The Dead Luna’s Resurrection-His Living Hell-

"Please, just answer the phone, Julian," Vivienne whispered, her voice cracking in the hollow silence of the dining hall.

The candles had burned down to stubs, wax bleeding across the lace tablecloth like slow, white tears. The five-course meal—his favorites, the ones she’d spent six hours perfecting—was a graveyard of cold fat and congealed sauces.

Chime.

The sound of a notification sliced through the quiet. Vivienne’s heart gave a pathetic, hopeful leap. Maybe it was an apology. Maybe the "emergency border meeting" was finally over.

She grabbed the phone. Her breath hitched.

It wasn't a text from her husband. It was an anonymous link to a private cloud folder.

Vivienne tapped it. Her vision blurred for a second, then snapped into agonizing focus. The photos were high-definition, professional-grade, and nauseating. There was Julian—her Alpha, her mate, the man who had promised her forever four years ago—pressed against a brick wall in a dark alley.

He wasn't fighting off an enemy. He was buried in the neck of Selina Voss, a seductive Omega from the rival Crescent Pack. Julian’s large hands were tangled in Selina’s hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. Even through the screen, Vivienne could see the dark, fresh bruising of a mark.

He was marking her.

A sharp, jagged pain exploded in Vivienne’s chest. Inside her, her wolf let out a long, mourning howl that felt like a physical blade carving through her ribs. The bond, that golden thread connecting her soul to Julian’s, didn't snap—it began to rot.

"Four years," she choked out, the words tasting like ash. "I gave you everything."

She looked down at her hands. They were trembling. She had spent four years playing the "Perfect Luna," the submissive shadow behind the powerful CEO of Silver Peak. She had dimmed her own light so he could shine, abandoned her own ambitions to manage his pack’s books and public image. And this was the dividend.

The front door heavy oak door groaned open.

Vivienne didn't move. She didn't wipe the single tear that tracked through her makeup. She sat like a statue as heavy footsteps echoed down the marble hallway.

Julian entered the room, loosening his silk tie. He looked every bit the powerful Alpha—broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, and radiating a casual arrogance that usually made Vivienne’s knees weak. Now, it just made her stomach turn.

As he got closer, the scent hit her. It wasn't just his usual expensive sandalwood. It was the cloying, sweet stench of Selina’s pheromones.

"Viv? Why are the lights out?" Julian asked, his voice smooth as honey. He didn't even look at the table. He walked over and tried to press a kiss to her forehead. "I'm so sorry, baby. The border meeting went south. The rogues are pushing the perimeter again."

Vivienne flinched away from his touch. It was instinctive. His skin felt like ice against hers.

Julian froze, his hand hanging in mid-air. His brow furrowed in a practiced mask of concern. "What’s this? You’re upset