Luna's Journey to Freedom

The mahogany gleamed under my cloth, each swirl revealing the wood's natural grain. Gideon's private study was the last room on my cleaning rotation—a task I'd volunteered for, desperate to feel useful in some small way. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with leather and pine still made my chest tighten, even after everything.

I moved methodically, dusting the bookshelves filled with pack histories and territorial maps. My fingers traced the spine of an old photo album tucked between two volumes. Inside were pictures of better days—our mating ceremony, my Luna coronation, Oliver's first steps in the memorial grove.

A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I shoved the album back into place.

As I bent to retrieve a fallen pen from beneath the desk, Gideon's voice suddenly filled the room. Not from the doorway, but from everywhere at once—the distinctive echo of an active mind-link left carelessly open.

"—appointment is confirmed for next Thursday." His tone was cold, clinical. Nothing like the broken man who'd spoken to me just hours ago.

I froze, my hand still reaching for the pen.

"The Council bought it completely," Marcus's voice responded through the link, tinged with something I couldn't quite identify. Guilt? "Especially after... after what happened with Oliver."

My blood turned to ice.

"His death was unfortunate but necessary." Gideon's words sliced through me like shards of glass. "The timing couldn't have been more perfect. A grieving Alpha who lost both his wolf and his heir? The sympathy vote was unanimous. Even Alpha Thorne couldn't argue against my appointment after that display."

"Still, watching it happen—" Marcus started.

"You did what was required, Marcus. The rogues played their part perfectly. No one suspects the truth."

The pen slipped from my numb fingers, clattering against the hardwood floor. But neither voice paused. The mind-link continued, oblivious to my presence.

"Three years of this charade," Gideon continued, and I heard the smile in his voice. "Three years of suppressing my wolf, watching Katherine grovel and scrub floors like a common Omega. But it worked. The Alpha King position is mine. By next week, I'll miraculously 'recover' my wolf, and no one will question it. They'll see it as the Moon Goddess rewarding my perseverance."

"And Katherine?"

There was a long pause. When Gideon spoke again, his voice held a note of irritation. "She served her purpose. Her white wolf bloodline legitimized my claim, and her degradation reinforced my supposed weakness. Once I'm officially crowned, I'll decide what to do with her. Carla's been patient enough."

The room spun. I gripped the edge of the desk, my knuckles white as bone. This couldn't be real. This had to be a nightmare, a cruel trick of my exhausted mind.

"Gideon." Marcus's voice carried a warning. "Your link is still open."

The connection severed abruptly, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.

I stumbled backward, my legs barely supporting me. Three years. Three years of believing, of enduring, of defending him to anyone who questioned his leadership. Three years of accepting my reduction to Omega status because I thought we were surviving together.

And Oliver—

My knees hit the floor. A keening sound escaped my throat, raw and animalistic.

*Lyra?* I reached desperately for my wolf. *Please, tell me you didn't know. Tell me this is a lie.*

She stirred, and for the first time in months, I felt her full presence. But with it came a crushing wave of anguish.

*I knew,* she whispered, her voice broken. *Katherine, I've always known. His wolf—it never left. I could sense it, feel it prowling just beneath the surface. But something... something blocked me from telling you. Every time I tried, it was like hitting a wall in our mind.*

My hands shook as I pressed them against the cold floor. "How?" The word came out as barely a whisper.

*Dark magic, maybe. Or an Alpha command so deeply embedded even I couldn't break it. He's been playing us from the beginning.*

The truth crashed over me in waves. Every humiliation, every pitying look, every night I'd cried myself to sleep worried about my broken mate—all of it had been orchestrated. And Oliver, our beautiful boy with his father's eyes and my gentle heart, had been nothing more than a political sacrifice.

I stayed there on the study floor, surrounded by the evidence of Gideon's carefully constructed life, as everything I'd believed crumbled into ash.