Chapter 2

The scar left by the silver bullet hadn't fully faded. Damon had stayed with me at the estate for three days.

He changed my bandages and handed me warm water when I woke up startled in the night. I almost thought that silver bullet had finally shattered the five years of solid ice between us.

On the morning of the fourth day, his side of the bed was empty.

The butler said there was an emergency with the Alliance.

After that, he reverted to his old self—always absent for dinner, never answering his phone, and occasionally returning with the lingering scent of Sabrina's perfume on him.

I continued to make excuses for him, until the morning I threw up in the bathroom so hard I could barely stand.

Thinking it was residual silver toxicity, I went to the hospital alone.

The doctor specializing in werewolf bloodlines looked at my test results, his face lighting up with pleasant surprise.

"You're six weeks along, Luna."

I stared at my name on the report, my fingertips trembling slightly.

"How is the baby?"

"Vitals are incredibly strong, and the heartbeat is much more powerful than a normal pup's," the doctor said, sliding the ultrasound image toward me. "Both Blackridge and Whitmore are ancient Alpha bloodlines. Inheriting both, this child is naturally much stronger. Once the news is out, both packs will view him as their most vital heir."

There was only a blurry dot of light on the screen.

I gently placed my hand over my still-flat stomach. The first thing that came to mind wasn't the Alliance, nor the inheritance.

It was Damon.

Maybe this baby would change everything. Maybe when he found out we were having a child, he would truly embrace me for the first time, instead of just staying by my hospital bed out of obligation.

I put the ultrasound report into an envelope. I didn't call him; I decided to tell him in person.

The Blackridge Group headquarters stood by the Chicago River. The receptionists on the top floor all recognized me. The secretary stood up to announce me, but I shook my head.

I wanted to deliver this surprise to him myself.

At the end of the hallway, his office door was ajar. Before I even got close, I heard Sabrina's laughter.

"You really should have seen her that night," she said. "Covered in blood, sitting on the stretcher, and still asking if you were hurt. How long is it going to take for her to realize that you will never love her?"

My footsteps stopped outside the door.

Damon didn't reprimand her.

There was the soft clink of a glass being set on a desk. A moment later, he spoke flatly, "She doesn't need to realize it."

"Aren't you afraid she'll suspect this so-called Bond Deficiency Syndrome?"

"The Alliance doctors and the Elders from both families vouched for me," Damon said calmly. "It's been five years, and she's never doubted it."

Sabrina laughed softer, as if hearing an inside joke meant only for them.

"The so-called Bond Deficiency Syndrome... it's hilarious."

The cold air in the hallway seeped into my body through my scar.

I looked down at the envelope in my hand; the edges of the paper were already crumpled in my grip.

All these years, every time Damon broke a promise, I told myself he just couldn't sense his mate. Every time he left me alone at a banquet, I used that medical diagnosis to explain it away. Even when the Silver Moon Hunter's bullet flew toward him, I didn't hesitate.

That silver bullet tore through my shoulder. When he held my blood-soaked body, there was a fleeting moment of panic in his eyes. I clung to that tiny, pathetic illusion, enduring the burning agony of the wound through the night, thinking it was his clumsy way of showing love.

It turned out he could sense everything all along.

He knew I loved him. He knew every broken promise broke my heart. He knew exactly why I kept backing down. He just stood behind his lie, watching me make excuses for him.

"She is loyal, I'll give her that," Sabrina's laughter carried a hint of disdain. "If you told her the truth, she might still willingly bear your child."

"There's no need to add unnecessary complications."

Damon didn't laugh, but he didn't stop her either.

That tacit agreement was crueler than the mockery itself.

I looked down and saw the crumpled pregnancy report.

Six weeks pregnant. Fetus healthy. At the very bottom of the page, there was even a blessing written by the doctor for us.

On the way to the headquarters, I had repeatedly imagined Damon's expression when he saw the report. Maybe he would initiate a hug for the first time. Maybe he would cancel his meetings and take me home. Even if he remained aloof, as long as he was willing to place his hand on my stomach, I was ready to believe in him one more time.

Now, I finally understood those rare moments of gentleness.

He only came home on time on specific days to get me pregnant. He asked about my wound after I was shot because he was worried the silver toxicity would damage the Whitmore bloodline. He hadn't ended this cold marriage not because he couldn't bear to lose me, but because I hadn't yet given him the heir he needed.

Once the child was born, I would become nothing more than a fulfilled contract.

I raised my hand, but I didn't push the door open.

Confronting him wouldn't bring me answers; I had already heard the whole truth. It would only result in Damon finding this report, and then, under the guise of protecting the Luna and the heir, he would confiscate my phone, my car, and my clearance to leave the estate.

I slowly released the doorknob and backed away silently.

As I turned toward the elevator, my legs felt like they were walking on cotton. The metal doors closed, and the mirrored surface reflected a deathly pale face. I folded the report and shoved it into the deepest part of my handbag, as if hiding it deep enough could temporarily hide the bloodline belonging to him in my womb.

When I returned to the estate, the guards bowed to me as usual, and the security cameras tracked my movements.

I used to view these as the protection Blackridge provided for their Luna. Only now did I realize that the gates, the cars, the servants, and every patrol route didn't belong to me. This was never a home; it was just a beautifully decorated cage.

I locked my bedroom door, dug out an ancient genealogy book from the back of the bookshelf, and logged into the werewolf Alliance's maternity archives.

Soon, a record regarding the highest bloodline tier appeared on the screen.

When a Double Alpha bloodline reaches the eighth week of gestation, the fetus's power will produce its first pulse. The biological father will instinctively sense the offspring's existence and can track the bloodline within a certain radius.

I stared at the words "eighth week," my fingers turning ice cold.

The doctor said I was exactly six weeks along today.

I picked up a calendar and counted the days one by one, stopping at the fourteenth day.

My palm rested on my still-flat stomach. This child, unseen by anyone yet, had already become the bargaining chip Damon had waited five years for.

In fourteen days, he would know I was carrying his heir.

And I had to die from his world before then.