning away. “Thank you, Mom—I mean—”

She stopped herself, then ran straight to Elowen, who caught her with a smile and stroked her hair.

“Esme, darling,” Elowen crooned. “I’ll take much better care of you than she ever could.”

Mjay helped me to my feet. I was soaked in wine, trembling, broken.

We turned toward the exit, and the crowd parted like I was infectious.

But at the entrance, I stopped.

“Wait here,” I told Mjay softly.

“Mom—”

“Just for a moment.”

I turned around.

The hall was still watching, still waiting for my final humiliation. My feet carried me back to where Murphy and Elowen sat on their thrones like king and queen.

Elowen saw me coming and laughed. “Come back for more?”

I reached the table, picked up a fresh bottle of wine, and uncorked it.

Then I poured it over Elowen’s perfect hair.

She shrieked, leaping up, wine soaking through her gown.

“You filthy bitch!”

“I want a divorce,” I said, looking directly at Murphy.

Murphy stared at me like I had lost my mind. “A divorce? Why now? You’re dying anyway.”

“Because,” I said, and my voice was steadier than it had been all night, “I would like to die knowing I didn’t spend my last three months on this earth as your wife. I don’t want to waste another breath catering to you and your family or this pack. I have three months left, Murphy. And I want to spend them as a free woman.”

“You’re insane,” Murphy hissed.

“Maybe,” I said. “But I want the divorce. Make it happen.”

I turned away from him and walked back to where Mjay waited.

My son took my hand.

And together, we walked out of the Alpha Hall—into the cold London night, away from the fireworks exploding in celebration of my destruction.

---

Murphy Walker adjusted his cufflinks and checked his Rolex. He was already running late for the morning meeting at Walker & Associates, the private equity firm his family had run for three generations.

"Esme! Mjay!" he called up the stairs. "We're leaving in five minutes!"

No one answered.

He frowned, grabbing his briefcase. The children should have been ready by now—bags packed, uniforms pressed, breakfast finished. That was how mornings worked in their house.

Esme appeared at the top of the stairs in her pyjamas, rubbing her eyes.

Murphy's jaw tightened. "Why aren't you dressed?"

"Mommy didn't wake me up," Esme said through a yawn. Then she froze, remembering. "I mean—she's not my mom anymore, so—"

"Where's Mjay?"

Esme shrugged.

Murphy took the stairs, heading for the guest room where Polly had been sleeping for years. He opened the door.

The bed was neatly made. The closet door hung open, and when Murphy looked inside, his stomach dropped.

Did she really leave me? Is Polly seriously thinking about divorce?

Her clothes were gone. Her shoes. The small collection of books she had kept on the nightstand.

"Isla!" Murphy's voice echoed through the house.

The housemaid appeared within seconds, wringing her hands. "Yes, Mr Walker?"

"Why isn't Esme bathed and ready for school?"

Isla blinked, confused. "Mrs Walker always handled the children's morning routine herself, sir. She never let us touch their things. She did everything—their clothes, their breakfast, their—"

"Well, Mrs Walker isn't here," Murphy snapped. "So get Esme ready. Now."

Isla hesitated. "Are you certain, sir? Mrs. Walker was very particular about—"

"Now, Isla!"

She flinched and hurried away, calling for Esme.

Murphy stood in the empty room, his phone heavy in his hand. He opened his contacts, scrolled to her number.

It was saved on his phone as—' the thing I live with'.

He stared at it for a long moment.

Then he dialed and it went to voicemail.

He clenched his phone.

"That bitch!"

---

The school cafeteria was loud with chatter and laughter, but Esme's table felt silent.

Everyone else had lunch boxes—Esme had nothing.

Her stomach growled.

Across the room, she spotted Mjay sitting with his friends. He opened his lunch box, and even from there, Esme could smell it—pasta with that cream sauce their mom made. There were a few cherry tomatoes on the side, cut into flower shapes. And a chocolate biscuit.

Esme's mouth watered.

Mjay looked up and caught her eye.

He picked up half his pasta and walked over.

"Here," he said quietly, setting it on her empty desk.

Esme stared at the food. It looked perfect.

But everyone was watching.