The Broken Luna's Ruthless Silver Revenge

Elara Silvermoon POV:

The white roses were my last act of defiance. I’d spent the morning tending to them, my fingers carefully pruning away any sign of decay. They were a symbol, I suppose, of the purity I’d tried to maintain in this marriage, this pack. A futile effort.

I walked through the archway of the garden I had cultivated myself, the scent of the blossoms a clean, crisp perfume in the late afternoon air. It was a scent of peace, of order.

Then, another scent cut through it.

It rode on the breeze from the direction of the main gazebo, a cloying, sweet smell of jasmine I didn't recognize. It was wrapped around a scent I knew as well as my own heartbeat: sandalwood. Ryker’s scent. My Alpha. My husband.

The two were tangled together, the foreign sweetness clinging to his familiar, earthy warmth. It was wrong. A violation. My steps faltered on the stone path, my breath catching in my throat.

My inner wolf, Lyra, let out a low, mournful howl in the back of my mind. A sound of pure, unadulterated betrayal.

My eyes followed the scent. Through the lattice of the gazebo, half-hidden by climbing ivy, I saw them. Ryker, my Ryker, stood with his back to me, his broad shoulders blocking most of the view. But it was enough. He was holding a woman, a petite she-wolf with rich chestnut hair. Brielle Vance. New to the pack, and apparently, new to my husband’s arms.

His large, calloused hand, the same hand that had once cupped my face with such tenderness, was stroking her back in slow, soothing circles. It was a gesture of comfort, of intimacy. The kind of gesture he hadn't offered me in months.

Brielle tilted her head back, a triumphant little smile playing on her lips as she pressed her face against his chest. She was claiming my space. The one place in this world that was supposed to be mine and mine alone.

A cold fist clenched around my heart, squeezing the air from my lungs. The pressure triggered a ghost of a pain, a dull throb deep in my belly from an old wound, a silver-inflicted scar that never truly healed. A reminder of a sacrifice he’d long forgotten.

My fingernails dug into my palms, the sharp sting a welcome distraction. Lyra screamed at me to charge, to rip the she-wolf away from him, to tear that smug look from her face. But the woman in me, the Luna, held fast. I would not give them the satisfaction of a scene.

I took a step back, then another, my feet moving silently over the manicured lawn. Each step felt like walking on shattered glass. I didn't let them see me. I didn't give them that power.

Back inside the cold sanctuary of my Luna suite, I shut the heavy oak door behind me, the click of the latch echoing the final snap of my heartstrings. I leaned against the wood,