Rowan knew how much I cared for him, and he twisted that against me. He kept me close, but always reminded me that his heart would never be mine. Every year, on our mating anniversary, March 17th, he'd give me a single rose on February 17th, the day he first met Selene.

A year into our bond, I found out I was pregnant. But when I told Rowan, he just sneered and said, "Deal with it." His words felt like a dagger: "You're not worthy of bearing my heir yet."

I couldn't bear the thought of bringing a child into such a loveless world, so I complied, burying the heartache deep. But when his parents found out, Rowan threw me under the bus, claiming, "She did it on her own. I had nothing to do with it."

The fury on his parents' faces was chilling. They unleashed a storm of scorn upon me, blaming me for everything. Despite my years of being the dutiful Luna, they looked down on me, insulting me, accusing me. The grief from the miscarriage left me too weak to defend myself. Rowan sat by in silent judgment, not a word of sympathy, not even a glance in my direction.

Months passed, and I found out I was pregnant again. But this time, I was determined to protect myself. I kept the truth hidden until I had all the records from the healer. Then, I placed the proof in front of him, watching his face closely.

His reaction was immediate and venomous. He slammed his fist onto the table, rising with a snarl. "Why did you do it, Luna? Why did you go behind my back to terminate my heir?"

I refused to cower. "Oh, so now I'm worthy of carrying your bloodline?"

His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. "What's the point in talking about it now? The pup's gone. You did this on purpose, didn't you? Spare me your theatrics, Luna. Stop trying to manipulate me with children."

The silence that followed was thick and tense, each word a public accusation, his voice slicing through the council's chambers. Elders and warriors exchanged shocked glances, whispers rippling through the room. Some thought Rowan had lost his mind; others just watched, stunned by his outburst.

Caden, standing uneasily by Rowan's side, looked like he was about to intervene. But Rowan noticed, and in an instant, his laughter erupted, sharp and bitter. "So, this was all a setup, wasn't it?"

He turned toward the door, raising his voice. "Luna! Come out already. Enough of this game! I see through your plan, and I'm done with your schemes!"

A bitter smile tugged at my lips. If only this were a ploy, a scene I had orchestrated. But for Rowan, this was all too real.

Caden pressed his hand to his forehead, his voice filled with resignation. "Rowan, if you don't believe this, go to the healer's hall. You know her body better than anyone… you'll recognize it."

Rowan's grin faltered, a shadow crossing his features. He looked around, seeing the somber faces, the silent, sober expressions. This wasn't a joke.

His gaze dropped to the report again, eyes tracing over the crimson seal, a mark that could never be faked.

His face went pale. Without another word, he turned on his heel and bolted, racing toward the healer's hall.

The sterile light of the healer's hall was cold, unfeeling, like the heartless truth that waited. Shadows clung to the corners, flickering like ghosts of the fallen. The sharp scent of antiseptic mingled with the stench of blood and earth. Rowan stood over the mangled body on the examination table, eyes wide, breathing shallow. My lifeless form lay there, unrecognizable. Three key parts were missing, my head, fingers, and an ankle.

He wanted to look away, to erase the sight of what remained. But something rooted him to the spot. He couldn't stop staring, forcing himself to confront the brutal reality of what had become of me. His gaze lingered on my exposed skin, as if searching for some trace of life.

Then, as if driven by an invisible force, Rowan reached out. His hand hovered over my ankle, hesitant yet drawn to it. Through the carnage, something faintly visible caught his eye, the tattoo. Our bond mark. It had been smudged, scraped, but it remained, defiant.

Rowan stumbled back, his body trembling, his voice a whisper of disbelief: "No… no, it can't be. How could it… be you?"

A cold breeze stirred through his mind, my voice slipping in like a shadow, soft yet clear: "Why not? That's me, Rowan."

His hand flew to his head, trying to block out the words, his eyes wide with horror. For a brief moment, he seemed lost, caught between denial and the undeniable truth staring back at him.

Desperation overcame him, propelling him to move, to somehow prove it wasn't me. He turned sharply, heading for the evidence chamber, his feet pounding against the cold floor. The door crashed open, nearly coming off its hinges as he stormed in, breaths coming in ragged bursts. The room held evidence bags, sealed, cold, and clinical, each one a silent testament to my end.

Rowan rifled through the bags, shaking hands scanning each label in a feverish panic. Finally, his fingers closed around a small pouch. Inside it, a tarnished wedding ring, our ring. It was scarred, worn, but unmistakably ours.

He held it up, staring at it in disbelief. Rowan's breath caught in his throat as he fumbled for a flashlight, shining the beam on the ring. The light caught on faint engravings, just enough for him to see the words still faintly etched there: "Rowan and Sabrina."

The world seemed to crumble beneath him. A quiet laugh, bitter and broken, escaped his lips. He sank slowly onto a bench, eyes vacant, staring at the ring. His fingers traced the metal over and over as if trying to will a different truth into being.

I stood there, my presence an intangible weight in the room. I had expected anger, maybe even relief, but what I saw instead was grief, deep and raw. Rowan hadn't let me go; he'd just buried the memories, thinking that would set him free. Now, holding the last remnants of our bond, he saw the truth.

Rowan's voice cracked as he whispered into the empty room, "I'm sorry."

But it was too late. I was gone, and he was left with nothing but the weight of his loss.