After His Luna Poisoned Him, He Believed I Betrayed Him

The dimly lit shop smelled of incense and something darker—something that made my wolf whimper inside me. I shouldn't have been there, but curiosity had gotten the better of me after seeing Kylie slip out during the final ceremony preparations.

I pressed myself against the wall outside the back room, straining to hear the conversation.

"You're certain this will work?" Kylie's voice was sharp with anxiety.

"Absolutely, my dear." The practitioner's voice was like dry leaves rustling. "The Hate Potion is quite potent. Just a drop in his drink before the ceremony, and he'll remain aggressively hostile toward your... target."

I risked a glance around the corner. Kylie stood at a cluttered counter, her manicured hand extended toward a small vial filled with liquid the color of dried blood.

"And it will suppress the mate bond?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

The old woman cackled. "Oh yes. Nothing breaks a bond like pure hatred. He won't feel anything but rage when he looks at her."

Kylie's lips curved into a smile that sent chills down my spine. "Perfect."

I ducked back into the shadows as she turned, clutching the vial like a precious gem. My heart pounded so loudly I feared she would hear it.

---

The rehearsal dinner glittered with silver and white decorations—my work, though no one would credit me for it. I stood in the corner, making final adjustments to the floral arrangements while pack members mingled and laughed.

"More champagne!" someone called out.

I moved to the bar, careful to keep my head down as I collected empty glasses. From my peripheral vision, I could see Nolan holding court near the head table, his powerful frame commanding attention.

Kylie appeared at his side, her red dress clinging to every curve. She leaned close, whispering something that made him smile—a rare sight these days.

"Alpha," she purred loudly enough for me to hear, "you look tense. Let me fix you a proper drink."

I watched as she moved behind the bar, her back to the crowd. With practiced casualness, she uncorked a bottle of scotch and poured it into a crystal tumbler. Her hand dipped into her clutch, producing the small vial I'd seen earlier.

Just one drop, and she stirred it with her finger before adding ice and a splash of water.

"Your favorite," she said, returning to Nolan's side. "To our perfect ceremony tomorrow."

Nolan took the glass, his eyes never leaving hers as he drank deeply.

I turned away, my stomach churning. Whatever was in that potion, it couldn't be good.

---

Exhaustion weighed on me like a physical burden as I finished adjusting the last of the white roses. The ballroom was transformed—silver archways, crystal chandeliers, and thousands of white flowers created the perfect setting for tomorrow's ceremony.

I sank into a chair at the edge of the dance floor, my legs finally giving out. The room spun slightly as I closed my eyes.

"Just for a minute," I whispered to myself.

My hand reached automatically for the napkin on the table beside me. Without thinking, I sketched the modification I'd been considering for the archway—a subtle change that would frame the couple more elegantly.

The pen moved across the paper almost of its own accord, my architect's mind taking over even as my body begged for rest.

I didn't hear him approach.

"Still designing for me?"

I jerked awake, my eyes flying open to find Nolan standing over me. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—usually cold when looking at me—held something different. Something conflicted.

He was staring at my sketch, recognition dawning on his face.

"This is..." he started, then stopped.

I scrambled to my feet, knocking over the chair in my haste. "Alpha, I was just—"

"Shh." He held up a hand, still looking at the napkin. "This is how you used to draw when we were together."

My heart stuttered painfully in my chest. For a moment, I saw the old Nolan—the one who had admired my talent, who had loved me.

He reached out slowly, his fingers almost touching my shoulder.

Then something shifted in his eyes—a flash of gold, quickly suppressed. His face hardened, and I knew the potion was working.

"You think you can manipulate me?" he snarled suddenly. "With memories? With your little drawings?"

Before I could respond, he kicked the leg of the chair I'd knocked over. It skidded across the polished floor, the sound echoing through the empty ballroom.

"Get out," he growled. "Now."

I backed away, my sketch still clutched in my hand. As I reached the door, I glanced back to see him standing alone in the center of the ballroom, his shoulders rigid with tension—and something else. Something that looked almost like pain.

The potion was working, but even its darkness couldn't entirely extinguish what had once been between us.