The moon was full when Mira Whitmore returned to Ravencrest Manor. She'd checked her cycle three times before making the drive from the medical center where she'd been working late. Ovulation peaked tonight—her body's brief window of fertility that had become the only reason her husband came home anymore.
The manor loomed against the night sky, all dark stone and darker windows. Only the master bedroom glowed with warm light. Kieran was already here, waiting. Of course he was. Selene would have reminded him. His mother tracked Mira's cycle more carefully than Mira did herself.
Mira parked her modest sedan next to Kieran's sleek black SUV and sat for a moment, hands still gripping the steering wheel. Through the windshield, she could see that lit window. Her bedroom. Their bedroom. Though it hadn't felt like "theirs" in years.
Just get through tonight, she told herself. Maybe this time will be different.
She cut off the thought. Four years of "maybes" hadn't changed anything yet.
The house was quiet when she entered, her footsteps echoing on marble floors. The butler, Fletcher, appeared from the shadows with his usual impeccable timing.
"Luna," he greeted with a respectful nod. "The Alpha is upstairs."
"Thank you, Fletcher."
She climbed the grand staircase, each step heavier than the last. The master bedroom door was ajar, light spilling into the hallway. Mira pushed it open.
Kieran stood by the window, phone pressed to his ear, his back to her. He was already dressed in sleeping pants and nothing else, his broad shoulders tense. Even from across the room, Mira could feel the restless energy of his wolf—impatient, duty-bound, wanting this over with.
"I'll call you back," Kieran said into the phone, his voice low and warm in a way it never was with her anymore. He ended the call without waiting for a response and finally turned to face her.
Alpha Kieran Ravencrest was objectively beautiful. Dark hair, sharp features, eyes that shifted between gray and gold depending on how close his wolf was to the surface. When they'd first met six years ago, Mira had thought herself the luckiest woman alive to be chosen as his mate.
Now she just felt tired.
"You're late," he said, glancing at his watch.
"I had a patient emergency. A child with a severe allergic reaction. I couldn't just leave."
"You're a healer, not a doctor. There are others who could have handled it."
But I'm the best one, Mira wanted to say. Instead, she said nothing and moved toward the bathroom.
"Don't take too long," Kieran called after her. "I have an early morning."
Of course he did. He always had somewhere else to be.
Mira showered quickly, trying to wash away the feeling that she was preparing for a transaction rather than intimacy with her husband. When she emerged in her nightgown, Kieran was already in bed, scrolling through his phone with a slight frown.
He looked up when she approached, and for just a moment—so brief she might have imagined it—something flickered in his expression. Recognition, maybe. Or memory of what they used to be.
Then it was gone.
"Come here," he said, setting his phone aside.
Mira slid into bed beside him, and Kieran reached for her with practiced efficiency. His hands were familiar but not gentle, his touch skilled but not tender. He knew exactly how to prepare her body for what came next—four years of scheduled encounters had made him efficient.
But efficiency wasn't the same as desire.
The act itself was mercifully quick. Kieran had always been considerate of her physical comfort, even as he'd grown indifferent to everything else. When it was over, he rolled away immediately, chest rising and falling with measured breaths.
Mira lay still, staring at the ceiling, feeling the familiar emptiness that came after these encounters.
Once upon a time, they would have stayed tangled together, talking and laughing until dawn. Now the silence was so heavy it hurt to breathe through it.
Kieran got up without a word and headed to the bathroom. Mira heard water running, the sounds of him washing her off his skin. When he emerged, he was already half-dressed.
"Remember to take a pregnancy test," he said, buttoning his shirt with brisk movements. "Let me know immediately if it's positive."
"Where are you going?" The question slipped out before Mira could stop it.
"Back to the city." Kieran didn't look at her as he fastened his belt. "I have meetings tomorrow."
Meetings. That's what he called the time he spent with Astrid Sinclair, his mistress. The she-wolf he'd been openly involved with for three years now, whose existence everyone in the pack knew about but pretended not to see.
Mira pushed herself up on her elbows. "Kieran—"
"What?" He finally looked at her, and the impatience in his eyes made her chest tight.
"Could we... could we talk? About us?"
"Us?" Kieran's brow furrowed as if the concept confused him. "What about us?"
"Our marriage. We never see each other anymore. You only come home when—" She gestured helplessly at the bed between them.
"When it's time to try for an heir," Kieran finished bluntly. "Yes. That's the priority right now."
"But what about after? What if I do get pregnant? Will things change?"
For a long moment, Kieran just stared at her with those cold gray eyes. Then he picked up his jacket from the chair and shrugged it on.
"If you give me a son," he said carefully, "then we can discuss what comes next. Until then, I don't see the point in this conversation."
If you give me a son. Not "when we have a child together." Not "when our family grows." Just another transaction. Another duty to be fulfilled.
"And if it's another daughter?" Mira whispered.
Kieran's jaw tightened. "Let's hope it's not."
He moved toward the door, and desperation flared in Mira's chest.
"Kieran, please. Can't we at least try to—"
"I'll be home next month," he interrupted, not turning around. "Same schedule. Make sure you're here."
Then he was gone, the door closing with a soft click that sounded like a cell lock engaging.
Mira sat in the big empty bed, surrounded by silk sheets that smelled like nothing, in a room that had never felt like home. Slowly, she reached for her phone on the nightstand. Her fingers moved on autopilot, opening the social media app, typing in the name she'd memorized against her will.
Astrid Sinclair's profile loaded—public, always public, like she wanted the world to see her happiness. The latest post was from twenty minutes ago. A photo of a champagne glass catching candlelight, the edge of a masculine hand visible across the table. The caption read: "Perfect endings to perfect days ✨"
The post already had dozens of likes. Mira scrolled down, torturing herself with evidence of her husband's real life. Astrid at pack gatherings Mira wasn't invited to. Astrid laughing at restaurants Kieran had never taken Mira to. Astrid wearing jewelry Mira recognized from Kieran's favorite boutique.
A life in full color, while Mira existed in grayscale.
Her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. Mira opened it and immediately wished she hadn't.
He says you have pretty eyes when you cry. Does he make you cry a lot?
The message was unsigned, but Mira knew it was from Astrid. It wasn't the first time the other woman had sent her cruel little reminders of who really mattered to Kieran.
Mira deleted the message and set her phone down with shaking hands. She should feel rage, shouldn't she? Heartbreak? Something hot and sharp and alive?
Instead, she just felt numb.
Her eyes fell on the bathroom counter, where three pregnancy tests sat waiting. She'd bought them on the way home, ever-prepared, ever-dutiful.
But as she stared at them, something stirred in her memory. The fatigue that had plagued her for weeks. The nausea she'd hidden during morning rounds. The way her body felt different, changed.
She'd suspected. Deep down, she'd known.
Mira walked to the bathroom and unwrapped one of the tests, following the familiar routine. While she waited for the result, she caught her own reflection in the mirror. When had she started looking so hollowed out? When had the light gone out of her eyes?
The timer on her phone chimed. Mira looked down at the test in her hand.
Two pink lines.
Positive.
She'd suspected for weeks—the fatigue, the nausea she'd hidden. But seeing it confirmed made everything terrifyingly real.
