The Northern Ridge contract paid forty thousand dollars.
Zaia delivered the brand package in six weeks—logo, color system, website mockups, social templates—working through nausea and insomnia and the slow, relentless burn of a bond that refused to die. She used a VPN. She used a business email. She never mentioned Blackwood, never referenced the pack world, never let her real name touch anything that could trace back to the woman Sebastian had cast out.
Northern Ridge's marketing director—a human who didn't know what she was—sent a glowing review.
*Ms. Z is the most talented designer we've worked with. We'd like to discuss a retainer.*
Ms. Z. The alias stuck.
Zaia was eight weeks along when the news found her.
She was in line at a grocery store, buying prenatal vitamins with cash, when the tabloid on the rack screamed Sebastian's face at her.
**BLACKWOOD ALPHA ANNOUNCES NEW LUNA — EX-WIFE VANISHES AMID CHEATING SCANDAL**
Zaia's hand froze on the conveyor belt.
The article was vicious. Anonymous sources. *Pack insiders.* A narrative that painted her as a dissatisfied wife who'd sought comfort elsewhere—a narrative that explained the pregnancy Sebastian hadn't publicly acknowledged and the divorce he'd framed as mutual.
*The former Luna was seen with an unidentified male on multiple occasions,* the article claimed. *Sources close to the Alpha say paternity tests are forthcoming.*
Cheating. The word Sebastian had implied in the living room trial, now printed in ink for the world to consume.
Zaia bought the magazine. She read it in her car—a used Honda she'd purchased with Northern Ridge money—her knuckles white on the steering wheel.
He'd told them she cheated. He'd poisoned the story before she could tell her own.
Her wolf snarled. The twins kicked, agitated by her rage.
She called the only number she still had for the pack world—not Sebastian, never Sebastian.
Marcus Hale answered on the second ring.
"Zaia." His voice was careful. "I wondered when you'd—"
"Did he tell them I cheated?" She didn't bother with pleasantries. "Did Sebastian tell the council I was with another man?"
A pause. Long enough to confirm everything.
"The Alpha's position is that the timeline of the pregnancy is... uncertain. Given the circumstances of the separation—"
"I was eight weeks when he threw me out." Her voice was ice. "I hadn't been with anyone but him in three years. He knows that. The bond knows that."
"The bond doesn't testify in council chambers," Marcus said quietly. "And the Alpha has announced Celeste as his chosen Luna. The solstice gala is in two weeks. He needs the pack to accept the transition without question."
"And I need the pack to think I'm a whore?"
Another pause.
"I'm sorry," Marcus said. "I tried to—"
She hung up.
That evening, she watched the solstice gala on a livestream she'd found through pack forums. She told herself it was masochism. She told herself she needed to see it to let go.
Sebastian stood on a stage in the Blackwood Tower ballroom, Celeste at his side in a gown the color of blood. The pack elders applauded. Cameras flashed.
"Tonight," Sebastian said, his voice steady, commanding, the voice of a man who'd never doubted himself, "I introduce Celeste Vane as Luna of the Blackwood Pack."
Celeste smiled. Sebastian fastened the Luna pin to her collar—the pin he'd torn from Zaia's throat—and the crowd roared.
Zaia's hand went to her own throat. The scar had faded to a thin silver line. The bond screamed.
On screen, Sebastian's expression didn't change. But Zaia felt it through the connection—a spike of pain so sharp it doubled her over on her secondhand couch, gasping, tears streaming down her face.
He felt it too. The bond wasn't broken. Whatever he'd done, whatever he'd told himself, the golden thread between them still pulsed with life.
And he'd just pledged himself to another woman in front of the world.
Zaia wiped her eyes. She stood. She walked to her laptop.
She created a new file. **Z Design — Business Plan.**
If Sebastian Blackwood wanted to build a narrative where she was the villain, fine. She would build something he couldn't touch. A name. A company. A life that didn't require his permission or his pin or his poisoned version of the truth.
She worked until dawn.
When the sun rose over Millbrook, Zaia Ashford—born Zoe, born Zaia, born again as Ms. Z—had incorporated a design firm with a PO box address and a bank account no one could trace to Blackwood.
The twins settled inside her, quiet at last.
And on the livestream replay, frozen on her screen, Sebastian Blackwood stood with his new Luna's hand in his, smiling for the cameras—
while Zaia felt, through the bond, that he hadn't slept in weeks.
The livestream chat had been vicious.
Zaia had scrolled through it once, stomach churning, reading comments from pack members she'd fed at solstice dinners. *He upgraded.* *She was always too human.* *Celeste is real Luna material.*
She'd closed the tab and opened her incorporation documents instead.
Naming the company Z Design had felt like drawing a line in the sand. Z for the woman she was becoming. Z for the end of the alphabet, the place you went when you started over at zero.
She filed the paperwork on the same day Sebastian introduced Celeste to the world. The irony wasn't lost on her. While he pinned silver to another woman's throat, Zaia pinned her future to a state filing number and a PO box.
Marcus Hale called twice that week. Zaia didn't answer. He texted about the settlement. About safety. About *the Alpha's concern.* She deleted every message without reading past the first line.
Concern was cheap. Show up or stay gone.
On the forum where pack gossip thrived, someone posted a photo of Celeste's smile at the gala—triumphant, polished, wearing Zaia's old life like a costume. Zaia screenshot it for motivation and set it as her private desktop background with a single caption typed in bold:
*Never again.*
The twins kicked as if they approved.