Chapter 4
The glow of the television screen painted the darkened living room in harsh, flickering blues. I sat on the edge of the sofa, a cashmere blanket wrapped tight around my shoulders, watching the fall of the untouchables.
"Breaking News," the anchor announced, her voice grave. "Freya Wilson, daughter of real estate mogul Victoria Wilson, has been taken into custody."
The footage was shaky, shot from a helicopter. It showed the sprawling Wilson estate, usually a fortress of privacy, now swarming with police cruisers. Freya was being led out in silk pajamas, her hair a chaotic mess, hands cuffed behind her back. She was screaming at the officers, her face twisted in a mask of entitled rage, but for the first time, no one was listening.
The scene cut to a grainy clip from inside a dive bar in Queens. Trenton was there, slumped over a sticky table, surrounded by empty shot glasses. When the officers grabbed him, he didn't fight. He looked small. Pathetic. The arrogant Alpha who had tormented me for years was just a drunk man in a cheap suit.
"They have them," River said softly from behind me. He placed a warm hand on my shoulder, his touch grounding me.
"I know," I whispered. I felt a grim, cold satisfaction settle in my chest, but it was hollow. Seeing them in handcuffs didn't fill the empty space in my womb. It didn't bring my son back.
That hollowness followed me into sleep. That night, the nightmare was more vivid than ever. I was back in the clinic, the smell of antiseptic choking me. I felt the shove, the hard impact of the floor, the tearing pain. I heard Freya laughing, the sound distorting into a demonic shriek.
I woke up screaming, thrashing against the sheets.
"Marilyn! I've got you. You're safe!" River was there instantly, pulling me into his chest.
I shoved him away, panic still coursing through my veins. "No! Don't look at me!" I gasped, curling into a ball. "I'm broken, River. I'm just... I'm damaged goods. You shouldn't be here. You deserve a real Luna, not this... this mess."
The air in the room shifted. The pressure dropped. River didn't argue. He didn't offer empty platitudes. Instead, there was the sound of tearing fabric and the crack of bone rearranging.
A massive, midnight-black wolf took his place on the bed. His eyes were molten gold, glowing in the darkness. He was terrifying to the world, a lethal Lycan Prince, but to me, he was home.
The wolf lowered his massive head and rested it gently on my shaking knees. He let out a low chuff, a sound that vibrated through my bones, chasing away the phantom pain. He didn't need words. His weight, his heat, his silent presence was a promise: *I am not going anywhere.*
I buried my hands in his thick fur, sobbing until the tears ran dry, anchored by the beast who loved me.
A week later, the battle moved from the bedroom to the courtroom. I wasn't strong enough to attend the pre-trial hearing, so I waited by the phone while Marcus Stone went to war.
The defense team, hired by Freya’s father, tried to bury us. They filed a motion to dismiss the medical tampering evidence, claiming the poisoned vitamins were circumstantial, that there was no proof Trenton had been the one to dose them.
But Marcus was brilliant. He didn't just bring arguments; he brought a ghost. He subpoenaed the pharmacist from my old pack—a man Trenton had bribed years ago to compound the wolfsbane into my prenatal supplements. Under oath, the man cracked.
When Marcus called that afternoon, his voice was triumphant. "The judge ruled it admissible, Marilyn. All of it. The tampering, the bribery, the history of abuse. This isn't just an assault case anymore. It's attempted murder."
We had won a major victory, but my body didn't feel like a winner. For days, a persistent nausea had been clinging to me. I blamed the stress, the trauma, the sleepless nights. But when the smell of River’s morning coffee sent me running to the bathroom to retch, a terrified thought took root.
"Dr. Chen is on her way," River said, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, his face pale with worry. "Marilyn, you're burning up."
"It's just the flu," I lied, trying to convince myself. "It has to be."
It wasn't.
An hour later, Dr. Chen sat on the edge of our bed, holding a portable ultrasound device. The silence in the room was deafening. I held my breath, preparing for bad news, preparing to hear that my body had finally failed completely.
"Marilyn," Dr. Chen said softly, turning the screen toward us. "Look."
There, in the center of the grainy black and white image, was a tiny, flickering pulse.
"You're pregnant," she confirmed. "About six weeks."
The world tilted. Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the joy. "No," I whispered, my hands flying to my stomach. "I can't. I can't lose another one. It's too soon. The trial... the stress..."
River dropped to his knees beside the bed. His eyes were wide, shimmering with tears and a fierce, golden light. He looked at the screen, then at me, his expression hardening into something unbreakable.
"You won't lose this one," River vowed, his voice a low growl that rumbled with the power of his Lycan blood. "Cancel everything, Marcus. Clear my schedule. I don't care about the board, I don't care about the stock price."
He took my hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles, his gaze intense. "No one knows. Not the press, not the family, no one. This penthouse becomes a fortress. I will burn the world down before I let anything touch you or this pup."
I looked at the tiny flicker on the screen—a second chance, fragile and terrifying. We were going to war in the courtroom, but the most important battle was happening right here, inside me.
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