Rejected While Carrying His Heir

I walked out of the great hall and didn't look back.

My feet carried me down the corridor on autopilot. Past the portraits of past Alphas and Lunas lining the walls. Past the trophy case full of Silverfang victories. Past the kitchen, where the warm smell of the morning's breakfast still lingered in the air. My hands were steady. My face was dry. Maren was quiet inside me, coiled tight like a spring that hadn't decided whether to snap or hold.

I went straight to the Luna suite.

I didn't pack slowly. I didn't sit on the bed and cry into a pillow. I pulled my two largest bags from the closet and started filling them with the things that were actually mine. My herbalism journals. The small wooden box of dried botanicals I kept on the nightstand. My mother's old silver bracelet—the one thing she'd given me before she decided Seraphina was more worth giving things to. A few changes of clothes. My documents. My phone charger.

I left the designer dresses. I left the jewelry Desmond had given me on our first anniversary—a gift his Beta had probably picked out. I left the silk robe hanging on the bathroom door and the expensive face creams lined up on the vanity. None of it was mine. It was all props in a role I'd been playing.

I zipped the bags and set them by the door.

Then I stood in the middle of the room for a moment. The Luna suite. Three years of my life lived inside these walls. I pressed my palm flat against my stomach, the way I'd been doing all morning without thinking about it.

"We're leaving," I told my pup quietly. "We're not coming back."

Maren made a low sound of agreement.

I picked up my bags and walked out.

---

The kitchen was already struggling by noon.

I heard it from the guest room I'd moved into temporarily—raised voices, the clatter of pots, someone calling for the head cook. I didn't go to help. I sat on the narrow guest bed and listened.

For three years, I had personally managed every meal that came out of that kitchen. Not because it was required of me. Because Desmond's wolfsbane sensitivity was severe enough to kill him if someone wasn't careful. Wolfsbane grew wild in the region. It contaminated certain herbs, certain imported spices, certain cuts of meat from suppliers who didn't know better. I had built a whole system. Approved vendors. A checklist for every ingredient. A separate prep station. The kitchen staff knew the rules because I had trained them myself.

Seraphina didn't know any of that.

Seraphina had never cooked a meal in her life.

I heard the head cook's frustrated voice carry down the hall. "We can't use the rosemary from that supplier—Luna Harper always said—" A pause. Then, quieter: "Where is Luna Harper?"

I stared at the wall and said nothing.

---

My parents found me an hour later.

My father didn't knock. He just opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him like he owned the room. My mother followed, her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes already doing that thing where they went soft and pleading before a single word was spoken.

Arthur Gilbert looked at my two packed bags sitting by the wall. His jaw tightened.

"Harper." His voice was low and controlled. The voice he used when he wanted to sound reasonable. "We need to talk."

"Do we?" I didn't stand up. I stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, my hands folded in my lap.

He pulled the desk chair out and sat down across from me, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. The posture of a man about to deliver a very important lesson. "What happened in that hall today was painful. I understand that. But you need to think clearly right now. The pack alliance—"

"Don't," I said.

He blinked. "Harper—"

"Don't tell me about the alliance." My voice was quiet. Completely flat. "Don't tell me about the pack. Don't tell me what I need to think about."

My mother stepped forward, her expression pained. "Sweetheart, we're only trying to help you. If you make a scene, if you push back against Desmond publicly, it reflects on all of us. On the family. You don't want that."

I looked at her. Really looked at her. The same woman who had handed me over to fill my sister's empty spot without asking if I was willing. Without asking if I was scared. Without asking anything at all.

"He denied my pup," I said.

Silence.

"In front of the elders," I continued. "In front of the Beta and Gamma. He stood up there with Seraphina on his arm and called my child nothing. And you want me to accept that quietly to protect the family's standing."

My father's eyes slid to the side. There it was. The tell. He couldn't hold eye contact when he was about to say something he knew was wrong.

"It's complicated," he said. "Seraphina is back. The alliance can still be salvaged if—"

"I'm done." I stood up. "I'm done being the one who holds things together while everyone else falls apart. I'm done making myself small so Seraphina can look bigger. I'm done."

"You're being emotional," my mother said softly. "You're pregnant, your hormones are—"

"Get out of this room."

The words landed like a door slamming shut. My mother flinched. My father's face went red.

"Harper, you will not speak to us like—"

"I said get out." I held the door open. My hand wasn't shaking. "We're done talking."

My father stood slowly. He straightened his jacket. He looked at me with the expression of a man who had just realized the piece he thought he controlled had stopped moving. He opened his mouth once, then closed it. Then he walked out. My mother followed, casting one last wounded look over her shoulder.

I closed the door.

I pressed my back against it and exhaled slowly.

Down the hall, I could hear the distant sound of furniture being dragged across the floor. Seraphina, already redecorating the Luna suite. Already making it hers. The heavy, suffocating wave of her expensive floral perfume drifted faintly under the door, sweet and artificial and wrong.

I pressed my palm to my stomach.

The cedar and honey scent of the mate bond was already fading from my skin. Burning away, slow and quiet, like the last ember of a fire that had never really been allowed to burn.