MAEVE'S POV
[TRIGGER WARNING: MISCARRIAGE]
The Luna of the Ash Creek pack slammed her fists on the kitchen counter, glaring daggers at me. The force of her blow rattled the counter, sending the steaming pot on the stove dangerously off balance.
Lydia.
My mother-in-law.
The stuff my nightmares were made of.
It didn't matter that I was married to the Alpha Prince and had every right to be the next Luna of the Ash Creek pack.
She treated me worse than trash.
At this point, my marriage to the Alpha Prince was a sham. I ranked lower than the pack servants, abused at every turn.
"Why isn't dinner ready yet, you silly girl?" she seethed, pointing an accusing finger at the ingredients I was still prepping for the lavish household dinner.
Her expression was haughty, her voice filled with scorn.
"Do you realize how special tonight is? My son, Ivan, is expecting a distinguished guest, and dinner ought to have been ready eons ago. Goddess, could you be any more useless?"
Tonight's guest. I had heard whispers about a mysterious visitor joining the pack house for dinner, and I couldn't help but wonder who it was.
"I'm working as fast as I can," I muttered meekly, my voice subtly above a whisper.
"Really? Is this the best you can do?"
Lydia reached out and gripped a fistful of my hair, yanking hard. I winced as pain shot through my scalp.
Out of the corner of my eye, I took in the mountain of dishes splayed across the kitchen island.
I had been in the kitchen for hours, cooking alone. As always, Lydia had forbidden the house servants from helping me.
At this point, it was almost laughable that servants even existed in this household. I was the one doing all the chores.
It was Lydia's way of punishing me for failing to meet her impossible expectations for the prince's mate.
From the moment I arrived in the Ash Creek pack, she had deemed me unworthy of her son.
Every day, I tried my hardest to please her, but nothing I did was ever enough.
To her, I was nothing more than a useless piece of scum—someone the Alpha Prince had been unfortunate enough to be stuck with.
"You have half an hour to set the table for dinner," she snarled, her icy voice cutting through my thoughts. "If you fail, I will beat you within an inch of your life."
She let go of me so suddenly that I stumbled backward, colliding with a bottle of soy sauce.
I tried to catch it, but it was too late.
Helplessly, I watched as the bottle flew off the counter and crashed to the floor. Oil spilled everywhere, and shards of glass scattered across the immaculate kitchen tiles.
I gasped, my eyes widening in shock.
Lydia's scowl deepened, her entire body vibrating with fury. The sight of her alone made me freeze in terror.
"You worthless piece of scum," she yelled, raising her fist.
I shut my eyes, bracing for the slap.
It didn't come.
Instead, she gripped another fistful of my hair, this time yanking so hard that tears sprung to my eyes.
I struggled against her punishing grip, desperate to escape the searing pain, but there was nowhere to go.
"You're useless," she spat, her words burning like acid. "Useless in the kitchen, useless in the bedroom—since you can't even manage to produce a single heir."
I sucked in a sharp breath at the mention of my miscarriage.
The wound was still fresh, still raw.
Hearing Lydia talk about it so offhandedly made my chest tighten with unbearable pain.
"You accuse me wrongly, Luna," I hissed, still caught in her merciless grasp. "I never meant to lose Ivan's heir. I would have given my life for our pup if I could. But you and I both know it was beyond my control."
My voice broke on the last word. I clenched my fists to keep myself from crying.
Lydia snorted, unmoved by the tears brimming in my eyes.
"I have no desire to watch you play the victim yet again. You're disgusting to look at." She leaned in, her voice venomous. "I want the dinner table set in the next half hour. If you fail, I will hurt you so badly, you'll wish your miscarriage had been the least of your worries."
She meant it.
The sheer malice radiating from her was suffocating.
I would be a fool to take her threats lightly.
With one last shove, she sent me crashing to the floor.
A sharp sting shot through my palm as a shard of glass sliced deep into my skin. Blood trickled onto the pristine white tiles.
"One more thing," Lydia said as she brushed invisible lint from her silky blouse. "Clean up this mess. Or I'll clean it up with your useless face."
With that, she stormed out of the kitchen, leaving behind only coldness and misery.
Swallowing my pain and humiliation, I got back to work.
I cleaned up the mess, wrapped a bandage around my injured palm, and somehow, somehow, managed to get dinner ready in half an hour.
***
I was tempted to kill Lydia at least twice a day.
If I were more courageous, I would have done it by now—probably nicked a vial of poison from the local market and slipped it into her bowl of soup.
But I wasn't courageous.
I was nothing but a helpless weakling, trapped in her grand scheme to tear me away from Ivan.
Ever since I lost the pack's heir, that had been her only goal.
Even tonight, as I served dinner, she kept shooting me devious little looks—like she knew something important that I was unaware of.
A chill ran down my spine.
I looked up just then and locked eyes with my fated mate.
Ivan.
Alpha Prince Ivan Cross.
My heart skipped a beat, ignoring the wall of coldness between us—choosing, instead, to linger on his breathtaking beauty for a moment.
As usual, his face was set in an emotionless mask, but even that couldn't dull his devastating allure.
His piercing gray eyes held the icy depths of a winter storm, and the silky strands of pitch-black hair framing his chiseled features made him impossible to forget.
He stood out in any room—tall, powerfully built, as if molded by the Goddess herself. A force of nature, lethal grace carved into flesh and bone.
Yet despite his raw strength, his striking beauty, and my every desperate attempt to melt the ice between us, Ivan remained as cold and impassive as a marble statue—untouchable and heartbreakingly out of reach.
The moment Ivan recognized me as his mate—his wolf reaching out to mine—had been the happiest moment of my life.
Captivated by his strength, his beauty, and most of all, the endless reserve of patience he had for the outcast omegas, I had fallen head over heels in love with him—infatuated by the man I thought he was.
How wrong I had been.
I tore my gaze away and focused on setting up the rest of the dinner table.
Meals were horridly tense affairs in the Ash Creek pack. As usual, the Alpha King, Roderick, sat stiffly at the head of the table. Lydia occupied the seat at the opposite end.
Ivan's seat was next to his father's—a strategic position for discussing pack business while eating.
I filled my plate last, then took slow, measured steps toward my place beside Ivan.
My heart pounded with dread at the thought of his coldness. And yet, I couldn't help the quiet thrill that came with sitting close to him. Inhaling his intoxicating scent. Having even the slimmest fraction of his attention.
No matter how brief it lasted.
It was pathetic, but I couldn't help it.
I reached my designated seat, but just as I was about to sit, Ivan shot me a cutting look, halting me in my tracks.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.
There was genuine astonishment in his voice.
For a moment, I was confused right out of my wits.
"W-what do you mean?" I stuttered.
You'd think after all this time, I'd be comfortable enough around him to express myself freely.
The opposite was the case.
"This seat is reserved for someone else," he spelled it out slowly, as if speaking to an invalid.
I stared at him, stunned.
He had never cared where I sat at the dining table. Until now.
Why was he suddenly humiliating me in front of his parents?
And who was this 'special guest' worthy of taking my place?
"Where am I supposed to sit?" I asked.
Awkwardness settled over me as I stood there, a plate of food clutched tightly in my grip.
Ivan barely spared me a glance.
"I don't care where you sit," he said indifferently. "This seat is for a special guest of mine."
As if on cue, the double doors burst open.
A tall, striking figure strode into the room.
Before I even saw her, I smelled her perfume.
A rich, musky scent—one that had been ingrained into my memory long before I was mated to Ivan.
Slowly, I lifted my eyes, taking in the figure standing before me.
I gasped.
"Serena?" I scoffed in disbelief.
What was she doing here?
It took me a second to absorb the sight of her.
She was lavishly dressed, her gown a sequined masterpiece that hugged her lush curves.
Her charcoal-black hair cascaded in soft ringlets, spilling down to her lower back.
There was something about her sudden presence in my home that rubbed me the wrong way.
A terrible, gut-churning something.
Lydia's face broke into a wide grin at the sight of Serena, and alarm bells began to go off in my head.
What was going on?
Why was Serena here?
"Welcome, my dear," Lydia said, rising from her seat and walking over to embrace her.
I stiffened.
Lydia wasn't a hugger.
I couldn't recall a single moment when she had shown genuine affection to anyone.
But now—she was hugging my best friend, appraising her with a look of fondness, as if Serena were someone precious.
"We've been awaiting your arrival," Roderick added, raising his wine glass to her.
And that was when it hit me.
Serena was the mysterious guest everyone in the pack house had been whispering about.
She was the one for whom I had spent hours slaving away in the kitchen.
But why?
I turned sharply to Ivan, shooting him a quizzical look that demanded an explanation.
"What's going on?"
Rather than answer, Ivan rose from his seat with effortless grace.
He sauntered across the room, his piercing gaze locked onto Serena.
With bated breath, I watched as he took her hand in his, his fingers lacing through hers with casual familiarity.
There was a twinkle in his storm-gray eyes, a flicker of something I had never seen directed at me.
Excitement.
Then he did something that sent my stomach plummeting—he smiled at her.
Ivan Cross, the Alpha Prince, smiled at her.
I could count the number of times he had smiled at me on one finger.
Heart hammering, I stared in disbelief as he led Serena towards the dining table.
Towards my seat.
"Wait a minute," I blurted, stepping in their path before she could sit down.
My pulse pounded in my ears.
"I don't understand. What is going on? Is this the special guest you were talking about?"
"Yes, Maeve," Ivan said coolly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Due to your repeated failures to provide me with an heir, I've decided to welcome Serena into my household as my breeder."
The words hit me like a blow.
"What?" I spluttered. "You're joking."
"Hardly, wife."
He spat the word wife like it was a curse.
"You see," he continued, his grip tightening around Serena's hand, "Serena has been a confidante. A friend. I have reason to believe that she will succeed where you have failed."
I stared at him, waiting for a sign that this was some cruel, twisted joke.
It wasn't.
He was serious.
I forced my gaze to my best friend, searching for something—anything—that made sense of this nightmare.
But when I looked at her, it was like staring into the eyes of a stranger.