Natalie’s POV Sharon’s head lolled back. A rough, hollow laugh tore from her throat—stripped of sweetness, stripped of pretense. “I fisted her hair,” Sharon blurted out suddenly. “I smashed her head against the rusted pipes in the cellar just to see the blood curtain her eyes. I wanted her to remember she was born to be my punching bag and nothing more.” A collective gasp rippled through the lodge. Jensen staggered back as if struck. Sharon turned to me with the same glossy look. “You took eighteen years of my life.” She took a step closer towards Jensen. The color drained from his face as he stared at the woman he had just bonded with. “And I would do it again… and again… and—” “Sharon, shut up!” Quincy Summers shrieked, lunging forward and dragging her daughter away. Her perfect bun was unraveling now, strands of hair sticking to her damp face as she spun toward the crowd, eyes blazing with an emotion I couldn’t quite understand. “Alpha Jensen, don’t listen! She’s not herself!” she cried, stabbing a shaking finger at me. “It’s Natalie! She’s used witchcraft to poison our poor girl. She’s twisted Sharon’s mind!” She clutched Jensen’s arm, frantic. “It’s the Moon Sickness! You know how it ravages the brain. My daughter is a saint—a dying saint!” Then she turned on me. Her eyes were narrow, filled with eighteen years of practiced contempt. “Natalie, I raised you. I gave you a table. A roof. And this is how you repay us? By poisoning your sister when she is at her weakest? What sort of a monster are you?” Jordan rushed forward, pulling Sharon to himself. “It’s a trick!” he roared. “Guards, seize her! She is an enemy of the pack!” The guards didn’t move. They were watching their Alpha unravel. Arthur turned his back on the parents and stepped closer to Sharon, ignoring Jensen behind her, his voice dropping into something low and lethal. “You want to blame the Moon Sickness, Miss Sharon?” he asked. “Then tell the Alpha how you treated her.” “Ooh, I’ll tell you everything,” Sharon chimed dreamily. “I used to pour salt water on the fresh cuts. It made her jump. It made me feel like the Alpha I was meant to be.” Her parents grabbed her from Jensen, hands shaking, voices overlapping in frantic attempts to silence her. They looked like cornered animals. Jordan turned to Arthur with a look that could kill if looks could kill. “You!” he roared. “Why did you do this? Why did you fabricate this lie by poisoning her?” Arthur didn’t flinch. “I didn’t fabricate the lie, Alpha Jordan,” he said quietly. Then he looked at Quincy, still holding her daughter. “Tell him, Miss Sharon. Tell the Alpha if you are lying.” Sharon’s head snapped toward Jensen. “I’m not. I wish she had died in that cellar.” The silence that followed was more violent than any roar. Slowly, I stood. My legs trembled. I watched the Summers’ reputation turn to ash. I watched Jensen’s world collapse. He turned toward me, lips parting, searching for words—as if there was still something he could say that might stitch five years of my life back together. I looked at him. And for the first time… I felt nothing. No love. No anger. Nothing. The love I had carried for five years evaporated like mist. I didn’t want his apology. I didn’t want his regret. I didn’t even want his realization. In fact, they deserve each other. I tore my gaze from him and fixed it on the heavy oak doors at the far end of the Lodge. I made myself a promise. The next time I crossed that threshold, I would never look back. My life in the cellar was over. And Jensen Luke was no longer a man I needed to save. I was done. “Enough!” Jensen’s voice suddenly cracked, filling the silence. His Alpha aura slammed outward, his wolf clearly present. His eyes glowed as he turned to me. “Put your clothes on, Natalie. We will settle this in private.” Private. Where no one would hear the truth. Where my identity would be stolen and given to Sharon. I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. I wasn’t affected by his alpha tone because I had no wolf, and for the first time I was happy about that. I turned to him and back at the oak doors. And suddenly, the energy in the room shifted. The door didn’t just open; it groaned. A deep vibration rolled through the Lodge, rattling the chandeliers, forcing wolves into instinctive defense. A man stepped inside. He wasn’t dressed like a warrior or an elder. He wore a charcoal-grey suit tailored to perfection. He walked with slow, predatory control, as if the room already belonged to him. As he passed the guards, Jensen’s lead enforcer—a man who had torn rogues apart with his bare hands—took an unconscious step back. Fear. Real fear. The stranger stopped in front of me. He ignored the Council. Ignored Jensen. His amber eyes locked on the silver scars crossing my back. “And you are?” Jensen demanded, voice thick with threat. The man didn’t answer him. He removed his coat and draped it around my shoulders. “The man wondering why a True Transcriber is being treated like a slave.” His voice was calm. It carried everywhere. “You’re in the wrong pack,” Jensen hissed. “Jensen, he’s nobody!” Sharon shrieked. “Arthur is a traitor!” Jensen looked at my back. At the scars he had once treated. He knew. Then he looked at the Accord. His power. His throne. He chose to support the lie. “Natalie, leave,” he commanded. “Take your friend and go. We will pretend none of this happened.” He expected me to obey like I always had. I didn’t. “I’m not stopping,” I said quietly. The words shook the room. “Bring the texts. Let’s see who the real Keeper is. If Sharon can read the Second Chapter without the ink burning her skin, I’ll walk out and never speak again.” The man beside me chuckled softly. “A fair challenge,” he murmured. “Unless the Nightfang Alpha is afraid.”