Seraphina’s POV
The air felt thick, suffocating. Not from lack of oxygen, but from the weight of my mother’s disapproval pressing down on like a physical force. Her gaze cut through , sharp and unforgiving, each glance a silent accusation that made my lungs constrict.
The familiar ache blood in my chest, that old wound that never quite healed. Her eyes held the sa icy coldness I rembered, like winter morning frost that never lts. They carried the echo of our last encounter, every harsh word, every disappointnt she believed I had caused. Each stare was a wordless indictnt of sins she was certain I had committed.
I understood that people rarely transform overnight, that wounds take ti to nd. Yet so foolish corner of my heart had dared to hope that my absence might have softened sothing in her. Perhaps the distance had created space for understanding, for a crack in her armor of resentnt. It was a naive dream that her glacial stare imdiately shattered.
"Do you have sothing to say for yourself?" The words fell from her lips like ice chips, devoid of any maternal warmth. Her stare bore into , and I recognized exactly what she expected. An apology. She wanted to grovel for forgiveness, to take responsibility for their failures, their indifference, their inability to love . She expected to shoulder the bla for wounds they had inflicted, to beg for scraps of affection they had never offered.
The urge to laugh, bitter and hollow, rose in my throat. I swallowed it down.
"There’s nothing I need to say to you," I replied, deliberately turning my face away. Never again would I allow them to make question my worth.
My eyes found refuge in the faded floral wallpaper, tracing the worn patterns rather than eting her condemning gaze. Anywhere but her face, anywhere but those eyes that reflected my own anguish while offering nothing in return. Speaking those words felt like a small victory, a fragile barrier against the tsunami of her judgnt.
The living room door didn’t simply open—it exploded inward, slamming against the wall with violent force. Roxanne stord through, radiating fury like heat from a forge. Her cheeks blazed crimson, her hair disheveled as if she had run through a windstorm. Her eyes bypassed Mother entirely, locking onto with laser focus, burning with accusation and pure hatred.
Nausea rolled through my stomach. Seeing her face brought everything flooding back—the image of her and Julian entwined, the betrayal that had carved out my heart and left it bleeding.
"You!" The word erupted from her like venom. Her rage seed to electrify the very air around us. "This is your doing, isn’t it? You convinced Julian to banish ! You’re eaten alive by jealousy, Seraphina, you always have been! Jealous that the pack accepted , jealous that I found my place there!"
She straightened with righteous indignation, her voice climbing to near hysteria. "Jealous that everyone noticed instead of invisible little you! This is your revenge, getting expelled from the Zenith Moon Fang!"
A sharp intake of breath escaped , the accusation hitting like a physical blow. Her words were so absurd, so twisted, they left reeling.
Jealous? If I was honest, yes—part of had been consud by envy. Envious of how effortlessly she won people over, envious of the connection she had forged with Julian, my mate. But for her to stand there, seething with accusation after what she had done, after she had shattered every bond of trust between us... it revealed the true depth of her selfishness. My anger, which had been simring beneath the surface, suddenly roared to life.
"Expelled?" I echoed, the word leaving a tallic taste on my tongue. "Roxanne, I have no idea what you’re referring to. And even if I did, why would I concern myself with your pack status?"
I bit back the real truth hovering on my lips: because you betrayed with my mate. The words burned unspoken, a scream trapped in my throat. What was the point of voicing it? She had already claid victory in the most devastating way imaginable.
Honestly, I had no understanding of why Julian had suddenly sent her away. After discovering their affair, I had retreated completely, giving them the freedom to pursue whatever they wanted while I tried to rebuild the shattered pieces of myself. Or at least, that’s what I told myself.
Mother had been observing the confrontation with barely concealed satisfaction. Now she moved, positioning herself between us like a shield, instantly forming her familiar protective barrier around Roxanne.
"Seraphina, what is this nonsense? Your sister is clearly distressed. What have you done now?" Her tone already convicted , the sa automatic assumption of my guilt that had poisoned my entire childhood.
"I haven’t done anything," I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of her imdiate condemnation.
I knew she would never believe . My words had never carried weight in this house, never been enough to earn the benefit of doubt. But her blatant favoritism, leaving standing alone and defenseless, felt like a fresh wound splitting open.
"Everything was peaceful before you returned, and nothing has been right since," Roxanne continued, her words calculated to inflict maximum damage.
Those familiar phrases, that well-worn refrain, should have lost their power by now. She had hurled them at so many tis that they had beco background noise, a constant drumbeat of bla. I thought I had grown immune to their sting.
My gaze drifted, drawn by so masochistic compulsion, to Roxanne’s throat. A delicate silver chain caught the light, supporting small, luminous moonstones that seed to glow with an inner radiance.
The world tilted. My breath caught in my chest as recognition crashed over like a tidal wave.
Those were my moonstones. Julian had presented them to during our first weeks at Zenith Grounds, a token of what I believed was genuine affection and promise. My first gift from him, treasured and worn close to my heart as a symbol of love I now knew to be counterfeit.
My eyes traveled downward to her wrist, where silver glinted beneath her sleeve. A bracelet adorned with intricate wolf figures, their tiny forms frozen in eternal howls of longing. Another gift from Julian, given on my birthday with words about our unbreakable bond, two souls running together through eternity.
The carefully constructed walls I had built around my heart, the barriers that had protected through betrayal and abandonnt and endless criticism, crumbled to dust.
These weren’t random pieces of jewelry. They were my treasures, my mories transford into trophies of conquest. My pain made tangible, worn casually as if she had every right to claim them.
My throat felt raw, my mouth filled with the taste of copper and grief. When I finally spoke, my voice erged as barely more than a whisper, thick with rage that threatened to consu everything in its path.
"Roxanne," I said, her na scraping against my throat like broken glass. "Where did you get those?"
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