Chapter 3

The first crack of thunder woke Cynthia from a dream she couldn't remember.

Her body reacted before her mind caught up. She reached for the edge of the bed—because Harry was afraid of thunderstorms, and Harry needed her, and she had soothed him through a hundred storms before, and—

And then her hand met cold, empty sheets.

She wasn't at the Radcliffe mansion anymore.

She was in a hotel room. Alone.

Cynthia lay still, her heart hammering against her ribs. The second thunderclap rolled across the sky, louder than the first, and her muscles tensed instinctively. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to get up, to get in the car, to go hold her son before he fell apart.

But then she heard their voices again.

"If you let them take Auntie Aurelia away, we will never call you Mom again."

"Why do you always make Daddy so angry?"

Harry's words. Justin's cold little face.

She closed her eyes and pressed her palm flat against the mattress to stop herself from moving.

The rain came down in sheets now, lashing against the hotel window like something furious. Cynthia watched it through the glass, her reflection pale and hollow in the dark.

"This storm won't last," she told herself. "It never does. And Harry has to learn to live without me sometime."

She had filed for divorce. She couldn't keep running back every time the sky growled.

Besides—the twins had Aurelia now. They had made their choice. Maybe they had already stopped needing Cynthia a long time ago. Maybe they had simply never told her.

She was still repeating that lie to herself when her phone buzzed.

Anna's name lit up the screen. Video call.

Cynthia's thumb moved before she could think. She answered.

Anna's face appeared, flushed and frantic. Behind her, Cynthia could hear Harry's ragged sobs cutting through the static.

"Luna Cynthia—thank the Moon—he won't calm down. Alpha Kane tried everything, but Harry just keeps screaming for you. Please, can you—"

"Put me on speaker," Cynthia said. Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "And turn the camera toward him."

The image shifted. Harry was curled on his bed, knees drawn to his chest, hands clamped over his ears. His small body shook with every wail.

Mama. Mama. I want Mama.

Cynthia's throat closed up. But she didn't let it show.

"Harry. Listen to my voice." She kept her tone calm, measured—the same voice she had used a hundred nights before. "I need you to take a breath. A big one. Can you do that for me?"

Harry's crying hitched. He didn't answer, but he didn't scream again either.

"Good," Cynthia continued. "Now I want you to look at the window. Count the raindrops. Just count them one by one until your heart stops racing. Anna, sit next to him. Don't touch him unless he asks. Just stay close."

Anna nodded and moved to the bed.

For a moment, it almost worked. Harry's sobs began to soften. His hands lowered from his ears.

And then Kane's voice cut through the room like a blade.

"Where are you?"

Cynthia's jaw tightened. She didn't answer.

"I said—" Kane grabbed the phone from Anna. His face filled the screen—jaw clenched, eyes blazing with barely contained fury. "Where the hell are you, Cynthia? Your son is terrified, and you're sitting in some hotel room playing therapist over a screen?"

"I'm helping him," Cynthia said quietly. "Which is more than you managed."

"Don't you dare—"

"My name is on the divorce papers you're holding," she cut him off. "I don't live there anymore. So you figure it out, Kane. You wanted me gone. You got it."

Kane's face darkened. "This is your son. Your child. And you're going to abandon him because of a tantrum at the police station?"

"Abandon him?" Cynthia's voice rose despite herself. "I spent five years raising those boys while you were out playing hero for my sister. I was there for every fever, every nightmare, every first word and first step. And the moment they chose her over me—the moment you chose her over me—you expect me to keep being the nanny you never had to pay?"

"You're twisting everything—"

"Am I? Who held Harry through every storm before tonight, Kane? Who made Justin's lunches and kissed his bruises and stayed up all night when he had the flu? Not you. Not Aurelia. Me. I did all of it. And you know what I got in return? A slap in the face. A confession I was supposed to sign away my freedom for. And two little boys who looked me in the eye and told me they'd never call me Mom again."

Her voice cracked on the last word.

Kane opened his mouth—but before he could speak, a smaller face appeared beside him on the screen.

Justin.

He didn't look sorry. He looked furious. His eyes—Kane's eyes—glared at her with a coldness that made Cynthia's chest ache.

"You're a bad mom," Justin said, his little voice shaking with anger. "Harry was crying and you didn't even come. Auntie Aurelia would never stay away when we need her."

The words hit like stones.

Cynthia stared at her son's face—her firstborn, her boy, the one she had held in her arms and promised to love forever—and saw a stranger looking back.

She didn't cry. Not this time.

"Then call her," Cynthia said quietly. "She can have my storms too."

She hung up.

The room went silent except for the rain.

Cynthia sat on the edge of the bed for a long moment, the phone heavy in her hand. Then she stood up, walked to the minibar, and poured herself a glass of wine.

Her hands were shaking.

She drank anyway.

The first sip burned. The second sip steadied her. The third sip tasted almost like nothing at all.

She was just beginning to breathe again when her phone buzzed.

Kane: How could you do that?

Kane: What kind of mother acts like this?

Kane: Those are YOUR children, Cynthia.

Kane: Come to my office tomorrow. We're ending this properly. My boys deserve better than someone who walks out when things get hard.

She watched the messages flood in, one after another. Each one another nail in the coffin of her marriage. Each one another reminder of exactly why she was leaving.

When the buzzing finally stopped, she typed a single reply.

Cynthia: Fine.

Then she set the phone down, finished her wine, and let the rain wash the rest of the night away.

Cynthia arrived at Aurora Group the next morning before the sun had fully cleared the skyline.

The building towered above her—glass and steel and everything she had never been allowed to touch. Parker met her in the lobby and escorted her upstairs to the executive floor. His expression was carefully neutral, the way it always had been when he stood by and watched Kane chip away at her piece by piece.

"Alpha Kane is in a meeting," Parker said as he opened the office door. "He asked you to wait."

Of course he did.

Cynthia stepped inside and let the door close behind her.

The office was vast—all dark wood and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Everything about it spoke of power, wealth, and control. Everything about it belonged to Kane.

She had never set foot in here before.

Five years as his Luna. Five years married to the most powerful Alpha in the city. And he had never once invited her into this part of his life. Other Lunas led alongside their Alphas. They sat in on pack meetings, advised on territory decisions, stood as equals at their mates' sides.

Cynthia had done none of that. She had been kept in the mansion like a bird in a gilded cage—seen when convenient, ignored when not.

She wandered slowly around the room, her fingers brushing the edge of his desk, the spine of a book she had never seen him read. Everything here was a reminder of how little she knew about the man she had married.

Then her gaze landed on the couch.

A green silk scarf lay draped over the armrest. Careless. Casual. As if it belonged there.

Cynthia picked it up. The fabric was soft, expensive—and familiar.

Aurelia's.

She let out a short, hollow laugh. Kane had always prided himself on keeping his work separate from his personal life. He had told Cynthia, more than once, that she had no place here because business was business.

And yet her sister's things were scattered across his office like fallen leaves.

How predictable.

She dropped the scarf back onto the couch and checked her watch. Fifteen minutes had passed. Then thirty. Then forty-five.

Kane was making her wait. Deliberately. Playing his little power games even now, when she had come to hand him exactly what he wanted.

Cynthia was reaching for her bag to leave when the office door swung open.

Aurelia stepped inside first, her arm linked loosely through Justin's. Harry trailed behind them, clutching a stuffed wolf Cynthia had bought him two Christmases ago.

Then Aurelia turned, and Cynthia saw what she was wearing.

A cream silk dress. Delicate lace at the collar. Buttons shaped like tiny roses.

Cynthia's breath caught.

She knew that dress. It was hers.