Iris’s POV

Pain. White-hot and merciless, tearing through my insides like claws.

I couldn’t focus on Sebastien anymore, couldn’t even process what was happening. One moment he was on top of me, his hands rough against my skin, and the next—this crippling agony radiating from my stomach.

I curled into myself, arms wrapped tight around my middle. The tearing of my nightgown didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered except the pain.

“Stop it,” Sebastien growled, his weight shifting off me. “This act won’t work.”

I couldn’t even respond. My body contracted with another wave of pain so intense I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood, desperate not to cry out. My wolf instincts were going haywire, urging me to curl tighter, to protect my vulnerable belly.

“Original performance,” Sebastien’s voice cut through my haze. “But we both know you’re faking.”

He thinks I’m pretending to avoid him? Even in my agony, the irony wasn’t lost on me. For two years, I’d have given anything for his touch, and now when he finally wanted me—even if just physically—I couldn’t.

“You…” I gasped, the word barely audible through clenched teeth. “You can smell… pain pheromones.”

Any wolf could. It was basic instinct—the ability to detect when another pack member was truly injured.

“So you’re that committed to your little show?” His voice was closer now, skeptical but with a hint of something else. Confusion, maybe.

I forced my eyes open, vision blurry with tears. “You… always think… the worst…”

Another spasm hit, and I couldn’t hold back a whimper. The room started to spin, darkness creeping in from the edges.

The last thing I heard was Sebastien’s voice, suddenly sharp with what sounded almost like concern: “Iris?”

Then nothing.

Brightness stabbed at my closed eyelids. Antiseptic smells flooded my sensitive nose, mixed with the unmistakable scent markers of other wolves—medical staff. My body felt strangely weightless, my wolf presence muted by what I recognized as sedatives specifically designed for our kind.

Hospital. I’m in a hospital.

I forced my eyes open, squinting against the harsh fluorescent lights. White ceiling, white walls, medical equipment. The private wing of Moonshade Bay Hospital—the section reserved for wolves who needed care that regular human doctors couldn’t provide.

How did I get here?

My last memory was of Sebastien hovering over me, his face transitioning from mockery to… something else. Had he brought me here? The thought seemed impossible given how convinced he’d been that I was faking.

I tried to sit up, but my body protested with a dull ache in my stomach—nothing like the searing pain from before, but still uncomfortable. Through the window, I could see darkness had fallen. The moon hung visible between clouds, not quite full but getting there. No one else was in the room, but I could hear the soft footsteps of wolf nurses in the hallway, their low murmurs as they discussed patients.

The door opened quietly, and a middle-aged man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper hair stepped in. Dr. Collins—I recognized him from pack gatherings.

“Mrs. Grey,” he said softly, his voice gentle as he approached. He subtly tested the air around me, a wolf’s way of assessing another’s condition. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” I managed, my voice rough. “What happened?”

He checked the monitors beside my bed. “You had a severe gastritis attack, combined with the effects of alcohol. The combination caused you to lose consciousness. Fortunately, you were brought in quickly.”

I almost laughed. Gastritis—a condition I’d developed from all the mandatory social drinking at wolf community events. The irony that Sebastien, who could smell every change in my body chemistry, had never once noticed my discomfort at these functions wasn’t lost on me.

“I’ve run several tests,” Dr. Collins continued, retrieving a folder from the end of my bed. “There’s something you should see.”

He handed me the papers, his expression carefully neutral. “Review these yourself first. There are some… special circumstances.”

My hands trembled slightly as I took the folder. The first page contained standard blood work results, but my eyes immediately caught the bold text at the bottom:

Pregnancy Test: POSITIVE (est. 4 weeks)

My breath caught in my throat. Pregnant? Four weeks… which meant that night. The night Sebastien had mistaken me for Megan.

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