The Defiant Ex-Luna's Hidden Royal Pup

Ember POV

I stared into the eyes of the stranger in the mirror, the jagged ends of my hair framing a face that suddenly remembered the ghost of a terrified girl from five years ago.

The cold marble beneath my hands felt exactly as it had that morning. I had been standing in this exact spot, clutching a plastic stick with two glaring pink lines. But it wasn't hope that had driven me to that terrace to face Damien. Hope had died in year two of our marriage, strangled quietly under the weight of his cold contempt and Tyrant's growls. What sent me out into the biting wind, wrapping my arms around myself, was a final, clinical test—the last variable I needed to eliminate before executing my contingency plan. I already had the forged miscarriage records prepared, the offshore accounts opened under my Faye alias, and the encrypted line to Jade, who was ready to vanish with a newborn the moment I gave the word. I just needed to know: was there any line Damien wouldn't cross? Any depth of cruelty he'd refuse to plumb?

Damien stood there, overlooking Manhattan like a king surveying his conquered lands. I had wrapped my arms around myself, asking in a trembling, hypothetical whisper: *What if we had a child?*

He hadn't even blinked. His dark eyes had turned to frost as he slowly turned to face me. I could almost hear his inner wolf, Tyrant, snarling in absolute disgust in his mind.

*The Blackwood bloodline does not tolerate defects,* he had said, his voice a lethal, emotionless drawl that sounded like a death sentence. *I will never allow a wolfless Omega to breed a wolfless mistake. If you ever tried to trap me with a pregnancy, Ember, I would use the Alpha's Command. I’d have the Pack doctor scrape the problem out of you myself, and then I’d throw you to the Rogues with nothing.*

The terror that seized my stomach was real—paralyzing, primal. I didn't need to feign the hollow laugh that escaped my lips, nor the trembling fingers that snapped the plastic test in two behind my back. But beneath that cold, visceral fear, something else clicked into place. A steel door, slamming shut. Test complete. Variable eliminated. He would kill his own child to preserve his bloodline's purity. He would kill me. There was nothing left to salvage, no hidden depth of decency to appeal to. Faye is born tonight. That was the day the submissive Luna's final thread of obligation to this marriage was severed.

I blinked, shattering the memory. The time for fear was over. Kaia’s trust fund was secure, the safe house was ready, and I had the Chiron drive.

I grabbed my duffel bag and walked out of the master suite, my boots silent against the hardwood floors. The penthouse was a tomb of wasted years. I stepped into the cavernous foyer, the white marble gleaming under the harsh recessed lighting. The heavy oak front door was closed, just as I had left it. Its brushed steel handle waited, a cold invitation to the world beyond.

On the wall, the massive smart-home panel displayed our digital wedding portrait—Damien looking powerful and indifferent, me looking small and terrified in a gown that cost more than my life. I swiped my finger across the screen, navigating to the settings, and hit the master delete. The screen went pitch black. Seven years, erased in a second.

I turned to the heavy oak front door. Freedom was inches away. I reached for the brushed steel handle.

*BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP.*

The electronic keypad on the outside blared a frantic, piercing alarm. My blood turned to ice. Someone was punching in the master override code.

Before my fingers could even graze the handle, the deadbolt clicked with a heavy, metallic thud. The door violently swung inward.

Damien Blackwood filled the doorway, blocking out the hallway light. He was a towering wall of muscle and fury. The suffocating, heavy scent of cedar and storm crashed over me, thick with the violent, oppressive pheromones of an enraged Alpha. I knew instantly why he had returned so soon: the smart-home system must have alerted him the moment I deleted the wedding portrait, or perhaps his paranoid mind had simply gnawed at him until he turned the car around. Either way, he was here, his dark eyes locked onto my jagged hair, then dropping to the duffel bag slung over my shoulder.

He stepped over the threshold, the door clicking shut behind him, sealing us inside.