The moonlight bathed the rooftop in silver. Wolves from every social tier lined the ceremonial balcony of the Nightborne estate—nobles in tailored suits, pack leaders draped in wealth, and omega servants standing at the walls like furniture.
But tonight, one of them dared to step into the circle.
Dia.
Barefoot. Breath trembling. White ceremonial gown swaying around her ankles. She walked across polished stone, each step like thunder in her chest.
This was it. The pull she'd felt for weeks would be confirmed tonight. Her mate would step forward. She could feel the bond humming under her skin.
Her wolf knew.
He was here.
Ace Nightborne.
The Alpha.
He stood tall across from her—broad shoulders, black suit, face carved from steel. The Moonlight Ceremony had never looked so cruel.
"In the presence of the Moon," the Elder's voice rang out, "the bond is revealed. If any here have felt the pull of fate, step forward now."
Dia did. Her feet moved before her doubt could.
Gasps swept the crowd like wind through fire.
"An omega?"
"She's nothing—"
"She dares—"
But she didn't stop. She didn't look back.
She met Ace's eyes.
Something flickered there. Recognition. A breath of something real.
But then it vanished.
And what replaced it?
Cold.
Sharp.
Unforgiving.
Ace stepped forward and spoke the words like they meant nothing.
"I, Alpha Ace Nightborne, reject Dia of the Blue Mountain as my mate."
The words sliced through her.
"I will not bond with weakness. I will not stain my legacy. I will not claim someone unworthy of my name."
The Elder froze. So did the crowd.
Dia stood there, every part of her body locked in place.
Her heart… it didn't break.
It shattered.
Her wolf howled inside her mind—wounded, torn, desperate. Her knees buckled. She dropped to the stone floor, hands shaking, breath gone.
But Ace?
He didn't move.
He didn't blink.
He turned his back.
And at his side, Elora Vexmoor stepped forward. Luna candidate. Elegant. Poisonous.
She hooked her arm into his, smiling as if she'd won a prize.
"Elora Vexmoor accepts the Alpha's call," the Elder said weakly.
Cheers erupted. Laughter followed.
Dia was still on the ground.
Forgotten.
Humiliated.
Destroyed.
She curled in on herself, one hand trembling toward her lower belly.
Protect the child.
The world had just turned on her. But she wasn't alone inside her body.
And Ace—the man she thought the Moon chose for her?
Had just thrown her to the wolves.
They didn't lay a finger on her that night.
Not in front of the crowd. Not with the cameras rolling.
But the moment the rooftop ceremony ended, and the guests dispersed like wolves satisfied with blood, the real cruelty began.
Dia was dragged out of the ceremonial circle by two Nightborne guards—no healer, no sympathy. Just rough hands on bruised skin, like she wasn't even a breathing soul anymore.
They threw her into the back servants' wing. A cold room with peeling walls and a thin mattress on the floor.
No blankets.
No light.
Just the silence of a bond that had been torn at its root.
Her stomach twisted. Her wolf whimpered inside her. And she clutched her lower abdomen, instinctively, protectively.
"I'll keep you safe," she whispered, barely able to speak through the burning in her throat. "No matter what they do. I'll keep you safe."
---
The next morning, it began.
Small things, at first.
A meal skipped. Then two.
Hot water shut off in her quarters.
The healers refused to look her in the eye. The maids who once smiled when she passed now pretended she didn't exist.
But it wasn't until Lady Mirella Nightborne—Ace's mother—entered her room that the message became clear.
Dia stood as she always did. Shoulders back. Chin up. She wouldn't beg.
Lady Mirella circled her slowly, like a predator appraising prey that wasn't worth the kill.
"You embarrassed this family," she said coldly. "You humiliated my son in front of every Alpha and Elder."
"I stepped forward because I felt the bond," Dia said, voice steady.
"Of course you did," Mirella sneered. "Like every desperate little omega who wants to claw her way out of the dirt. But you don't belong here."
Dia didn't reply. She had learned long ago—silence was safer than pride.
"You will stay quiet," Mirella continued. "You will not speak to Ace. You will not make eye contact with him. You will clean your quarters and eat what you're given, when you're given it. Do that, and I won't have you dragged out like trash."
She leaned in closer, voice low and poisonous.
"And if I hear so much as a whisper that you're carrying his child, I will make sure you lose it."
Dia's heart froze.
But she didn't flinch.
---
Days passed.
Then weeks.
They gave her the worst shifts—laundry soaked in blood, floors on her knees for hours, windows in the cold.
She was slapped for walking too slowly. Kicked for breathing too loudly.
No one helped. No one dared.
Ace?
He never looked at her again.
Not once.
Dia kept her head down. Not for shame.
But for survival.
Because every time she thought about fighting back, her hand went to her belly.
The baby mattered more than revenge.
For now.
---
One morning, as she tried to sneak bread from the kitchen, a hard slap landed across her cheek.
"You think you can steal from this house?" Elora stood in the doorway, lips curled into a smirk. "After you tried to steal my mate?"
Dia stared at her, silent.
"You're just a parasite, feeding off scraps. Don't forget that."
Then Elora leaned in, low and sharp.
"Try to rise again, and I'll make sure you stay buried."
Dia didn't move.