Mate No More

Blood.

The metallic scent hit me first as consciousness slowly returned. Then came the sterile smell of disinfectant, the soft beep of machines, and the crushing realization that the cramping pain in my abdomen meant only one thing.

My baby was gone.

"Mrs. Thorne?" A nurse's gentle voice pulled me fully awake. "You're at Crescent Heights Memorial. You had a fall."

A fall. The words felt surreal. I remembered leaving Alexander's study three days ago, his ultimatum ringing in my ears: Get rid of it, or lose everything. I remembered the dizziness, the marble stairs suddenly tilting beneath my feet, the sensation of falling into darkness.

"The baby?" I whispered, though I already knew.

The nurse's eyes softened with practiced sympathy. "I'm so sorry. The trauma from the fall... there was nothing we could do."

Something hollow opened inside my chest—not the sharp crack of heartbreak, but the quiet devastation of hope being extinguished. Lyra whimpered deep within me, a sound of mourning that seemed to echo in the empty space where our pup should have been growing.

"Your husband has been notified," the nurse continued, checking my IV with professional efficiency. "He said he was unable to visit immediately due to prior commitments."

Prior commitments. Of course. Alexander was probably celebrating—the inconvenient pregnancy that threatened his perfect arrangement with Vivian was now solved without him having to dirty his hands.

Hours passed in a haze of pain medication and fitful sleep. Night fell outside my window, city lights twinkling like distant stars. Still no Alexander. Still no flowers or concerned family members. Just me, alone with my grief and the ghost of what might have been.

A soft knock interrupted my brooding. "Sophia?"

My mother appeared in the doorway, her Chanel suit immaculate despite the late hour. Margaret Reyes had never been the comforting type, but even I wasn't prepared for the coldness in her voice.

"This complicates things," she said without preamble, settling into the visitor's chair as if discussing quarterly reports.

"I lost my baby." The words felt foreign on my tongue.

"A baby Alexander clearly didn't want," she replied matter-of-factly. "Sophia, you need to face reality. Your marriage is a business arrangement that benefits both families immensely. These emotional dramatics won't change that."

Inside me, Lyra snarled—a sound so fierce I almost feared it would escape my throat.

"Control your wolf," Mother warned, her eyes narrowing at the subtle shift in my demeanor. "This self-pity won't win back your husband. You need strategy. Accept Vivian gracefully. Be the bigger person. Show Alexander what a perfect Luna looks like."

"He doesn't want me," I whispered.

"Want has nothing to do with marriage at our level. This is about duty, about maintaining position." She checked her diamond watch with obvious impatience. "The Morgenstern merger announcement is tomorrow. I expect you discharged and at Alexander's side, presenting a united front."

As she turned to leave, something shifted inside me—a crack in the foundation of everything I'd been taught to believe about family, loyalty, and a woman's place in the pack hierarchy.

"What if I don't?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Mother paused, her hand on the door handle. "Then you'll discover exactly how ruthless the Reyes family can be when our interests are threatened."

The threat hung in the air long after she left. But instead of the usual fear, I felt something new stirring—a dangerous kind of clarity that cut through the pain medication and grief.

By morning, I'd made my decision.

I discharged myself against medical advice, took a taxi to the downtown branch of Crescent City Bank, and withdrew the maximum daily amount from my personal account. Then I did something I'd never done before: I walked into a women's shelter.

"I need help," I told the Beta woman at the front desk, my voice steadier than I felt.

She looked me up and down—taking in my expensive hospital bracelet, my designer clothes, the obvious marks of privilege. "What kind of help?"

"I need to disappear."

For the first time in three days, I smiled. It felt foreign on my face, but real in a way my society smiles never had.

"That," she said, leaning forward with interest, "we can definitely arrange."

But as I followed her down a hallway lined with photographs of women who'd reclaimed their lives, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:

Running won't save you. You belong to the Thorne pack, and we always collect what's ours.

My blood turned to ice as I realized Alexander wasn't going to let me go quietly.

The real fight was just beginning.