After My Husband Took My Eyes, I Fled

Pain. That was all I knew as consciousness crept back into my world of darkness. My head throbbed with a dull ache that seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat. I reached out instinctively, searching for Jonathan's warmth beside me, but my fingers found only cold sheets.

Three days. It had been three days since the rogue attack that had stolen my sight. Three days of drifting in and out of consciousness, of Jonathan's gentle reassurances that everything would be okay, that we would get through this together.

I pushed myself up, wincing as pain shot through my body. Something felt wrong. Different. The sheets beneath my fingers weren't the silken ones Jonathan and I shared in our master bedroom. They were rough, scratchy—unfamiliar.

"Where am I?" I whispered into the darkness, my voice cracking from disuse.

"Finally awake, I see."

The voice wasn't Jonathan's. It was female, cold and sharp as winter ice. I knew that voice—Victoria Hayes. What was she doing in our pack house?

"Victoria?" I asked, confusion clouding my mind. "What are you—"

"That's Luna Victoria to you," she snapped. "And you'd better get up. There's work to be done. The Luna's quarters need to be prepared, and my daughter needs breakfast."

Luna? Her daughter? None of this made sense. I was Jonathan's mate. I was the Luna of Shadowmere Pack.

"There must be some mistake," I said, struggling to stand. My legs felt weak, unsteady. "I'm the Luna here. I'm Jonathan's mate."

Victoria's laugh was like glass shattering. "Oh, you poor, pathetic thing. You were never his mate. You were a means to an end, nothing more. A convenient donor with the right blood type and perfect vision."

Her words hit me like physical blows. "Donor? What are you talking about?"

"You'll figure it out soon enough," she said dismissively. "Now get moving. You're an Omega now, and Omegas serve. The kitchen is down the hall. Bring tea to the main room in fifteen minutes."

I heard her footsteps retreating, the door closing behind her with a decisive click. My hands trembled as I felt around the unfamiliar room—a small bed, a basic dresser, bare walls. All the personal touches, the photographs, the little gifts Jonathan had given me over our three years together—gone.

Somehow, I managed to dress myself and find my way to the kitchen, trailing my hand along the wall for guidance. The layout of the pack house was familiar enough that I could navigate by memory, even without my sight. The kitchen staff fell silent as I entered.

"Luna Mia," someone whispered uncertainly.

"It's just Mia now," I corrected, the words burning my throat. "I need to prepare tea."

Someone—Sarah, I thought, recognizing her gentle touch—guided me to the counter and helped me arrange a tea service. My fingers fumbled with the unfamiliar task, my whole life having been spent as a Beta's daughter and then an Alpha's mate, never as a servant.

I carried the tray carefully, counting steps,