Chapter 2

The police ruled my death as inconclusive.

An unidentified female. Surgical wound on the abdomen. Signs of a recent cesarean delivery. No ID. No phone. No pack registration.

They ran my fingerprints, but Rogues don't exist in pack databases. Without a name, without a claim, I was processed as a Jane Doe and sent to the city morgue.

Dominic never even heard about it.

Why would he? He was too busy hunting for the "surrogate who stole his baby" — while his fiancée paraded around the pack with my daughter, accepting congratulations.

"She's beautiful, Vivian! She looks just like Dominic!"

"We used a surrogate, but I feel like she's truly mine. The moment I held her, I just knew."

I hovered near the ceiling of their penthouse, watching Vivian rock my baby girl in a nursery painted soft yellow. The crib cost more than I'd ever earned in my life. The mobile above it played a lullaby I used to hum when she was still inside me.

She recognized it. I could tell. Her tiny body relaxed at the melody, and she stopped fussing.

Vivian noticed. "Oh, you like that one? Mommy has good taste, doesn't she?"

I hummed that to her. Every night, alone in the cold apartment they'd rented for me during the pregnancy. I'd press my hands to my belly and sing to her because she was the only one who listened.

The contract said no bonding. No attachment. I was a vessel, nothing more.

But how do you carry someone under your heart for nine months and not love them?

Dominic walked in, still in his suit, exhaustion carved into his face. He'd been searching for me — or rather, the version of me Vivian had invented — for three days straight.

"Any leads?" Vivian asked, her voice perfectly laced with concern.

"Nothing. She vanished." He loosened his tie, frustration rolling off him. "How does a packless Rogue with no resources disappear that completely? She had no money, no car, no connections."

Vivian bit her lip, performing worry beautifully. "Maybe she planned it from the start. Maybe she always intended to take the baby and sell her."

Dominic's eyes darkened. "If she's sold my daughter, I'll kill her myself."

He meant it. I could feel the Alpha rage radiating from him — protective, primal, murderous.

All directed at me.

The dead woman who had done nothing but love his child.

He walked over to the crib and looked down at our daughter. For a moment, his expression softened.

"She has my eyes," he murmured.

And my nose, I wanted to say. And my chin. And my stubbornness — she refused to kick for anyone but me.

"What did you name her?" he asked Vivian.

"Aurora. It means dawn." Vivian leaned against his shoulder. "A new beginning for us."

I had named her Luna.

In the dark, alone, with my hand on my belly, I'd whispered it to her like a prayer.

Luna. My little moon. The only light I have.

No one would ever know that now.

Dominic pressed a kiss to Aurora's — to Luna's — forehead, and I felt my soul crack.