Camille swept inside like the house belonged to her, heels striking marble with effortless confidence. Alpha Thorne leaned against her, heavy with drink, his tie loose, lips stained red with wine.
“Oh, Luna Nyx,” she said sweetly when she noticed me standing by the stairs. “I didn’t expect you to still be up.”
Her arm tightened around Thorne’s, guiding him forward as though she were his rightful mate. “Julian and the boys are staying at my place tonight. Exhausted.” She patted Thorne’s chest possessively. “But he can’t sleep anywhere unfamiliar. Poor Alpha.”
I knew the lie instantly. This wasn’t care—it was performance.
She reached into her bag and dropped a container near my feet. “Leftovers,” she said lightly. “You should eat. You’re painfully thin. A wolf that weak wouldn’t survive a real hunt.”
I stayed still. My hands curled into fists, nails biting skin. My wolf snarled, desperate and caged.
“I’ll help him to bed,” Camille continued, lips curving. “You don’t share a room anymore anyway. He mentioned your side smells like—” She paused, eyes roaming over me slowly, assessing, calculating. “—regret.”
I took one step forward. Just one. My body screamed to strike, to tear, to reclaim something sacred. But I didn’t.
Because the real wound came from him.
Thorne laughed drunkenly, gaze fixed on her like she was the only thing left worth seeing. “Camille’s beautiful,” he mumbled. “She smells sweet. Peaches.” His smile twisted. “My Luna just smells like soap and complaints.”
They went upstairs together, his weight resting on her, her laughter floating down the hall like a victory song.
And I understood then—they hadn’t destroyed me.
They had simply replaced me.
I waited—not because I still hoped, but because I needed certainty.
One hour passed. Then another. The lights upstairs stayed on.
Then the sound came. Soft at first. Then unmistakable. Rhythmic. Close.
My blood turned cold. My wolf surged, dragging me forward against my will. Each step upstairs felt like walking on stone, each breath sharp and burning. The hallway stretched endlessly toward the bedroom—the Alpha’s room. The room that had once been mine.
The door stood slightly open.
I saw everything.
Camille, shameless and bare, straddling Thorne, her painted nails clawing his chest. Her head thrown back, hair wild, riding him with feral hunger. Thorne gripped her like she was salvation itself.