Chapter 4

I stood there, gaunt, pale, my eyes cold but defiant. I didn't look like some crazed she-wolf who'd kill her own pup. The whispers around me stung like thorns.

Three years of torment. My cellmates spread the lie that I'd killed my boy, turning everyone against me. I scrubbed their filth, ate their spoiled scraps, and took their random beatings. Scars layered on scars. Even now, the word "prison" made me tremble, my body aching with the memory.

"Zoe, you're the murderer!" Bella shot up, splashing a glass of water in Zoe's face.

Zoe shrieked, her pup wailing in fear.

"What's going on?" Ethan's voice boomed as he strode in, all suit and authority.

Zoe's eyes welled up as she clutched her pup. "I just wanted to treat Melody to dinner, but she got mad and had her friend attack my boy..."

Her pup pointed at me, sobbing. "Bad she-wolf! Hurting Mama!"

Ethan's face darkened. He stepped between us, growling low. "You've had a pup, Melody! How can you not tolerate another?"

The rush of blood in my ears was deafening. I've had a pup. I remembered the day we celebrated our boy's first month, how Ethan kissed my forehead, tears in his eyes, thanking me for making his life whole.

But he'd destroyed mine.

"Isn't that Melody, the lawyer?"

"Undefeated, they said. Until she lost to herself."

"What kind of she-wolf kills her own pup?"

A group of courthouse wolves walked in, probably with Ethan. He leaned in, his voice low and cold. "Go home, Melody. Stop embarrassing yourself."

Zoe, playing the perfect hostess, glided over to greet them.

I stopped Bella from charging after her and walked out, my face blank.

As I passed Ethan, he caught sight of the scars on my skin—ugly, jagged marks. His lips twitched, but he said nothing.

I dropped Bella off, then bought flowers and some toys my pup used to love. I took a cab to the cemetery. But when I reached his grave, I froze, speechless.

Weeds choked the plot, the ground neglected and wild. No one had been here. Worse, his tombstone was defaced, the word "CURSE" scrawled in red paint.

The letters stabbed into my eyes. I screamed my pup's name, falling to my knees, scrubbing at the paint with my bare hands. My fingers bled, the skin tearing, but the red only smeared deeper, mocking me.

Exhausted, I stopped, touching his stained photo on the stone, my sobs tearing through me like a storm. "No..."

Rain poured, as if the sky itself wept.

When I could cry no more, I got up, ordered a new tombstone, and cleaned the area around his grave. I arranged his favorite toys carefully, tears falling as I whispered, "Mama will make them pay, I swear."

I got home at dawn. Ethan was waiting, his voice sharp. "I told you to come home. Where were you? You didn't answer your phone—do you know how—"

He was still in yesterday's clothes, dark circles under his eyes. I brushed past him, not bothering to look. "It's our pup's memorial day."

The words barely left my mouth before the world went black.