The private conservatory garden was bathed in the warm, golden hues of late afternoon. High glasses trapped the air outside.
I sat on a bench beside the central fountain, wearing a sweeping gown of pale emerald material. The fitted bodice gave way to an unmistakable curve beneath my ribs. At nearly six months along, my bump was now visibly showing. It was a solid and precious weight that made every slow movement feel grounded.
I rested my hand over my stomach, watching the sunlight dance across the water.
It was almost surreal to think back to how this all began. More than a year ago, I was a bargaining chip—a traded daughter handed over to a feared, ruthless Alpha to settle debts. I remembered arriving at Bloodmoon pack convinced that my life was over before it had even truly begun.
