Elora Evernight was used to being admired.
Worshipped.
Feared.
She had the title.
She had the pack.
She had Ace—or so she thought.
But now?
She had silence.
The scent of her mate, once warm and tethered to her skin, had turned cold. The bond that once sparked at her touch?
Dull. Disconnected.
And Ace's eyes…
They weren't on her anymore.
They were far.
Lost.
Chained to something—or someone—he refused to speak about.
She noticed it in the way he lingered at windows.
The way he didn't touch her in bed.
The way he tensed whenever someone uttered the name he wouldn't.
Dia.
And tonight, she couldn't sleep.
So she did what Elora always did when the ground shifted under her feet.
She dug.
"Find out where he's been," she ordered one of her pack informants. "Every visit. Every file. Every name that makes him flinch."
It only took a few hours.
By morning, a slim folder was placed on her silk-lined desk.
The first photo?
Ace—standing outside a gated estate.
In the rain.
Watching through the glass.
Staring at Dia Valkryn like she was a prayer he never deserved to whisper.
Her chest constricted.
She flipped the page.
And then she stopped.
A child.
Small.
Resting against Dia's side on a couch.
Silver eyes.
Nightborne eyes.
Elora stared.
Unmoving.
No name, no caption. Just one undeniable fact:
Dia Valkryn had survived.
And she had Ace's child.
A slow breath left her lungs.
The room spun—not from shock, but rage so complete it numbed.
Dia hadn't just risen from the ashes.
She'd returned stronger.
She'd built an empire.
And she'd protected his heir right under Elora's nose.
The woman she'd once tried to erase…
Had everything now.
The photo crumpled in her shaking hands.
Her voice was barely a whisper, but her wolf heard it loud and clear.
"She doesn't get to come back."
She stared at the glass, her own reflection warped.
"She doesn't get to walk into my territory and take what's mine."
Her breath grew shallow, fingers digging into her palm.
"If she thinks I'll let her rewrite the story…"
She closed her eyes.
"…she's forgotten who authored the first draft."
She didn't scream.
Not this time.
But something inside her cracked.
Not loud—deadly quiet.
Like the calm before the next fire.
The scent of roses hit Ace before the knock did.
Not real ones.
Synthetic. Choking.
Like everything Elora touched—crafted, curated, false.
He didn't look up when she entered.
"Elora," he said coldly.
"Still using my name like it means something," she replied, slinking in with her usual venomous grace. "Cute."
Ace didn't rise from his chair.
Didn't speak.
Didn't blink.
His silence only made her smile twist tighter.
"I hear you've been spending time in Valkryn territory," she said sweetly. "Dangerous place. Especially for someone with your… history."
"I don't need a warning," he muttered.
"Oh, no," she chuckled. "Not a warning. A reminder."
She placed a black envelope on his desk. Glossy. Unmarked.
He didn't touch it.
"You're not the only one who saw the child," she continued. "Do you think she kept him secret out of pride? No, Ace. She kept him hidden because she knew what I'd do if I ever found out."
Ace's wolf growled low, ears pinned. His whole body tensed.
"She knows what I'm capable of," Elora whispered, voice velvet over poison. "And if she forgot… maybe you should remind her.
He stood suddenly—towering, furious.
"Elora," he warned.
But she just tilted her head, mock-innocent. "Oh, don't be dramatic. I'm not threatening her, darling. I'm simply… concerned. Fires can happen again. Tragedy can repeat. And children?" She smiled, teeth gleaming. "They're so fragile."
Ace's fist slammed into the desk. The wood cracked beneath his palm.
"You will not touch him."
That was the first time he said it.
Not her son.
Not the boy.
Him. His.
Silas.
Something in Elora's smile wavered.
"Oh?" she said softly. "Getting possessive now, are we? Little late for that, don't you think?"
His jaw locked. "Stay away from them."
Elora stepped back slowly, reading him like a puzzle she had broken once before but could no longer solve.
"You forget," she said quietly. "I made you choose. You picked me. And I can unmake that choice any time I want."
She walked to the door.
Paused.
Turned slightly.
"She's still just an omega, Ace," she whispered. "And even phoenixes burn if you fan the right flame."
The door clicked shut behind her.
Ace stood frozen, blood pounding in his ears.
His wolf clawed inside his chest.
She threatened our blood.
She'll try again.
We failed her once. We don't get another chance.
He looked at the envelope.
Didn't open it.
Didn't need to.
Because in his gut, in his bones, in his wolf's voice screaming at him from the dark—
He knew Elora had just declared war.
Dia Valkryn didn't flinch when her head of security entered unannounced.
She didn't flinch when he handed her a sealed black envelope, similar to the ones her family used during hostile takeovers.
She just opened it.
Read it.
And smiled.
A slow, chilling smile that made her assistant—who had accidentally witnessed the moment—step back like he'd seen a predator unsheathing its claws.
The note was brief. Typed. Anonymous.
But she knew the author.
"Fires don't always finish the first time, Diana. Be careful where your ashes fall.
Children are so flammable."
Dia set the paper down and folded her hands calmly on her desk.
"She threatened my son," she said softly.
Then, louder: "Double his security detail. No guards under Beta rank. Authorize kill-level clearance if anyone breaches perimeter range under a Nightborne scent."
Her security chief hesitated. "Even if it's Alpha Nightborne himself?"
She didn't blink. "Especially if it's him."
She found Silas napping peacefully that evening, curled in a sunbeam like nothing had shifted.
She knelt, smoothing back his hair, brushing a kiss to his forehead.
"You were born from fire," she whispered. "And I will burn kingdoms before I let them touch you again."
Her voice didn't shake.
Not anymore.
That girl had died in the smoke.
And Diana Valkryn didn't beg fate.
She bent it.
She didn't expect the knock on her private floor.
Didn't expect the guards to let anyone through.
But then she heard the one voice that still managed to twist inside her:
"Dia. Please open the door."
Ace.
She stood slowly, heels clicking on marble.
She didn't open it out of curiosity.
She opened it because she knew this moment was inevitable.
Ace stood on the threshold, damp from rain again, like the storm followed him everywhere now.
His jaw clenched when he saw her, but his voice was careful. Controlled.
"Elora threatened you."
"She threatened my son," Dia corrected, stepping forward with venom in her tone. "You don't get to soften that with 'you'. She didn't threaten me, Ace. She threatened a child. My child."
"Our—" he started, but her eyes cut into him like glass.
"Don't," she said quietly. "Don't say 'our' as if you ever held him. As if you ever asked if I survived. As if you didn't walk away while your pack buried me under silence and soot."
"I didn't know—"
"You didn't care to know."
He inhaled slowly, his voice raw. "I'm here to protect you."
Dia laughed. Once. Coldly.
"Protect me?" she stepped closer, gaze blazing. "You had that chance three years ago. I begged for it. I bled for it. And you chose silence."
"I was lied to."
"And I paid for it with graves."
Ace didn't speak.
Dia's voice lowered, lethal. "You don't get to walk into this house, into this life, and pretend you're the savior."
"I'm trying to make it right."
"You want to make it right?" She stepped back, spine straight, chin raised. "Start by admitting this isn't about protection. It's about control."
She turned her back to him.
"You don't want to protect me, Ace. You want to undo the regret clawing at your conscience."
He flinched.
Dia looked over her shoulder one last time.
"And regret doesn't earn redemption."
Then she closed the door. Quiet. Final.
Outside, Ace stood alone again.
And for the second time in his life…
He felt the sting of rejection.
But this time, it was justified.