Chapter 2

Kaelin's POV

The next morning, I pulled every silk nightgown I had bought to please Torin from my closet, balled them up, and shoved them into a trash bag.

For three years, I had acted like an idiot, managing his wardrobe down to the smallest detail. He always complained they were too bright or too fussy, but he wore them anyway. I used to think that was proof he secretly loved me.

It was just pathetic delusion.

"Martha! I want my blueberry maple pancakes!"

Owen’s yelling echoed fiercely from downstairs. "Go tell Kaelin to come down! Tell her to make them right now!"

"Young Master Owen, the Luna is resting..." Martha stood helplessly to the side.

I walked down the stairs, glancing at the mess he had made.

"Even if you smash the entire kitchen, you’re not getting pancakes today."

Owen froze. He was used to me completely bowing to his every whim. Back then, even if he deliberately spilled juice all over my dress, I would just gently wipe his mouth.

"You have to make them!" He kicked a chair and glared at me. "My dad said you have to take care of me! You promised him!"

I pulled out a chair, sat down, and poured myself a cup of black coffee.

"That was then. Starting today, Martha oversees your meals. I am the Luna of the Hrafn Pack, not your personal chef. Eat what’s served, or starve."

The front door swung open. Torin walked in with his arm around Myla. The heavy, mingled scent of them spending the night together rolled off their clothes.

"Dad!" Owen immediately forced out tears and threw himself into Torin's arms, pointing at me. "Kaelin is bullying me! She’s starving me on purpose and won’t let me have pancakes!"

Myla clutched her chest and gasped, leaning weakly against Torin's shoulder.

"Kaelin, I know you have hatred in your heart after losing your baby," she stuttered, her eyes red. "But Owen just had a bone marrow transplant! He’s just a child! Deliberately abusing a sick kid... do you really think you deserve to be the Luna of the Hrafn Pack?"

"Abusing?" I swept my gaze over the mother and son. "Since your heart aches so much for him, the kitchen is on your left. Make it yourself."

Finally, my eyes landed on Torin.

"I am absolutely done playing servant to you and your son."

Torin pinched the bridge of his nose, adopting a patronizing tone. "You just miscarried. You're weak physically and mentally, so I won't be harsh on you. But Owen needs nutrition, so stop being so petty. Go back to your room and rest."

I walked straight back to my room and locked the door.

The hallway was dead silent. Torin didn't follow me; he probably thought I was just throwing a tantrum. Outside, I heard him lightly scold Owen—two empty sentences with absolutely no real punishment.

Late at night.

Since losing my baby, I was a light sleeper, floating in a half-awake state all night.

The door lock clicked. It was incredibly faint, but my eyes snapped open.

In the moonlight, a short, dark silhouette stood by my bed.

Owen.

Before I could speak, he violently swung a glass jar, hurling a handful of silvery-white powder straight at my face.

"Die, you ugly freak!"

I instinctively threw my arms up to shield my face.

The moment silver touched wolf skin, it ignited. The agonizing burn felt like a thousand flaming knives slicing through my arms and neck. I hit the floor, curling into a ball as a feral scream ripped from my throat.

Chaotic footsteps thundered down the hall.

The lights flicked on. Torin burst in and froze.

I was covered in blood. The flesh on my arms and neck was corroding into a blurry, charred mess, exposing glimpses of stark white bone. Owen stood next to me, gripping the empty jar, trembling.

"Kaelin!" Torin's voice cracked. He threw himself forward like a madman but stopped short, too terrified to touch my rotting wounds. "A doctor! Get a fucking ambulance!"

"It’s not my fault..." Owen was completely paralyzed by fear. He pointed at me, sobbing. "Mom said the silver powder would just give her a rash! Mom said it would make her ugly so you wouldn't like her anymore! I didn't know it would burn her!"

Torin snapped his head toward his biological son, then looked at Myla, who stood pale as a ghost by the door. His eyes went bloodshot with pure rage.

But there was no time to settle the score. He scooped my convulsing body into his arms and sprinted for the hospital.

Even with the heavy painkillers numbing my nerves, I could still smell my own charred flesh. The doctors said the damage was too deep—the silver scars on my arms would likely last forever.

Torin sat by my bed. The normally high-and-mighty Alpha now cradled my only uninjured fingertips, his shoulders trembling.

"Kaelin, I'm so sorry..." His voice was hoarse. He tried to caress my face, but jerked his hand back as if burned. "I'll find the best doctors in the world to heal you. I swear."

"Call my lawyer," I stared dead at the ceiling, my voice like crushed ice.

Torin’s head snapped up. "What?"

I turned to look at his panicked eyes, enunciating every single word.

"I am officially pressing charges against your ex-wife, Myla Eir, in front of the Council."