Chapter 2

Breenda Whitmore.

The name made my eyelid twitch involuntarily.

She was coming back. Basil had arranged it.

I was a born Luna, blessed by the Moon Goddess herself, having poured eighteen years of Moonlight Blessing into this pack—yet because I was an Omega, I had never been granted a single formal position within the clan.

And she—an adopted daughter who had been exiled for poisoning my food—was being handed the title of Warrior Elder the moment she returned.

I would never forget the day Breenda was taken away. The hatred in her eyes—cold as a viper's.

"I hate her! I just hate her!"

"Why? I'm a warrior's descendant! I'm an Alpha! She's nothing but a pathetic little Omega—why does she get everything?"

For a long time afterward, she still appeared in my nightmares.

But I had never stopped to think carefully about why Breenda—who had only survived because my family took her in—despised me so deeply.

Or when exactly she and Basil had become so close.

I swallowed the chill rising in my chest, kept my voice steady, and replied to my mother: "All right. When? I'll get things ready."

"Don't worry about it—we'll handle everything. You just rest." Mother paused, then added, "Serena, listen to me. Be gentler with Basil tonight. You know how Alphas are—pride matters more to them than anything."

I didn't reply.

That same day, I reached out through a secret channel outside the pack and contacted an independent blood lineage specialist. I paid the rush fee and sent a sample of fur Caspian had shed at the ritual site after his Shift.

Then, through a separate line, I hired a roaming intelligence operative who moved between packs, tasking him with a full investigation into Basil's secret resource flows over the years.

Twelve hours later, the results came back.

I sat in the study for a long time before I opened the document.

I turned directly to the last line.

"Based on comparative blood lineage analysis, no parental relationship exists between Serena Whitmore and Caspian Delphinium."

Even though I'd already suspected, seeing it in black and white made my hands tremble uncontrollably.

Eighteen years.

I pressed down on the shaking in my hands and looked out the window. In the distance, the surface of Moon Lake lay still as a mirror, reflecting everything I once thought I would protect for a lifetime.

But now, nothing was what it had been.

The operative's preliminary report arrived shortly after.

From Basil's private vault, large shipments of moon coins, rare herbs, and forging materials had been sent to the border on a regular monthly basis. It had been going on for over twelve years.

The recipient was registered as a shell trading company—but the actual beneficiary was one person: Breenda.

The amounts were substantial. More than enough for someone in exile to live in extreme comfort.

The final note made my stomach clench.

[Breenda Whitmore owns a private estate in the exile territory, purchased nineteen years ago with full payment in moon coins.]

Nineteen years ago—the same year I was diagnosed as pregnant. The same year Breenda was sent away.

A horrifying theory began to form in my mind.

...

The weekend family dinner arrived on schedule.

Mother brought a full basket of ingredients. Father Harold helped unload at the door.

Breenda entered last.

She wore a silver-grey evening gown, her hair loosely pinned behind her ears, her gait unhurried—as though she were returning to a place that had always been hers.

"Serena." She smiled and walked toward me, arms open for an embrace.

I stepped aside.

Her smile stiffened for a flash, then recovered seamlessly.

"It's been so long. I brought you a gift."

The dining table was laden with dishes. Mother bustled in the kitchen; Father Harold and Basil discussed pack affairs in the living room.

Breenda naturally took the seat beside Basil. I frowned but said nothing.

Halfway through the meal, Breenda raised her glass to drink, and a necklace slipped from beneath her collar, catching the candlelight with a cold blue-white radiance.

My gaze locked onto it.

Moonstone.

—One of fewer than three such pieces on the entire continent.

I had seen it two years ago at a cross-pack auction. Sealed within the moonstone was a thread of true lunar essence. I had loved it desperately, but given the price, I ultimately never bid.

At the time, Basil had said: "If you can't bring yourself to spend it, then let it go. I'll find you something better later."

He never did.

Now it hung around Breenda's neck.

"Serena, are you looking at this?"

Breenda noticed my gaze. She smiled faintly, fingertips brushing the pendant.

"Basil said it was a welcome-home gift to celebrate my return to the pack. He really does have excellent taste—the color complements my hair perfectly."

Basil's hand tightened around his glass, but he said nothing.

Mother laughed and smoothed things over: "It's perfectly normal for family to exchange little gifts. Serena, don't be so petty."

I said nothing. I only fixed my gaze on Basil's face.

He looked away.

Breenda smiled again, her voice soft and seemingly harmless.

"Don't misunderstand, Serena. It's just that some things only shine when they're on the right person. This necklace, for instance—doesn't it look better on me?"

As she said it, her eyes bored directly into mine.

—Triumph. Disdain.

After dinner, Breenda volunteered to clear the dishes. Basil followed her to help.

I sat in the living room, listening to the sound of running water and fragmented murmurs. I couldn't make out the words, but Breenda's occasional laugh cut through with particular sharpness.

Mother sat down beside me.

"Serena, Breenda really did come back to help with pack duties. Look how much she's matured—volunteering to help and everything. You're the older sister. Don't be so stiff with her."

Father chimed in.

"Basil carries a heavy burden. It's good to have family pitching in. You need to be more open-minded. Stop holding grudges over old matters."

I turned to look at my father.

"Dad, Basil is your son-in-law. Breenda is your adopted daughter. Don't you think they're a little too close?"

Father's expression darkened.

"What nonsense. We raised Breenda—she's the same as you. What's wrong with helping her brother-in-law?"

"The same as me?" I echoed softly. "You were both at Caspian's Shift that night, weren't you?"

Both parents froze.

"Black-gold and silver-grey. Nothing to do with my moon-white. And you truly had no questions at all?"

Father's face hardened.

"Serena, what exactly are you trying to say?"

"I'm asking you—is Caspian my biological child or not?"

Mother shot to her feet.

"Serena! You can't just say things like that! How could Caspian not be your child? Are you having delusions again?"

Father slammed his palm on the armrest. "Enough! You really have gone mad! Basil is right—you need to see the healer!"

Their reaction extinguished the last flicker of hope in my heart.