Rejected for an Heir: The Barren Luna's Secret

Kat POV:

For the next week, Alex was a ghost.

On Tuesday, I walked to the Forest Gallery. An ancient structure built into living trees, where Alex and I had exchanged private vows.

I found desecration.

Alex was there. Aria was wearing his white dress shirt—the one he wore at our wedding.

"Oh, look at this one," Aria laughed, pointing at the portrait of Alex's great-grandmother. "She looks like a man. So ugly."

She poked the canvas.

"Careful," Alex said, lazy, amused.

"I bet I'll look much better up there," Aria twirled. "When will you take my portrait, Alex?"

"Soon."

I stepped out. "You have no right to be here."

Aria jumped. Her elbow knocked the frame. The heavy painting crashed.

Snap.

"My finger! It hurts!" she wailed. A tiny splinter. A single drop of blood.

Alex was at her side instantly, panic-stricken. "Let me see!"

I stared at the torn portrait on the floor.

"You broke it," I said, trembling. "You let her destroy our history."

Alex snarled. "Watch your mouth! She is injured because you snuck up on us! You released that... pressure again!"

"She pricked her finger on a frame she knocked over!"

"She is delicate!" Alex roared. "Unlike you!"

He scooped her up. "We're going to the hospital. Now."

I followed. Like watching a car crash.

At the hospital, Dr. Evans rushed around.

"She's anemic," the doctor lied, eyes darting to Alex. "Stress... shock... she needs a transfusion to stabilize the pregnancy."

"Take mine," Alex said, rolling up his sleeve.

"Alex, no," I stepped forward. "You just shifted for the full moon two days ago. Your blood count is low. Giving blood now could weaken your wolf for weeks."

An Alpha's blood is the pack's life force. Giving it casually when weakened was dangerous.

Alex looked at me with disdain. "I would give every drop to save my child. Something you clearly don't understand."

He extended his arm. "Do it."

As the dark, rich Alpha blood flowed into the tube, I felt the last thread of hope snap.

He was draining his life force for a lie.

I watched Aria. She wasn't pale. She was watching me through half-closed eyelids, a triumphant smirk on her lips. She was showing me she could bleed the Alpha dry, and he would thank her.

Alex's eyes drooped. "Save... the baby..." he mumbled, passing out.

My phone buzzed.

Donato: The pilot is waiting. Code: White Wolf. Go now.

I looked at Alex one last time. "Goodbye, Alexander."

He didn't hear me. He was too busy dying for another woman.

I stood in the corner of the hospital room. Alex stirred, looking gray.

"Kat?" he croaked.

"I'm here." My voice sounded distant.

"I have to go," he tried to sit up. "The West Coast inspection. The investors..."

"You can't fly," I said flatly. "You'll pass out."

"I have to. Private jet."

I knew the truth. He was taking Aria to the secret cabin at Lake Tahoe. A romantic getaway for her "trauma."

"Fine."

He squinted, trying to tap into our bond.

Kat... are you okay? You feel... quiet.

I put up a mirror, reflecting his own emptiness.

I am fine, Alpha.

He flinched at the formal title.

"Sir," a guard poked his head in. "Ms. Aria is asking for you."

Alex ripped the IV tape off. "I'm coming."

He stumbled out without a glance.

I drove back to the Pack House. I packed cash, my passport, a locket.

Then, the cleaning crew arrived. Humans hired by Donato.

"Ma'am," the lead cleaner nodded. "Industrial grade enzyme spray. Breaks down biological markers. Scent, hair, skin cells."

"Do it," I said. "Everything."

I watched them spray the bed, the carpets. The chemical smell was acrid, like a swimming pool mixed with lemons.

I went to the computer. Katarina De Luca. Delete.

My records. Bank accounts. Access codes. Gone.

The front door slammed. Alex was back.

I rushed down. He was in the kitchen, shoving raw steaks into a cooler.

"Forgot supplies," he muttered. "Special diet for her. Iron."

He grabbed a bottle of whiskey, then paused, phone to his ear. "Yes, baby, I'm coming. Don't cry."

He hung up and looked at me. He sniffed the air, frowning. "Why does it smell like bleach in here?"

"I'm deep cleaning," I said, my voice steady. "Nesting instinct. I wanted the house spotless for... the twins."

His face softened, ego stroked. He interpreted my erasure of self as service to his mistress's offspring.

"Good," he breathed. "You're a good Luna, Kat. We'll... we'll talk when I get back."

There is nothing to fix.

He walked out. The heavy oak slammed shut.

He didn't notice I wasn't wearing my ring.

I picked up my bag. I walked out, leaving the keys on the table.

Freedom smelled like jet fuel and cold air.