Shattered Mate Bond: The Secret Hacker Luna's Vengeance

Eulalie POV

The sliding glass doors of JFK's Terminal 4 parted, spitting me out into the biting October chill. I pulled my beige cardigan tighter around my shoulders, my eyes scanning the VIP pickup zone. A line of sleek black town cars idled against the curb, but the Madden Pack's signature Maybach was nowhere to be seen.

I closed my eyes and reached into my mind, searching for the familiar, golden thread of my mate bond. Caden? I called through the mind-link.

Silence. Not just silence, but a thick, impenetrable wall of ice. He had deliberately shut me out.

I had just spent a grueling week in futile negotiations trying to save my former pack, the Moon Pack, from financial ruin. As the Luna of the Madden Pack, I should have been greeted by my Alpha mate, or at least a pack warrior. Instead, my phone screen remained blank. No messages. No missed calls.

Swallowing the bitter taste of public humiliation, I ordered an Uber. The ride back to Manhattan was a blur of gray highways, the interior of the Toyota Camry suffocating me with the cloying scent of a vanilla air freshener. It felt like a cruel joke—a Luna, reduced to riding in a stranger's car like a forgotten, wolfless omega.

A secret part of me—the part I had buried for five years—whispered that I had other resources, other paths. But using them would mean revealing everything. And I wasn't ready. Not yet.

The human doorman at our Fifth Avenue building offered a polite nod, but it only amplified my isolation. I stepped into the private elevator, watching my pale, exhausted reflection in the polished brass doors as I ascended to the penthouse.

The moment the doors chimed open into the foyer, my wolf senses were assaulted.

It wasn't the comforting, authoritative sandalwood scent of my Alpha that hit me first. It was a cheap, aggressive, synthetic rose perfume. Adalynn. My half-sister.

Her scent was everywhere, clinging to the walls, polluting my territory. Scattered across the marble floor were colorful tissue papers and satin ribbons. Beside the console table, Caden's Italian leather shoes sat intimately next to a pair of glittery sneakers belonging to my five-year-old daughter, Elara.

I walked quietly toward the living room, bathed in the warm, golden glow of the chandelier. What I saw froze the blood in my veins.

Sitting on the Persian rug were Caden and Elara. Between them sat a massive, garish plush unicorn made of cheap synthetic fibers. They were tying a pink ribbon around its neck. My heart plummeted. It was the exact same toy I had tried to buy for Elara three months ago, only for Caden to coldly reject it, claiming the cheap material would trigger her allergies.

"Auntie Adalynn says unicorns are magic!" Elara giggled, her pure, sweet cub scent mixing with the sickening rose perfume. "She says they're a million times better than Mommy's boring stories."

The words twisted like a silver blade in my chest. My