Celeste's POV
The pregnancy test slipped from my shaking fingers and clattered into the bathroom sink.
Negative. Again.
I stared at the single line, my fifth wedding anniversary present from the universe. Five years of trying. Five years of hoping. Five years of watching Marcus's face go blank every time I told him it didn't work this time either.
My wolf whimpered inside me, confused and hurt. Something's wrong, she whispered. Something's been wrong for months.
I shoved the test deep into the trash, burying it under tissues and cotton balls where Marcus wouldn't see. Another failure to add to my collection. I splashed cold water on my face and forced myself to smile at the mirror.
Today was our anniversary. Maybe today would be different. Maybe today Marcus would actually look at me.
Downstairs, I pulled out eggs and bacon, Marcus's favorite breakfast. My hands moved automatically—crack, whisk, pour. I'd made this meal a thousand times. The perfect Luna wife, cooking for her Alpha husband and their—
"Mommy! Mommy, look what I drew!"
I turned, smile ready, arms open for my five-year-old son Jasper. But he ran right past me, his little feet slapping against the floor, heading toward the doorway where Vivian Reed stood, her red hair perfect even at seven in the morning.
My smile froze.
"That's beautiful, sweetheart!" Vivian cooed, scooping Jasper up. She kissed his cheek while his drawing crumpled between them. Her green eyes met mine over his shoulder. "Good morning, Celeste. You're up early."
"I'm making breakfast," I said, my voice steady even though my wolf was snarling. "For my husband. For our anniversary."
"Oh, is it today?" Vivian's surprise looked real, but I'd learned to spot her lies. "Five years already. How time flies."
Jasper squirmed out of her arms and finally noticed me. "Hi, Auntie Celeste! Is Daddy awake?"
Auntie. He called me Auntie now, not Mama. When had that changed?
"Not yet, baby. Want to help me make pancakes?"
"Mommy already promised to take me to the park!" Jasper bounced excitedly, and I watched Vivian's hand settle possessively on his shoulder.
My son. The child I'd carried for nine months. The baby I'd nearly died bringing into this world. And he called her Mommy.
"Jasper, sweetheart, why don't you get dressed?" Vivian said gently. "Let Auntie Celeste cook in peace."
He ran off, and I was alone with the woman who'd moved into our house six months ago. Marcus's "old friend" who needed a place to stay after her husband died. The friend who somehow knew where everything was, who Jasper loved more than me, who wore my husband's scent like perfume.
"You don't have to do this, you know," Vivian said softly. She leaned against the counter, too comfortable, too at home. "The cooking, the cleaning, playing house. Marcus doesn't notice anyway."
My fingers tightened on the spatula. "This is my house. My family."
"Is it?" Vivian tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle. "When's the last time Marcus told you he loved you?"
Three years ago. The words died in my throat.
"When's the last time he touched you? Held you? Looked at you like you mattered?" Vivian's voice was gentle, almost pitying. "Face it, sweetie. You're a placeholder. You're just keeping his bed warm until—"
"Until what?" I turned on her, wolf rising, Alpha power I'd hidden for five years crackling under my skin. "Until you take my place? Is that your plan?"
Vivian's smile was small and satisfied. "I already have."
Footsteps on the stairs. Heavy, controlled, familiar. Marcus appeared in his business suit, phone already pressed to his ear, ice-blue eyes scanning the kitchen without really seeing anything. Without seeing me.
"Good morning," I said, my voice bright and fake. "Happy anniversary."
Marcus paused mid-sentence on his call. His eyes flickered to me for half a second. "Right. Five years." Then back to his phone. "No, Johnson, I told you the merger needs to close by Friday—"
He grabbed a protein bar from the pantry, not the breakfast I'd made. Not the meal I'd woken up early to prepare. He kissed Jasper's head as our son ran past, ruffled Vivian's hair with casual affection that made my stomach turn, and walked toward the door.
"Marcus," I called. "Tonight? Dinner? Just us?"
"Can't. Board meeting." He didn't even turn around. "Don't wait up."
The door closed behind him. The eggs were getting cold. Vivian was smiling.
"Well," she said cheerfully, "I guess that answers that. Come on, Jasper! Let's go to the park!"
They left together, my son and my husband's mistress, leaving me standing in a kitchen full of food no one would eat.
My wolf was howling now, desperate and angry. Wrong wrong wrong wrong—
I'd ignored her for months, but I couldn't anymore. Something was wrong. Something beyond Marcus's coldness, beyond Vivian's presence, beyond Jasper calling another woman Mommy.
I grabbed my phone and pulled up our bank accounts—the ones Marcus thought I didn't know about. My fingers flew across the screen, following money trails I'd been too afraid to chase before.
There. A payment to Silver Lake Medical Center. Dated five years and nine months ago. For embryo storage and implantation services.
My blood went cold.
I clicked deeper. More payments. To a surrogacy agency. To a genetics lab. All dated before Jasper was born. All signed by Marcus Kane and Vivian Reed.
The phone slipped from my numb fingers.
I ran to the downstairs bathroom, fell to my knees, and pulled out the trash can. The pregnancy test I'd taken this morning sat on top.
But underneath it, hidden in the trash I was too upset to check carefully, was another test.
This one was positive.
And it wasn't mine. The name scrawled on the side in Marcus's handwriting made my heart stop:
Vivian—6 weeks.
My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold it. Six weeks pregnant. Vivian was six weeks pregnant.
And suddenly, horribly, I understood everything. The gentle smiles. The way Marcus touched her but not me. The way Jasper called her Mommy. This wasn't new. This had been the plan from the beginning.
I pressed my hand to my stomach, to the flatness that had never grown round again after Jasper. To the body that couldn't seem to get pregnant no matter how hard I tried.
Because it wasn't supposed to.
My wolf wasn't whispering anymore. She was screaming.
I grabbed the test and ran upstairs to Marcus's office. I knew where he kept his keys. I knew which drawer held his private files. I'd been the perfect, obedient Luna who never questioned, never snooped, never demanded answers.
That ended today.
The locked drawer opened easily. Inside were folders marked with dates and names. Medical records. DNA tests. Legal documents. And photographs—dozens of them—of Marcus and Vivian, spanning years. Long before I ever met him.
I pulled out a file labeled "Project: Heir."
My hands shook as I read. Words jumped out at me: "Celeste Thorne—suitable surrogate"... "implantation successful"... "subject believes child is biologically hers"... "bond formation sufficient for cover story"...
The papers slipped from my hands and scattered across the floor.
Jasper wasn't mine. Not biologically. They'd used Vivian's embryo and tricked me into thinking I gave birth to my own child. The traumatic delivery I barely survived—they'd used my pain, my near-death, my desperation to bond with my baby against me. To make me believe a lie.
For five years, I'd raised another woman's son while she waited in the wings to take my place.
I was never Marcus's mate. I was his incubator. His nanny. His convenient lie.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number:
"Check the guest house. Tonight. 11 PM. If you want the whole truth."
I stared at the message, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
The guest house. Where Marcus went every night when he thought I was asleep. Where Vivian often disappeared to. Where I'd been too afraid to follow.
My wolf stopped screaming. She went very, very quiet.
And in that silence, something inside me shifted. Something that had been bending for five years finally snapped.
I looked at the scattered papers, at the proof of their betrayal, at the carefully constructed lie that was my entire marriage.
Then I looked at my reflection in Marcus's office window. At the woman I'd become. Small. Quiet. Invisible.
Not anymore.
I gathered every single paper, every photograph, every piece of evidence. I took photos with my phone, backed them up to three different cloud accounts Marcus didn't know I had. Then I put everything back exactly as it was.
Tonight at eleven, I'd go to the guest house.
Tonight at eleven, I'd find out what my loving husband and his "old friend" had been doing while I played the perfect Luna.
Tonight at eleven, Marcus Kane was going to discover that the woman he'd used and discarded wasn't as weak as he thought.
My phone buzzed again. Another message from the unknown number:
"Come alone. Come quietly. And Celeste? Bring a camera. You're going to want proof of what you see."
I smiled, and it felt wrong on my face. Dangerous. Real.
"Oh, I will," I whispered to the empty room. "I definitely will."