Chapter 4

I spent the entire night deleting.

Every photo of Lucien on my Instagram.

Every tagged post from Moreau Foundation events.

Every appearance where I’d stood beside him like a perfectly docile wolf-in-waiting—

the human façade he preferred, the muted version of the wolf I truly was.

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

My follower count dropped from 4,000 to 300.

All those followers had been Moreau pack affiliates anyway—wolves who’d only followed me because Lucien claimed me.

My finger hovered over the final photo: our engagement announcement.

“She said yes to forever! ❤️

— Lucien & lara”

His wolf aura had been all over that post, a subtle Alpha flex meant to warn others away.

Delete.

At 3 AM, my phone buzzed with an email from an unknown sender.

Subject:

You need to see this.

Inside:

A photo of Brielle’s hand wearing the yellow diamond—

the Moreau heirloom Alpha-engagement ring.

But the date stamp was from yesterday.

The same day as my mother’s funeral.

In the background, reflected faintly in a window—

Lucien.

On one knee.

His wolf aura glowing faintly around him in proposal instinct.

The message:

He proposed to her. Thought you deserved to know.

I stared at the screen until my eyes burned.

He had proposed to Brielle—

while I was burying my mother.

While my suppressed wolf instincts were grieving and fractured.

While my human heart was breaking.

I screenshot everything.

Created a folder titled Evidence.

Then I laughed.

A sharp, brittle sound that didn’t feel human at all.

More like the bitter laugh of a wolf pushed past the edge.

“Thank you, Lucien,” I whispered.

“Thank you for making this so easy.”

Morning came with a knock on my door.

Mrs. Turner stood there, holding two cups of coffee.

Her eyes, human and kind, somehow saw more truth than a wolf’s heightened senses ever could.

“You didn’t sleep.”

“How can you tell?”

“Your mother had the same look after your father left.”

A memory flickered—the last night before I ran at sixteen, unable to control my wolf instincts under Vincent Carver’s shadow.

Mrs. Turner had always suspected.

Always seen what others missed.

She walked in and set the coffee down.

“Your mother told me things. About who your father really is.”

My spine stiffened.

“She made me promise never to tell that boy’s family.” Mrs. Turner’s voice gentled. “She said you left that world behind.”

“Maybe I did,” I said. “But now? That world is the only one that makes sense.”

Mrs. Turner looked at me for a long moment.

“What did you find?”

I handed her the veterinary bill.

She read it twice.

Her hands started trembling.

“He knew.”

“He knew.”

“That’s not negligence,” she whispered.

“That’s—”

“Murder,” I finished. “Indirect, but murder.”

“You can’t let them bury this.”

“I won’t.”

She gripped my hand with surprising strength.

“Your mother always said you were a star. Don’t let wolves—

human or otherwise—make you small again.”

After she left, I sat at my laptop and began to dig.

I typed:

Brielle Vale Wolfguard attack incident

Three results.

All buried deep.

All settled quietly.

All handled by Moreau family lawyers.

The Moreaus had been covering for her for years.

Of course they had.

The Vales were politically valuable—wolf-adjacent elites.

I kept digging.

Cross-referenced hospital records.

Found the victims:

A jogger.

A delivery driver.

A six-year-old child.

Twenty-two stitches.

Trauma counseling.

Non-disclosure agreement with the Moreau family seal.

My stomach turned.

Lucien had helped cover up an attack on a child.

To protect Brielle.

To protect her Wolfguard.

I made copies of everything.

Sent them all to my father.

My phone rang in under three minutes.

“Elara.”

His voice wasn’t angry.

It was calm.

Controlled.

Dangerous.

“Daddy.”

“I saw what you sent.” A pause.

“Say the word, and the Moreau pack will crumble by morning.”

God, it was tempting.

But revenge wasn’t what I wanted.

Not yet.

“Not yet,” I whispered. “I want them to see it coming.”

A low exhale.

“You sound like me.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“It’s a warning,” he said.

“Revenge is poison. It feels good going down, but it destroys you from the inside.”

I swallowed.

“But what do I do?”

“You don’t destroy them,” he said.

“You simply remove yourself from their world so completely that they realize they never deserved you.”

His words settled inside me—

not as comfort, but as clarity.

“The car will be there at dawn,” he added.

“Bring everything you want to keep.

Leave everything that kept you small.”

I hung up and stared at the scattered papers, screenshots, and shards of my old life.

My wolf instincts hummed, restless and awakening.

I wasn’t running this time.

I was walking away—

the way wolves did when they realized the pack they chose wasn’t worthy.