The lingering feeling of last night held on to her—Eitan’s breath on her skin, the heat of his body pressed against hers, the reckless surrender, she swore never to allow him again.

She should have felt stronger for it, like she’d recharged an exhausted part of herself. But, all her defenses were gone leaving her totally vulnerable.

The phone on her desk rang for the fifth time in ten minutes. Her secretary’s tight voice followed through the intercom.

“Ms. Stark, Senator Nate has canceled his breakfast briefing. He says… scheduling conflicts.”

Vespera pressed her fingers against her temple. “That makes three this morning.”

“Four, if you count Senator Powell. He asked us not to contact him for the foreseeable future.”

A faint, bitter laughter slipped out. She was watching her empire unravel piece by piece, not from werewolf hunters, not from rival alphas, but from whispers planted where human ears could hear.

The betrayal had gone public.

And the cruelest part was how alive her body still felt from Eitan. The memory of him against her, the snarl in his throat as he whispered her name vibrated underneath her skin even as the world tried to strip her crown from her.

She tightened her jaw, fighting the thoughts. Desire was a distraction. Guilt was a weakness. If she hesitated now, her pack would pay the price. The door opened without a knock and there stood Eitan, her heart sank.

Her scent still lingered on him—sweet and sharp like a burning fire. Her sighs still echoed, keeping him awake all night.

He hated himself for it. Hated her for it. And hated the truth that, even now, even after everything, he wanted her again.

“Your senators are dropping like flies,” he said, voice low.

Vespera didn't look up. “Thank you for the helpful observation.”

“You think it’s just politics?” He walked into the room, shutting the door behind. “This is the mole tightening the noose. Someone is feeding them exactly what they need to erode your power base. My guess? They won’t stop until the Senate floor itself is poisoned against you.”

Finally, she looked at him(really looked). The eyes that once softened in moonlight were flint now, carved sharp by years of ambition. Yet he could still see the faint cracks. He knew where they were, because once, he had touched them with gentle hands.

“And what’s your guess about who it is?” she asked.

He wanted to say her. That she was the poison, with her half-truths and sacrifices and choices that had left their daughter hidden away like a dirty secret.

Instead, he said, “Someone close. Too close. Someone with access to your walls.”

She leaned back, crossing her arms while Eitan’s mind betrayed him, replaying the curve of her bare shoulders just hours ago. His throat went dry. He forced the thoughts down, but her taste still lingered.

“Are you certain it’s not you?” she asked softly.

Her words strucked so deep. He stiffened. “If I wanted you ruined, Vespera, I would have done it long ago.”

“Or perhaps,” she murmured, “you already have.”

The silence that followed was sharper than glass.

She hadn’t meant to wound him or maybe she had. The bitterness burned too hot. They’d shared a bed last night, shared heat and hunger and need, but by morning the division between them had only widened.

And beneath it all, she could feel her secret buzzing. The child he had taken, the child she had let him take, the child she had not seen since that night she chose her empire over everything else.

Her chest ached. She shoved it down.

“We don’t have time to pick at old scars,” she said. “The Senate convenes today. If these withdrawals keep stacking, my infrastructure bill will be dead before it hits the floor.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” Eitan countered. “Maybe whoever’s moving against you doesn’t care about laws or land. Maybe they just want you exposed.”

His eyes darkened on the word “exposed” and she felt the sting of last night between them all over again.

“Then let them try,” she said, rising from her desk. She towered not in height but in presence, every inch the Alpha, every inch the woman who had clawed her way into boardrooms where no wolf had ever dared tread. "I built this empire with blood and subtilty. I won’t let one mole tear it down."

Yet, as she passed him on her way out, her hand brushed his(a spark she hadn’t intended), but couldn’t stop.

His fingers twitched like they wanted to catch hers. He didn’t. And the absence cut deeper than contact.

He should have let her go. Should have let her drown in the mess she had chosen.

But when Vespera Stark strode into the Senate chamber hours later, silk blouse gleaming under the lights, Eitan found himself following as half guardian, half enemy, entirely conflicted.

The chamber was packed. Senators leaned in clusters, their whispers hushed but sharp. Photographers lined the back wall. This wasn’t just politics anymore. This was spectacle.

And Eitan could smell the trap.

He stood in the gallery, hands clenched, while Vespera took her place at the podium. She looked untouchable, her voice steady, gaze burning. Yet he knew better. He knew how sleek her skin felt last night. How she shivered when he kissed her neck.

She spoke of infrastructure, of territory acquisition masked as urban renewal, of policies that would give her pack land without ever naming them as wolves. She was brilliant. Blazing.

But the senators weren’t listening. They were waiting.

And then the waiting ended.

Senator Scott stood. A hawk of a man, white hair gleaming under the lights, eyes cold with a predator’s amusement.

“Ms. Stark,” he said, cutting across her words. “You speak eloquently about land, legacy, and protection. Almost like a mother would, speaking of her child.”

Her blood froze.

A ripple went through the chamber—not laughter, not gasps, just a tightening of air, like the room itself sensed blood in the water.

“Tell me,” Scott continued, “what of the rumors? Whispers of a child hidden away. A daughter, is it not?”

Every instinct screamed to keep her mask intact. To laugh it off. To turn the blade aside.

But in the gallery, her eyes met Eitan’s. His face had gone pale, jaw clenched, and in that instant she knew: the mole hadn’t just whispered about her empire. They had whispered about Luna.

Their daughter.

Her heartbeat pounded.

The chamber waited, hungry.

Panic clawed his throat. How? How did they find out?

He’d kept Luna hidden, safe, far from Vespera’s world of cameras and knives. He’d sacrificed everything to shield her. And yet now… Here. Under the glare of human politics, her existence staggered on the edge of revelation.

His wolf surged against his skin, snarling. He wanted to rip the chamber apart, to silence Scott’s smug voice with claws and blood.

But he couldn’t. Not here. Not in front of the humans.

He locked eyes with Vespera, silently begging her to deny it, to bury it, to protect Luna with the only weapon she had left: her words.

Instead, he saw something else in her gaze.

Regret.

Longing.

The faintest shimmer of tears she would never let fall.

And in that moment, Eitan understood: the mole hadn’t just destroyed her politics. They had ripped open the last secret binding them together.

Luna was no longer safe.

The chamber lost control in shouts, cameras flashing, voices rising in a frenzy. Scott’s smile widened, the predator scenting victory.

And Vespera’s empire, her heart, her family, her carefully balanced lies—Shattered all at once.

She opened her mouth, the lie forming, the denial ready.

But her throat locked. Because for the first time in years, she couldn’t bear to deny her daughter’s existence. Not when Eitan’s eyes were filled with fire. Not when the air itself trembled with the weight of truth.

The world closed in.

“Ms. Stark,” Scott pressed, voice of a blade. “Do you deny it?”

Every camera lens waited. Every senator leaned in.

Vespera stood frozen at the edge of ruin, the memory of Eitan’s hands still burning on her skin and the ghost of her daughter’s laugh tearing her heart apart.

The chamber held its breath.

And then

She smiled.

Cold. Sharp. A wolf baring teeth.

“I deny nothing,” she said.

The chamber exploded.