From the Ashes: The Broken Luna Returns

Haven POV:

The world was white. Not the purity of snow, but the harsh, blinding white of clinical lights.

"I'm sorry, Luna."

The doctor’s voice was far away, like he was speaking from the other end of a tunnel.

"The trauma was too severe. The stress, the Alpha Command... the fetus detached from the uterine wall."

I stared at the ceiling. I didn't cry. I felt hollowed out, like someone had reached inside me and scooped out everything that made me human.

"We need to operate to remove the tissue," the doctor continued, his voice trembling slightly. He was afraid of me. Or maybe he was afraid of what Connor would do. He didn't know Connor wouldn't care. "I will administer the anesthesia and the Draught of Lethe. It will numb the emotional pain, dull the memory of the loss."

"No," I said. My voice sounded like grinding stones.

"Luna?"

"No Draught. No emotional blockers."

The doctor dropped his clipboard. "But the psychological trauma... combined with the physical procedure... it will be agony."

"Good," I whispered. "I want to feel it."

I turned my head to look at him. My eyes felt dry, gritty.

"I want to remember every second of this pain. I want to carve it into my memory so I never, ever forget who did this to me."

The surgery was a nightmare of blood and metal. I bit through my lip until I tasted copper. I didn't scream. I wouldn't give the universe the satisfaction. Seraphina, my wolf, howled in the back of my mind, a mournful sound that vibrated through my bones, mourning the pup we never got to meet.

Two days passed. Connor never came.

I checked the news on my tablet. There were photos of him leaving a jewelry store with Gemma. Headlines screamed: Alpha Jones and the Mystery Beauty: A New Era for Apex?

He was buying her diamonds while I was burying our child in a biohazard bag.

"Mr. Sterling," I said into the phone on the third morning. My voice was weak, but my mind was razor sharp.

"Luna Jones? I heard you were unwell," the pack lawyer answered.

"I am not unwell. I am clarifying my assets. I want you to sell my forty percent stake in Apex Dynamics."

There was a choking sound on the other end. "Sell? But... that would lose the Jones family the majority hold! Who is the buyer?"

"Elliott George."

Silence. Absolute, terrified silence. Elliott George was the Alpha of the George Pack. Our rival. Our enemy. Selling to him was an act of war.

"Do it," I commanded. "And draft the rejection papers. I want the severance of the Mate Bond prepared legally, even if the spiritual ritual hasn't happened yet."

"Connor will kill me," Sterling whispered.

"If you don't do it, I will burn your practice to the ground," I said calmly. "I am still the Luna until the ink is dry."

I hung up.

I discharged myself an hour later. My body was screaming in agony, every step sending shockwaves through my empty womb. I took a cab to the Pack House.

It was evening when I walked in. The house was silent.

Then, the front door opened behind me.

Connor walked in, laughing. Gemma was on his arm. She was wearing a white dress. My white dress. The one I wore to the Pack Gala last year.

They stopped when they saw me standing at the bottom of the stairs. I was pale, wearing sweatpants, smelling of antiseptic and dried blood.

"Haven," Connor said. His smile vanished. "You're back."

"I live here," I said.

Gemma tightened her grip on his arm. "Connor, I feel unsafe."

"It's okay," Connor patted her hand. He looked at me with that infuriatingly reasonable expression. "Haven, we need to talk. Gemma is going to stay here. In the East Wing."

The East Wing. That was the Luna's suite.

"Is she?" I asked.

"Look, I know you're upset about the factory," Connor said, walking closer. He didn't smell the grief on me. He didn't smell the emptiness. "But we can make this work. You are the Luna. You handle the business, the politics. Gemma... she gives me peace. She can be the heart of the home."

He wanted a harem. He wanted me to be his workhorse while she played house.

"You want me to stay married to you while you play mate with her?"

"It's best for the Pack," Connor said. "We are stronger together."

I looked at Gemma. She was smirking behind his shoulder.

"There is no 'we'," I said.

I turned and walked up the stairs. I didn't run. I didn't cry. I just ascended, step by painful step, leaving them in the foyer. The bond between Connor and me wasn't just broken. It was dead.