Andrea's fists clenched at her sides, the silk nightgown twisting awkwardly with the movement. Her voice trembled, but it was strong, sharp with fury, confusion, and something rawer beneath it.
"Okay," she said, glaring at the three of them. "Now what the hell do you mean I'm your mate?"
The room went still.
"I heard you say it last night. I wasn't asleep yet." Her breath hitched. "You said I was yours. Mate. Like it meant something. So tell me—what does that even mean?"
Lionel opened his mouth, but Andrea pressed on, her voice cracking. "Do you know my family? My mother? My father? Do you know where I came from?"
She blinked fast, fighting the sting in her eyes.
"Mother Theresa said she'd tell me everything today—on my 18th birthday. About who I really am. About my origin. Why she never let anyone adopt me? Why she made sure every single chance at a family slipped through my fingers?"
Her lips curled in a bitter smile.
"I was the prettiest, the smartest, the most hopeful... and still, no one chose me. And when I finally asked her why—why?—she told me it would all make sense when I turned eighteen."
Andrea's voice dropped to a whisper.
"I was supposed to get answers today. And instead, I woke up here. With you."
She paused. Her shoulders trembled as she stared them down, eyes glinting with rage.
"So you tell me now—are you the big secret? Are you the family she meant to tell me about?"
Matthew's voice was the one to break the silence.
"No," he said softly, shaking his head. "We're not."
Andrea blinked. Her heart twisted again—hurt layered on top of confusion.
"Weren't you even curious?" Lionel asked gently, eyes searching hers. "About where you came from?"
"Why should I be?" she snapped. "They left me to rot in that place."
"You don't know that," Joseph said quietly.
"And I don't care to find out," she fired back.
The room went quiet for a long moment.
Then Andrea inhaled sharply, narrowing her eyes again. "Don't change the subject. You still haven't explained why you called me your mate."
The word felt foreign on her tongue.
Joseph looked at the others, then back at her. "You're bonded to us."
Andrea stared. "Bonded? What is this? A cult?"
"No," Lionel said firmly. "It's biological. Magical. Ancient."
He stepped forward slowly, hands raised as if approaching a wild animal.
"In our world, wolves—shifters like us—have something called the mate bond. It's... a pull, a connection. Soul-deep. Unbreakable. It's rare. Sacred."
Andrea laughed. Laughed hard. It was a broken, manic sound.
"Wolves?" she echoed, then pointed at him. "You're telling me you're a werewolf?"
"Yes," Lionel said without hesitation.
"And I'm supposed to be your... what? Luna? Queen of the furballs?"
Joseph smiled a little at that, but Andrea wasn't done.
"Oh my God. I've finally snapped. I've lost my mind. This isn't real. This is a coma dream. Or drug hallucination. Or—"
Her voice cut off.
The room spun.
The power in her chest flared again, and her vision blurred. Too much. Too fast. Too unreal.
Andrea swayed.
"Hey—" Matthew stepped forward.
But it was too late.
She fainted. Again.
Lionel caught her before she hit the floor, his arms instinctively wrapping around her as if she were made of glass.
He lowered her gently back to the bed, brushing her hair from her face as her breathing evened out.
Joseph sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "That went well."
"She doesn't even know who she is yet," Matthew muttered. "And now she thinks we're lunatics."
"She'll come around," Lionel said, eyes never leaving her face. "Once the truth starts unlocking."
Joseph crossed his arms. "And if it doesn't?"
Lionel's voice dropped, cold and certain. "Then we protect her anyway."
"Alphas," James said, stepping briskly into the hallway outside the Luna's chambers. "Your mother has called an emergency meeting. Conference room. Now."
Lionel's jaw tightened.
Matthew muttered, "Of course she has."
"She won't let this go," Joseph said under his breath.
Lionel didn't break stride. "James, on your way—send a team to Mercy Orphanage. The one near the edge of the human world. I want everything they can find on Andrea Boris."
"Especially her origin," Joseph added. "Dig through records, files, staff—whatever it takes."
"And find the head of that orphanage," Lionel said. "The woman who raised her. She's the key."
"Yes, Alpha," James nodded.
"One more thing," Lionel said, pausing at the staircase. "Have fresh clothes delivered to the Luna's chambers. New. Quality. Something she'd choose, not something borrowed."
"And have guards posted at her door," Matthew added. "Quiet, but alert. If she wakes up, we're to be informed immediately."
James straightened. "Copy that. I'll see to it now."
They parted ways—James disappearing down the west corridor, the Alphas heading toward the grand doors of the conference hall.
As they approached, the carved wood loomed ahead, gilded with silver leaf and etched symbols of the White Moon Pack's legacy.
And there, standing just outside, was Ashley.
She turned quickly as she spotted them, her face painted with a smile too bright, too rehearsed. "Lionel. Joseph. Matthew. I was just—"
They walked past her.
Not a glance. Not a nod. Not a word.
Silence.
Even Joseph, once her charming confidant, didn't flicker. The warmth he used to wear around her was gone, extinguished.
Like she had never been in his bed.
Like she had never mattered.
Ashley's hand clenched at her side, nails digging into her palm.
Her voice faltered into the empty air. "This isn't over."
But no one heard her.
Or worse, no one cared.
Upstairs, in the Luna's room, Andrea slept soundly under thick velvet blankets, unaware that her life was unraveling everything the old world expected… and reshaping it in her image.
Downstairs, war was already brewing beneath smiles and silver.