Chapter 5

Victoria POV

The next morning when I came downstairs, Emma had already taken off that offensive maid's uniform.

She'd changed into a water-green silk dress that outlined her shapely figure perfectly.

Only then did I realize Emma's features were somewhat similar to mine.

No wonder.

No wonder Michael chose her.

Or rather, no wonder he chose to marry me through an arranged alliance.

"You're up? Come have breakfast." Emma greeted me warmly, like she was the lady of the house.

As she spoke, she deliberately turned to the side, revealing the scattered red marks on her neck—intimate and glaring.

But what really made my pupils contract was the brooch pinned to her chest.

A vintage brooch set with a pigeon blood ruby, dazzling and brilliant.

I recognized it. That was the pack's heirloom, passed down only to the Luna.

I remembered that years ago, Michael had asked his mother for this brooch for me, but his mother coldly refused, using my inability to have children as the reason.

"A human woman who can't even bear children—does she deserve to be called the pack's Luna?"

The Elder Luna's harsh words still echoed in my ears.

And now, this brooch symbolizing status and recognition was brazenly worn by a mistress.

In this moment, I completely understood.

How laughable was my earlier thought of maintaining the decades of goodwill between our families, not wanting to make things too ugly.

It turned out that in the eyes of the Elder Luna and even the entire pack, Emma—the woman who could bear an heir—had long been recognized as their Luna.

And I was just a clown kept in the dark, occupying a position I wouldn't give up.

A human they never respected but had no choice but to curry favor with.

Michael came downstairs wearing a casual loungewear set.

He first exchanged a knowing look with Emma, then quickly walked over to me, reaching out to feel my forehead, looking worried.

"Why are you so pale? Did you catch cold last night? Don't go to the company today. I'll stay home with you."

Watching his masterful performance, I only felt my stomach churning.

Every second I stayed with him made me feel suffocated. I found him dirty.

"No need." I coldly pushed away his hand. "I have a lot to handle at the company."

Just then, Emma came over with a cup of coffee, saying softly: "Michael, your coffee."

She naturally reached out to straighten his slightly messy collar.

And Michael actually lowered his head instinctively, cooperating with her movements.

It was an incredibly familiar, habitual gesture.

More hurtful than any deliberate showing off.

The servants around us gasped.

Michael seemed to realize something was wrong and immediately stepped back, creating distance from Emma.

He picked up his coat, walked to my side, and pressed a light kiss to my forehead.

"Wait for me to come home."

He used the exact same indulgent tone he'd used in the wine cellar last night when speaking to another woman.