#Chapter 2: The Scars We Keep

(Violet's POV)

After kicking Ronan and Elara out of the house, I had a good sleep.

When I woke up, I combed my hair in front of the mirror. I turned around and glanced at the reflection, seeing the ugly, jagged scar-birthmark on the back of my neck.

It looked like the kind of mark usually found on a rejected wolf. But Ronan and I were first mates, and I had never experienced rejection. So it's just a strange birthmark.

I sighed and covered it with a turtleneck. Then, I went downstairs, expecting a response to my divorce petition.

But the rejection letter glowed at the top of my inbox like a slap in the face.

“Petition for marital dissolution denied. Further appearance required in court.”

No explanation. No sympathy. And right beneath it… another notification.

The medical report.

I already knew. Still, something bitter and masochistic made my fingers tap it open.

“No improvement. Infertility persists. Ovulation nonviable under current hormonal suppression. Cause of symptoms: betrayal of the mate bond...”

Infertile. Still.

Five years of betrayal. How utterly deserved.

I dropped the phone on the marble counter and stared out the high-rise window, the city blinking back at me in shades of gold and regret. My reflection stared back in the glass—flawless makeup, tailored silk, perfect posture.

A lie.

Just like the one I used to live with Ronan.

I originally came from a poor family. When Elara, our mom, and I were left out on the streets, it was Ronan’s family that took us in.

The past Ronan was so kind. Naturally, we fell in love. Luckily, when we turned 18, we were both shocked to find out we were fated mates.

We used to be the kind of couple others envied.

We were childhood sweethearts, the perfect narrative— Until my sweet, gentle sister Elara seduced my mate.

Since the day Ronan and I got married five years ago, I’ve constantly felt the pain of the mate bond being betrayed. And then, as this persistent pain continued, my body began to change... I became unable to conceive...

I acted like I didn’t care in front of Elara, but in reality, I desperately wanted a child — and a divorce.

The phone vibrated again, snapping me from the thought.

[Luc: One word from me, and your problems disappear. Say the word, Violet. Or keep pretending you don’t need saving.]

I exhaled hard through my nose and typed my response with steady fingers.

[Violet: I don’t need saving. Especially not from a man I used to rent by the hour.]

Another buzz.

[Luc: This is your last chance. As long as you change your mind, I’ll help you solve all your problems.]

Is he serious? He's just a call boy. This joke is not funny at all.

I stared down at the infertility report.

[Violet:  Forget it. I don’t want to get pregnant with a call boy’s baby.]

I took a deep breath knowing I was going to regret the end of the message.

[Violet:  I didn’t expect you actually had feelings for me. The house you’re living in—consider it yours. Don’t contact me again.]

Then came the silence I’d wanted.

But it didn’t feel like a victory. Just… empty.

I blocked the number.

And exhaled like I hadn’t breathed in days.

My heels echoed down the grand stairwell of my estate—one I paid for, one I built from ash and ambition—only to be greeted with the sour scent of trouble the moment I hit the second floor.

“Elara,” I said coolly.

She was in my home, again.

Correction: lounging on one of my ivory chaise lounges, sipping tea like she owned the air in the room.

“Elara,” I repeated, voice sharper now.

She turned, feigning surprise. “Oh, Violet! You’re home. I assumed you’d be off somewhere licking your wounds.”

I ignored the jab and looked to the maid. “Throw her out.”

The maid blinked, hesitant.

“Now.”

Before she could move, Ronan stormed in from the east wing, eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare.”

I tilted my head. “Don’t dare what? Remove a trespasser from my property?”

“Elara is staying,” Ronan snapped. “She’s carrying my child.”

“Then buy her a motel,” I said icily. “She doesn’t belong here.”

Elara stood now, her hands dramatically placed on her stomach. “You’re going to attack a pregnant woman? Goddess, Violet… is there no decency left in you?”

She leaned close enough that her perfume tried to strangle me. “You’re not wife material,” she whispered. “Your blood’s too dirty. Your womb’s too dead. Give up, and hand over what you owe.”

I smiled sweetly. “You think I’m not worthy of a marriage? Then you’re not worthy of living in a house that’s in my name.”

I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t have to.

Two bodyguards stepped forward.

“Elara Sterling, you have ten seconds to remove yourself or be removed.”

She shrieked as they approached, but she went. Not quietly.

Ronan cursed, slamming the door after her. “You’ve crossed a line, Violet.”

“No, Ronan,” I murmured, turning on my heel. “I finally drew one.”

He stared after me, stunned into silence. For once, no comeback.

A soft knock followed moments later.

The butler poked his head in, eyes wide with discomfort. “Lady Violet… your lawyer’s here. He’s been waiting in the east wing since before the—ah—disturbance.

“Send him in,” I said, pouring myself a drink.

The man entered like he was walking into a den of wolves. Thin, pale, barely taller than the briefcase clutched in his hands like armor.

The lawyer clutched his briefcase like a lifeline, trying not to sweat through his suit as I poured myself a drink.

“Lady Violet, with all due respect,” he began, “given your… background… and the court’s predispositions, securing a divorce may be legally possible, but politically improbable.”

“You mean they’ll punish me for having a uterus that doesn’t work and a husband who does,” I said flatly.

He winced. “I—I didn’t mean it like that.”

I sipped my drink. “Then speak clearly.”

He hesitated for a moment and whispered, "It's... it's because of your background..."

 "I know you're an extraordinary woman, and even though you're from a Rouge background, you are now the one in power in your husband's family, but! Your background..."

He didn’t continue, but I already understood what he meant.

My mother was a Rouge.

No matter how much wealth I created, in their eyes, I would always be the "daughter of a Rouge."

I was grateful to Ronan and his family, which is why, over the years, I willingly worked for them and gave them my wealth. Their family was originally just an empty shell with a noble title, but after I worked for them, they gradually started to gain recognition in this city.

But the Werewolf Court doesn’t care about any of this. They only care about one’s background.

Background. Status.

Even though Ronan was the one who betrayed me, Ronan is a noble—so he can easily win everything.

The lawyer’s forehead began to bead with sweat. “This is an impossible case to win... but I’ve just received some top-secret information.”

He opened the folder and pulled out papers, tapping one photo. “There’s someone. A figure of power. He’s here in this city, oddly enough. He usually never gets involved in civilian cases, but if he gave even a single word—just one—your petition would be untouchable.”

I stared at the photo in the folder. The face was turned away—just a silhouette. A sliver of throat. A shape I knew like breath.

I arched a brow. “And who is this elusive savior?”

He hesitated, like saying the name too loudly might summon him.

“He is the Lycan King —”

“Lucian BloodyMoon.”