Chapter 3

Kaelin's POV

"Kaelin, be rational!" Torin, whose face was full of guilt a second ago, abruptly stood up. "Myla is a proud woman; she would never stoop to something so vile! No matter how much she dislikes you, she would never manipulate her own son into committing murder!"

"Then where did an eight-year-old get his hands on weapons-grade silver powder?"

"I already told you, Owen was lying!" Torin growled, ripping at his tie in frustration. "He was terrified of being punished and panicked, so he blamed his mother! I’ll handle him myself!"

He wouldn't even investigate. He just convicted his own son on the spot, all to protect Myla.

"And what if I insist on suing?" I leaned back against the pillows. I was physically weak, but my tone gave zero ground.

Torin’s face darkened, his eyes turning frigid.

"Kaelin, dragging pack scandals to the Werewolf Council—do you want the Hrafn Pack to become the laughingstock of the city?" He lowered his voice, lacing it with a blatant threat. "And what about your parents? The Lirael Pack is known for its nobility. If word gets out that the Lirael princess sued her husband's ex-wife and ruined an eight-year-old pup's life, where does that leave your parents’ reputation?"

Using my family to threaten me.

The burn in my arms reached the bone, but in that moment, my heart turned to absolute ice.

"Fine. I won't sue." I closed my eyes and turned my face away. "Leave. I need to rest."

Thinking I had backed down, Torin let out a massive sigh of relief. "I'm glad you’ve come to your senses. I have to go to the Vorin Pack to settle a border dispute for the next few days. Rest well."

He didn't spare a single glance at my destroyed arms before turning on his heel and walking out.

For the next few days, Torin kept his word—he didn't show up once.

I enjoyed the peace. Until the afternoon of the sixth day, when Martha’s calls started bombarding my phone.

"Luna, please, you have to talk to Young Master Owen!" she cried, her voice shaking. "He smashed all the plates, refused to go to school, and bit three of the maids! You’re the only one who can calm him down..."

"Martha," I cut her off. "Whatever he does is his choice. It has nothing to do with me."

"But the Young Master says he only wants you..."

Suddenly, Owen’s crying and cursing exploded through the speaker: "Give me the phone! Kaelin, stop playing dead! You’re just mad about your stupid ugly arms, aren't you? Why are you being so petty? Get your ugly face back here and make me food!"

Eight years old. Zero remorse. Utterly entitled.

"Did you hear that, Martha?" My voice was dead calm. "Call his real parents. From this moment on, Owen’s existence is absolutely none of my business."

I hung up and powered off my phone.

My onboarding paperwork for Boston was already sitting in my inbox. Silas had even contacted a top burn specialist to take over my treatment.

I stared out the window toward the Hrafn Pack territory, feeling nothing but disgust.

"Well, you look like you're recovering nicely if you have the energy to daydream."

Myla strolled in wearing a dark red haute couture trench coat, her makeup utterly flawless. She walked up to my bed, looking down at my heavily bandaged arms with a smirk.

"Tsk, tsk. So pitiful," she covered her mouth in mock sympathy. "Lost your baby, lost your looks, and the only husband you can rely on can’t even be bothered to visit you. Kaelin, you have no career, you hide in that massive empty house, and you live like a total joke."

I didn't even blink. "If that’s your opening speech, you can roll out now."

"I'm here to give you a reality check." Myla’s face instantly twisted with malice. "Torin and Owen have only ever loved me. Torin only stayed with you these past three years because he pitied you for the bleeding, and because of that stupid mate bond. You are absolutely unworthy of the Luna title."

I looked up, meeting her hostile glare, and suddenly smiled.

"Then tell him to bring the mate rejection papers. As soon as he signs, the Luna title is yours. I won't put up a fight."

Every vicious word Myla had prepared died in her throat. Her perfectly contoured face distorted in rage.

"Stop playing the saint!" she shrieked, pointing fiercely at my face. "Who the hell do you think you are? You’re just a dog Torin can kick away whenever he wants! You think acting indifferent will make him feel guilty? I’m going to make you see exactly how little you mean to him!"

Before her words could echo, a muffled, violent explosion shook the entire building.

Thick, black smoke violently surged through the cracks of the door, and a wall of scorching heat engulfed the room.

Myla stumbled backward in a panic. She scrambled to the door and accidentally kicked a heavy trash can into the hallway. The flames instantly caught the carpet, blazing up to block the only exit.

"Cough..." I hacked violently as the toxic smoke filled my lungs. I tried to force myself up, but the agonizing pain in my arms slammed me back onto the mattress.