Nora POV
The bathroom mirror shows two versions of me.
The ugly one wears thick black glasses and a brown cardigan that hangs past my knees. My beautiful auburn hair is pulled back in a tight, painful bun. I look forty years old. Boring. Safe. Invisible.
That's the wife Killian wants.
The real me is hidden underneath. I pull off the glasses I don't need. Unbutton the ugly cardigan. Let my hair fall down my back in soft waves. The green dress I'm wearing actually fits my body instead of hiding it.
I look beautiful. I always was. I just forgot.
Today is my fifth wedding anniversary. Five years of pretending to be someone I'm not. Five years of making myself small and plain so my Alpha husband won't feel threatened.
Tonight, I'm done pretending.
My phone buzzes. A text from someone called "Ghost_Admin." Only three people in the world have this number. It's my secret hacker account.
New job offer: $5 million to break into Silverpine Bank's system. Yes or no?
My fingers hover over the phone. Phantom_N0va—that's me. The most famous hacker in the world. The digital ghost that governments can't catch. I've stolen from billionaires, exposed corrupt politicians, and earned twenty million dollars in three years.
And my husband thinks I can barely send an email.
I text back: Not tonight. Family emergency.
The reply comes instantly: Phantom_N0va has a family? Shocking.
I almost laugh. If they only knew.
"Mommy?" My four-year-old daughter Mira pokes her head into the bathroom. She's holding her tablet, playing some game. "Why do you look weird?"
My heart squeezes. "Weird bad or weird good?"
"Just weird." She shrugs and goes back to her game. She doesn't even really look at me.
When did my daughter stop seeing me?
I hear the front door slam downstairs. My whole body goes tight.
Killian's home.
Three hours late, but he's home.
I check myself one more time in the mirror. The pretty dress. The flowing hair. No glasses. This is who I really am. Maybe if he sees the real me, he'll finally—
"Nora!" His voice booms up the stairs. He sounds angry.
My wolf whimpers inside my head. She used to be strong and fierce. Now she's small and scared, beaten down by years of rejection.
I take a deep breath and walk downstairs.
Killian stands in the hallway, his phone pressed to his ear. He's so handsome it hurts—tall, dark hair, sharp gray eyes. When we first met, those eyes looked at me like I was everything. Now they barely see me at all.
He glances up as I come down the stairs. His eyes widen for just a second.
Then his face goes cold.
He ends his phone call. "What are you wearing?"
Not "happy anniversary." Not "you look nice." Just confusion and anger.
"It's our anniversary," I say softly. "I made your favorite dinner. Roast chicken with—"
"I already ate." He drops his briefcase on the floor. "Pack meeting ran late."
The dining room table is visible from here. Candles burned down to nothing. The food I spent hours cooking, cold and dried out. Our wedding photo on the wall, both of us smiling. That feels like a different lifetime.
"Killian, please. Just five minutes. Can we talk?"
"About what?" He checks his phone again. "I have another meeting in twenty minutes."
"It's nine o'clock at night. On our anniversary."
"Yes, Nora. I'm aware what day it is." He finally really looks at me, and I see it—disgust. "What's with the costume? Why are you dressed like this?"
Costume. He called it a costume.
"I thought I'd look nice for—"
"This isn't you." His voice is hard. "You're practical. Simple. That's what I need in a Luna. Not... whatever this is."
Each word is a knife cutting into my chest.
"Take off that dress. Put your normal clothes back on. And for Moon's sake, where are your glasses?"
"I don't need glasses," I whisper. "I never did. You just liked them."
His eyebrows go up. "You lied about needing glasses?"
"You liked how they made me look! You said I should wear them!"
"Don't blame your poor choices on me." He grabs his briefcase again. "I need to go. Vanessa's waiting at the pack house. We have security issues to discuss."
Vanessa. His "childhood friend" who hates me. Who touches his arm too much. Who looks at him like he's hers.
Something inside me snaps.
"Security issues at nine PM on our anniversary?"
Killian's eyes flash gold—his wolf pushing forward. "Are you questioning me?"
Yes. For the first time in five years, I am.
But I can't say that. So I just stand there, silent and stupid, while my husband walks toward the door.
He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. "Fix your appearance before I get back. You look ridiculous."
The door slams behind him.
I stand in the hallway for a long time. My reflection stares back at me from the window—the pretty dress, the flowing hair. Ridiculous. That's what I look like.
My wolf suddenly snarls in my head. She's been quiet for so long, but now she's angry.
Follow him, she growls. Something's wrong. FOLLOW.
I've never listened to my wolf. Killian said good Lunas keep their wolves controlled.
But tonight, I'm tired of being good.
I grab my jacket and slip out the front door. Killian's car is already gone, but I don't need to see him. I can smell him. Every wolf can track their mate's scent.
His trail leads away from the pack house.
Toward the forest.
Toward the old guesthouse on the border that nobody uses anymore.
My heart starts hammering. Why would he go there?
I move through the trees silently. Years of making myself invisible taught me how to hide. I can hear voices now as I get closer. Laughing. A woman giggling. A man's deep voice.
I step into the clearing and see the guesthouse window lit up bright.
Through that window, I see my whole world break apart.
Killian has Vanessa pinned against the wall. Her dress is pulled down. His hands are in her red hair. They're kissing like they're drowning and each other is air.
My husband. My mate. The man I've loved for seven years.
With her.
I can't breathe. Can't move. Can't think.
Then I hear footsteps behind me. Small ones.
"Mommy?"
No. No, no, no.
I spin around.
Mira stands there in her pink pajamas, holding her tablet. My baby. My four-year-old daughter.
"Sweetie, what are you doing here? You need to go home right now—"
But Mira's not looking at me.
She's looking past me. At the window. At them.
Her whole face lights up like Christmas morning. Like seeing her favorite person in the world.
My daughter opens her mouth and screams with pure joy:
"MOMMY V! DADDY! YOU'RE TOGETHER!"
And then she runs.
Not to me.
To them.