The wire transfer goes through at 2:47 AM.

I watch the confirmation code blink on my screen, and something in my chest loosens. Not much. Just enough to breathe.

Forty-three thousand dollars. Every penny I've saved over six years of managing Silverpine's finances while being paid a fraction of what the position's worth. Declan's accountant, his event coordinator, his unpaid emotional labor—all for the privilege of being ignored in my own fucking marriage.

The money's now sitting in an account under my mother's maiden name. Untraceable. Clean.

One week until the severance ceremony.

Seven days to vanish like I was never here at all.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, trembling slightly. The next email is harder. I've rewritten it four times, each version more pathetic than the last.

To whom it may concern,

I am writing to inquire about sanctuary within Shadowbrook Pack. I am a she-wolf of sound mind and body, currently seeking refuge from a complicated pack situation. I have administrative and financial skills, and I'm willing to work in exchange for safe harbor. I ask no charity, only a chance to start over.

I can be ready to travel within a week.

Respectfully,

M. Thornfield

I don't mention the pregnancy. Don't mention that I'm about to be a rejected Luna with a bastard child—except it's not a bastard, it's the legitimate heir to Silverpine, and isn't that the most fucked up part of this entire situation?

My hand drifts to my stomach. Still flat. Still my secret.

Not for much longer, my wolf whispers. She's been more present lately, protective and fierce in a way she hasn't been in years. We have to protect our pup.

Our pup. Not his pup. Not Declan's heir.

Ours.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself into paralysis.

The office is dark around me, just the glow of my monitor and the distant security lights outside. It's after three in the morning. Normal people are asleep. Normal Lunas aren't planning their own disappearances in the dead of night, liquidating assets and burning bridges.

But I stopped being normal around the time my husband started looking through me like I was made of glass.

A folder sits open on my desk. Inside: a new driver's license with my mother's maiden name, cash in small bills, a burner phone still in its packaging. A bus ticket to Portland, purchased under a fake name, departure date next Thursday—two days after the severance ceremony, when everyone will be too busy celebrating Isla's ascension to notice I'm gone.

I've thought of everything. Every detail. Every possible way this could go wrong.

Except I haven't thought about what happens after. Where I'll live. How I'll raise a child alone. What I'll tell them about their father when they're old enough to ask why we left.

You'll figure it out, I tell myself. You always do.

The nausea hits without warning. I barely make it to the trash can before I'm retching, nothing in my stomach but bile and the protein bar I choked down six hours ago. My eyes water. My hands shake on the rim of the metal bin.

This is my life now. Throwing up in trash cans at three AM while planning my escape from a marriage that was dead before it started.

Fucking fantastic.

"Working late?"

I jolt so hard I nearly tip the trash can over.

Kieran stands in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. His expression is unreadable in the dim light, but his scent—smoke and amber, warm and complex—fills the small office.

How long has he been standing there?

"Jesus Christ." I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, trying to look casual while my heart hammers against my ribs. "You trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Trying to figure out what the Luna of Silverpine is doing in the finance office at three in the morning." His voice is mild, but his hazel eyes are sharp. "Third time this week."

Fuck.

"Insomnia," I say lightly, closing the folder on my desk with studied casualness. "Turns out being rejected by your mate and replaced by a blonde goddess really helps with sleep."

He doesn't laugh. Doesn't even smile.

Instead, he steps into the office and closes the door behind him.

The click of the lock is very, very loud.

"We need to talk, Maya."

My stomach drops. "About what?"

"About the fact that you've been throwing up every morning for the past month." He moves closer, each step deliberate. "About the way you've stopped shifting. About the prenatal vitamins I saw in your bathroom when I helped move those boxes last week."

Oh God.

Oh God oh God oh God—

"I don't know what you're—"

"About the fact that you're pregnant." His voice is gentle, but his eyes are relentless. "And you're planning to run."

The world tilts sideways.

I grip the edge of my desk, fingernails digging into wood. My mouth opens. Closes. No sound comes out.

Kieran's expression softens. "Maya—"

"Don't." The word comes out strangled. "Don't you fucking dare pity me."

"I don't pity you." He's close now, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, smell the smoke and amber that's always meant safety in a pack that's offered me none. "I'm furious for you. There's a difference."

Something in my chest cracks.

"How long have you known?" I whisper.

"Suspected? About six weeks. You started wearing looser clothes. Stopped drinking coffee—you used to live on that shit. The morning sickness was the final piece." He pauses. "I've been waiting for you to tell someone. Anyone. But you've just been getting quieter. Smaller. Like you're trying to disappear before anyone notices."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do." The words taste like ash. "In seven days, I'm gone. And you're going to forget you ever had this conversation."

"Like hell I am."

"Kieran—"

"Is it Declan's?"

The question hangs between us like a blade.

I could lie. Should lie. But I'm so fucking tired of lying, of pretending, of making myself smaller so everyone else can be comfortable.

"Yes."

His jaw tightens. "Does he know?"

"No."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"Absolutely fucking not." The laugh that escapes me is jagged, broken. "What would I say? 'Hey, remember that night you got blackout drunk after the territorial dispute? The Blood Moon ceremony where you finally fucked me after six years of treating me like a roommate you can't stand? Surprise, you're going to be a father!'"

Kieran's expression darkens. "The Blood Moon. That was eight weeks ago."

"Nine, actually. But who's counting?" I'm shaking now, tremors running through my entire body. "He doesn't remember. He was drunk off his ass, probably thinking about her the entire time, and I was just—I was so pathetic. So desperate for him to finally see me that I let him use me like—"

My voice breaks.

Kieran moves before I can stop him, closing the distance between us and pulling me against his chest. His arms come around me, solid and warm, and I shatter.

Six years of holding it together. Six years of smiling through humiliation, of being competent and useful and invisible. Six years of loving a man who looked through me like I was nothing.

It all comes pouring out in ugly, gasping sobs against Kieran's shirt.

"I've got you," he murmurs into my hair. "I've got you, Maya. Let it out."

So I do.

I cry for the girl who believed in fated mates. For the Luna who was never good enough. For the wife whose husband is in love with someone else. For the mother whose child will grow up knowing their father chose a prophecy over them.

I cry until there's nothing left.

Kieran doesn't let go. Just holds me, one hand stroking slow circles on my back, his chin resting on top of my head. His scent surrounds me—smoke and amber and something uniquely him that makes my wolf settle in a way she hasn't in years.

"I'm sorry," I finally manage, pulling back and wiping at my face. "I'm a fucking mess."

"You're surviving." His hands slide to my shoulders, thumbs brushing against my collarbone. "There's a difference."

I look up at him. Really look.

Kieran Blackthorn has always been there, a steady presence in the background of my disaster of a marriage. Declan's Beta. His best friend. The one who remembered my birthday when my own husband forgot. Who asked how I was doing and actually waited for an answer. Who looked at me like I was a person instead of a problem to be solved.

"Why are you helping me?" I whisper.

Something flickers in his hazel eyes. "Because someone should have been helping you all along."

"That's not an answer."

"No." His hands tighten fractionally on my shoulders. "The real answer is that I've watched you hold this pack together for six years while Declan chased prophecies and destiny. I've watched you make yourself smaller and quieter and less, trying to be whatever he needed you to be. And I've been half in love with you the entire time, hating myself for wanting my best friend's wife."

The air leaves my lungs in a rush.

"Kieran—"

"I know." His smile is sad, self-deprecating. "Wrong man, wrong time, wrong fucking everything. The baby's Declan's. You're his mate, even if he's too blind to see what he has. But I can't—" He stops, jaw working. "I can't watch you disappear without knowing you're safe. You and the baby both."

My heart is doing something complicated in my chest. Something that feels dangerously like hope.

"I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll let me help you." His voice drops, urgent and fierce. "Say you'll let me make sure you get out clean. Shadowbrook is a good choice—Alpha Marcus is fair, and he doesn't ask questions. But you'll need supplies. Money. Someone to cover your tracks."

"You'd do that? Betray your Alpha for me?"

"I'd do that to protect you from a man who's too busy chasing destiny to see he already had everything he needed." Kieran's expression hardens. "Declan's my brother in everything but blood. But what he's done to you? How he's treated you? That's not the man I grew up with. And I won't stand by and watch you destroyed because he can't see past a fucking prophecy."

I should say no. Should tell him this isn't his problem, that I can handle it alone.

But God, I'm so tired of being alone.

"Okay," I breathe. "Okay. Help me."

Relief floods his features. "I'll need to know your timeline. When you're leaving, where you're going—"

"Next Thursday. Two days after the severance ceremony. There's a bus to Portland at six AM, and from there I'll—"

The door handle rattles.

We spring apart like guilty teenagers, Kieran putting three feet of space between us in a heartbeat. My heart slams against my ribs as the door swings open.

Declan fills the doorway.

His storm-gray eyes sweep the office, taking in the scene: me with tear-stained cheeks and swollen eyes, Kieran standing too close, the tension thick enough to choke on. His nostrils flare, scenting the emotional intensity in the room.

Cedar and winter rain crashes over me. My wolf whines, responding to her mate even now, even after everything.

Traitor.

"It's three in the morning." Declan's voice is cold, controlled. Alpha. "What's going on here?"

"Pack business," Kieran says smoothly, but I can hear the edge beneath it. "Maya was reviewing the budget for the severance ceremony."

"At three AM."

"The ceremony's in seven days. There's a lot to coordinate."

Declan's eyes narrow. He looks between us, and I see the exact moment his Alpha instincts kick in. The territorial possessiveness that has nothing to do with love and everything to do with ownership.

"This couldn't wait until morning?"

"No," I hear myself say. My voice is steady. Calm. Nothing like the broken woman who was sobbing into Kieran's chest two minutes ago. "It couldn't. Some of us actually care about making sure your big day goes smoothly."

It's a low blow. We both know it.

Declan's jaw tightens. "Maya—"

"Was there something you needed, Alpha?" The title tastes like poison. "Or can I get back to work? Someone has to make sure the pack finances are in order before I'm no longer your problem."

For a moment, something flickers in his expression. Something that might be regret, or guilt, or just irritation that his soon-to-be-ex-wife isn't making this easier.

Then it's gone, replaced by that infuriating blank mask.

"Kieran. A word. Outside."

It's not a request.

Kieran's eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second. I see the question there: Are you okay?

I nod, barely perceptible.

He follows Declan into the hallway. The door closes behind them, but it doesn't matter. Wolf hearing means I catch every word.

"What the hell was that?" Declan's voice is low, dangerous.

"I told you. Pack business."

"Bullshit. I could scent the emotions in that room from down the hall. What's going on between you and Maya?"

"Nothing that concerns you anymore." Kieran's voice is hard in a way I've never heard it. "In seven days, she's not your wife. Not your Luna. Not your responsibility. Maybe try remembering that before you go full Alpha possessive over a woman you've been trying to get rid of for six years."

Silence.

Then: "You're out of line, Beta."

"Am I? Because from where I'm standing, you don't get to ignore her for six years and then get territorial when someone else gives a damn."

"She's still my—"

"Your what, Declan? Your wife? Your mate? Because you sure as hell haven't been acting like it. You've been too busy playing destiny with Isla to notice what's right in front of you."

"This isn't about Isla."

"The hell it isn't. You've already got one foot out the door. You've made your choice. So why do you care if someone else sees what you've been too blind to notice?"

Another silence. Longer this time.

When Declan speaks again, his voice is arctic. "Stay away from her."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll remind you exactly who's Alpha in this pack."

Footsteps. Moving away.

Then Kieran's voice, soft and cutting: "You already lost her, brother. You just don't know it yet."

The footsteps stop.

I hold my breath, waiting for the explosion. For Declan to come back and demand answers, to scent the pregnancy on me, to finally—finally—pay attention.

But he doesn't.

The footsteps resume. Fade. Disappear.

Kieran slips back into the office, closing the door quietly behind him. His expression is grim.

"That went well," I manage.

"He's suspicious."

"He's territorial. It's different." I sink into my chair, suddenly exhausted. "He doesn't want me, but he doesn't want anyone else to have me either."

"Maya—"

"I need you to promise me something." I look up at him, and I know my eyes are desperate. "Whatever happens, whatever Declan figures out or doesn't figure out—you can't tell him about the baby. Not until I'm gone. Not until I'm safe."

Kieran crouches in front of my chair, bringing us eye-level. "I promise. But you have to promise me something too."

"What?"

"That you'll let me know you're safe. Once you're settled, once you're wherever you're going—send me a message. Let me know you and the baby are okay."

Something in my throat tightens. "Why does it matter?"

"Because—" He stops, and the look in his eyes is devastating. "Because I need to know that someone in this fucked-up situation gets a happy ending. Even if it's not me."

I should say something. Thank him. Tell him he deserves better than loving a woman who's pregnant with another man's child.

But before I can speak, his hand covers mine on the armrest. Warm. Solid. Real.

"Seven days," he says quietly. "We can do this. I'll help you disappear so completely that even Declan won't be able to find you."

I nod, not trusting my voice.

He squeezes my hand once, then stands. "Get some rest. You look exhausted."

"Gee, thanks."

His smile is fleeting. "I'll start making arrangements. Moving money, securing transport. You just focus on—"

The door flies open.

Declan stands there, eyes blazing, and this time there's no control. No mask. Just raw Alpha fury.

"What," he says, voice deadly soft, "are the two of you planning?"

And his eyes drop to where Kieran's hand is still covering mine.