Yet I owned nothing.
No car. No account. Not even the right to spend without permission. Every expense had to be justified, documented, approved—like I was a stranger stealing from them.
That night, when the noise finally died and the house fell silent, I pulled the old red suitcase from the back of the closet.
The same one Thorne had bought for me in Australia, years before our mating ceremony, back when he still meant his vows.
I stared at my hands.
They were rough. Scarred. Aged by work no one acknowledged.
Once, I had been someone.
Mira—daughter of a feared Alpha. A she-wolf born with dominance in her veins. A Luna by blood, not marriage.
I gave it all up for love. Turned my back on my lineage, believing that bonding with Thorne Darkhowl would be enough.
And now?
Now I was nothing more than a forgotten presence.
A ghost haunting a house full of wolves who no longer saw me.
No crown.
No kingdom.
No mate worthy of the bond we once swore beneath the full moon.
Maybe—just maybe—walking away from this family, from this ungrateful pack, was the greatest birthday gift I could give myself.
Because I was done fading into the walls.
And deep within, my wolf shifted at last, whispering that the night still belonged to me.
The truth reached me the way it always did—carelessly, without regard, tossed at my feet like something I should be grateful to catch.
Ken was sprawled at the table, crumbs dusting the front of his shirt, speaking through a mouthful of crisps. “Camille booked the entire top floor at Starview,” he said casually. “Huge spread. Dad says it’s for all of us. Big pack thing.”
My hands froze on the mop. The wood felt slick with soap and age. “All of us?” I asked.
Nolan glanced up, lips curling into a grin far too sharp for a boy his age. “Not you, Grandma. Grandpa said you’re… not really fit for something like that.” His eyes swept over me. “I mean, just look at you.”
Not fit.
As if I were ill.
As if I were already disappearing.
As if I were a wolf too weak to count.