Trash, of Course, Must Be Thrown Away

These past few days, aside from letting my injuries heal, I’d been clearing out everything in my place. I stared at the piles cluttering the living room, silently tossing things into the fireplace one after another, ready to watch them burn to ash.

I had just stoked the flames when the front door was pushed open. Two guards took their positions at the entrance, and Veyron strode in with Iliana trailing right behind him.

His gaze swept over the half-burned scraps of a journal in the grate, then lifted to the blood I hadn’t fully wiped from the corner of my mouth.

“Who gave you permission to burn those?”

Ignoring him, I bent down, dragged the last moon-silver chest from under the bed, and dumped it near the doorway. Letters, medicine boxes, charms, scrolls—everything crashed into the fireplace in one chaotic heap.

Iliana sucked in a sharp breath. “Sera, that’s five years of—”

“Which is exactly why it needs to burn. All of it.” I didn’t even look up as I shoved the final stack of handwritten letters into the fire. “Nine hundred and ninety-nine letters. Three hundred and sixty-five healing draughts. Twelve protection charms. Whoever wants the ashes can help themselves.”

Veyron grabbed my wrist, his voice rough. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I finally looked up at him. “Trash belongs in the fire.”

His fingers tightened until his knuckles blanched. Pain flared up my arm, and I frowned. Iliana rushed forward, trying to pry his hand off. “Let her go!”

Veyron didn’t budge. He just stared at me as if I were a stranger.

“About last night,” he said finally, “I’ll admit I lost my temper.”

“Lost your temper enough to strike me?” I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Or just enough to use me as a human shield for your mistress?”

His throat bobbed. He finally released me, though his tone remained hard. “Tonight is the Hunt Gala. You’ll attend as usual. At the auction—whatever you want, I’ll win it for you.”

“I want you to stay the hell away from me.”

His expression turned glacial, as if I’d slapped him in front of an audience. But he didn’t move. After a long, tense moment, he forced the words out through clenched teeth.

“Sera. Don’t make a scene.”

“You’re the one making this ugly, not me.” I tossed the dragon-scale charm I hadn’t even finished stitching into the flames. “Now get out of my home.”

He stared at the fireplace for two full seconds before turning away. His voice dropped like ice.

“Seven o’clock. I’ll be downstairs.”

I didn’t answer.

At seven on the dot, I went downstairs.

Not for him. I just refused to give anyone the satisfaction of whispering that I was too cowardly to show my face.

The moment the carriage door opened, I saw Ophelia already inside. She wore a pale gold gown, one hand resting protectively over her stomach. Veyron sat beside her, his black gloves resting casually behind her waist. When he saw me, he didn’t even shift to make space—he just lifted his chin.

“Get in.”

I sat across from them and closed my eyes, pretending to rest.

The entire ride, Ophelia complained about being dizzy and claimed the baby was restless. Veyron murmured to her, his voice sickeningly sweet as he coaxed her and brought warm wine to her lips. Every time the carriage jolted, she tucked herself a little deeper into his embrace.

“Veyron,” she cooed softly, “if someone asks tonight… what should I say?”

“You don’t have to say a word.” He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ll handle it.”

I opened my eyes and watched their reflection in the window. I stayed completely silent.

At the auction hall, he stepped out first. He turned back, took Ophelia’s hand, and carefully helped her down the steps. Around us, the pack nobles were already whispering.

“Is that Alpha Veyron’s fiancée?”

“No, isn’t that Seraphine behind them?”

“Then who’s the woman up front?”

I took my time stepping out, my heels clicking softly against the pavement as I headed straight for the farthest seat in the back row. Veyron led Ophelia directly to the center of the front row. He never once looked back at me.

The first item up for bid was a sapphire necklace, polished from the deep Blue Sea. Ophelia stared at it just a second longer than usual, and Veyron instantly raised his paddle.

“Three hundred thousand.”

Someone across the room countered. Veyron didn’t hesitate. “Five hundred thousand.”

When the gavel finally struck, every eye in the room was on them. The auctioneer grinned, teasing, “Looks like Alpha Veyron spares no expense for his fiancée!”

A wave of laughter rippled through the crowd.

Heads turned toward me—some filled with pity, others gleaming with a hungry, smug anticipation, waiting for me to cause a scene.

I just leaned back in my chair, my expression completely blank.

Next came a baby rattle studded with silver bells. Ophelia blushed, murmuring, “It’s so cute.” Veyron raised his paddle again, ruthlessly driving the price up to an absurd number. The auctioneer’s laugh echoed even louder over the microphone.

“It seems the Bloodmoon Pack will be welcoming an heir very soon!”

Applause exploded through the hall.

I stood up and left. No one tried to stop me.

The restroom was dead quiet. I had just pushed open the door to the farthest stall when I heard the rustling of fabric from the adjacent one—followed by a rushed, whispered spell.

I froze.

A second later, something slid out from beneath the partition gap—a semi-transparent, synthetic prosthetic pad.

I heard Ophelia let out a panicked gasp as she crouched down, frantically shoving the thing back under her skirts. The crude magic runes etched into it were still glowing. The edges weren’t even pressed flat against her skin.

I stood at the entrance of her stall and watched her go entirely rigid.

“So, you’re not pregnant at all.”

Her head snapped up. For a split second, the blood drained from her face, leaving her paper-white—but then she forced a trembling smile. “You saw wrong.”

“You just let him buy a baby rattle, and you’re still playing the part?” I took a slow step closer. “A fake belly. Forged blood-scent. You have a lot more nerve than I gave you credit for.”

The sheer panic in her eyes slowly evaporated, replaced by something dark and vicious. “You’d better forget what you just saw.”

“And if I don’t?”

She stood up, smoothing her skirt inch by inch, her voice dropping to a lethal hiss. “Then you won’t walk out of these doors tonight.”

I gave a flat, indifferent shrug. “I don’t have the time for this. I don’t love Veyron anymore. What do I possibly get out of exposing you?”

“Really?” Her eyes narrowed, heavy with suspicion.

But something in my dead, steady gaze must have convinced her. The tight tension in her shoulders began to unwind.

“Don’t judge me,” she muttered, lowering her head. Her voice was a mix of exhaustion and cold calculation. “I don’t have a choice. He’s my only way out. I have to… hold on to him. Tightly.”

I stayed quiet for a moment, then simply nodded. “I hope it works out for you.”

I turned my back on her and walked away.

But the very second my foot hit the edge of the outer stone steps, a brutal, heavy force slammed into my back.

It wasn’t just a shove. It was a strike meant to kill.

I lost my balance entirely, plunging straight down the steep, high staircase. My body slammed violently against the sharp stone edges. Then, my chest crashed against the rim of the landing.

There was a sickening, dull crack. It sounded so loud it felt like it had gone off right inside my ear.

I opened my mouth to gasp, but only blood poured out.

My ribs felt like they had completely caved in. Every ragged breath I took dragged blackness around the edges of my vision. I lay facedown in my own blood, barely able to lift my heavy head.

And then, Ophelia stumbled down the stairs after me, throwing herself onto the cold stone as she shrieked through hysterical tears.

“Help! Help me! Seraphine is trying to kill my baby!”

Footsteps surged out from the auction hall in seconds.

I forced my eyes open just wide enough to see Veyron break through the front of the crowd. He rushed straight to Ophelia. The second he saw her sobbing on the ground, desperately clutching her stomach, his eyes flared red with pure Alpha rage.

“It’s not…” I coughed, choking on hot blood, my voice barely a broken whisper. “It was her—”

He didn’t even look at me. Not once.

Instead, he turned and strode toward me, his heavy boots splashing directly through the pool of my blood. His face was a mask of murderous fury; there wasn't a single shred of patience left to hear me out.

“Veyron…”

I never got to finish the sentence.

He drew his leg back and kicked me viciously in the stomach.

My body skidded backward across the rough stone. The broken rib felt like it instantly punctured something vital inside my chest. A fresh wave of blood erupted from my throat. The back of my head slammed against the ground, and my vision splintered into fractured darkness.

The very last things I heard were Ophelia’s pathetic sobs—and Veyron’s voice, thick with deadly intent as he scooped her up into his arms.

“I’ve got you. Don’t be scared. I’m taking you out of here.”

He never looked back.

I lay there in my own blood as the cold seeped into my bones, unable to move a single finger. Right before the darkness swallowed me whole, the only thing I could see was the crimson pool beneath me, still spreading, still bleeding out.