Chapter 2

I pushed myself up against the wall. Just as I got my balance, I heard the lock click.

Jack rushed in, clutching a faded, yellowing notebook, and headed straight for the living room.

That was the diary I had kept when I was pregnant with him, recording every joyful kick.

I had kept it safely in the living room glass cabinet.

I walked out of the guest room and saw Jack shoving my diary right under the serving tray Rachel was holding.

"Aunt Rachel, the table is a bit wobbly. I'll use this notebook to level it so your soup won't spill."

Blood rushed to my head. I marched over to pull the notebook out, but Rachel deliberately pressed her hand on the corner.

She looked up at me with an innocent expression, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward.

"Sarah, I'm so sorry. Jack said this was just a useless scrap notebook, so I used it."

"Don't be mad at the kid. I'll wipe it clean for you later."

The edge of the heavy tray dug a deep scratch into the cover. The moment my hand touched the edge of the diary, Jack shoved me hard.

Caught off guard, I stumbled backward, hitting the wall. A dull pain radiated through my back.

"Stop scaring Aunt Rachel! It's just a trashy notebook, how much could it even be worth? I'll just ask Dad to buy you a new one."

Jack stood protectively in front of Rachel, glaring at me with pure hostility.

Daniel walked out of the kitchen with a glass of warm milk. Without asking what happened, he frowned and snapped at me.

"Sarah, what is wrong with you this morning? You're ruining the mood."

"So what if they used an old notebook to level the table? Is that worth hitting our son over?"

My fingernails dug deep into my palms until they bled.

"That diary holds the records of the six months I spent bedridden in the hospital just to safely give birth to Jack."

My voice was dry and tight. A flicker of guilt crossed Daniel’s eyes, but his face quickly hardened again.

He pulled a black card from his wallet and tossed it onto the table, sliding it toward Rachel.

"Rachel, after lunch, have Jack take you shopping. Buy whatever you want. Consider it compensation for the trouble you went through today."

Using pack funds to please another woman—just to compensate her for the "fright" of using my precious diary to prop up a table.

The metallic taste of blood rose in my throat. My legs gave out, and I slid down the wall, clutching my chest.

Cold sweat poured down my face as I gasped for air, but my lungs felt empty.

Jack rolled his eyes and snorted.

"Look, Dad, she's acting again. Every time she loses an argument, she pretends to be sick. That trick is so old."

"Aunt Rachel, let's ignore her. Let's go buy that giant Transformer toy."

Daniel looked at my pale face and trembling body. He frowned, taking a step toward me, but Rachel gently tugged his sleeve.

"Daniel, I feel a bit dizzy... maybe it's the jet lag..."

Daniel immediately turned to support Rachel, never sparing me another glance.

I forced the blood in my throat back down, using the wall to drag myself up. I walked to the dining table.

Right in front of them, I yanked the crumpled diary out from under the tray.

The cover was already stained with grease. I didn't look at it again. I threw it straight into the trash can.

Daniel’s face shifted as he watched the diary land in the trash. He opened his mouth, but ended up scoffing instead.

"Unbelievable. Your temper is getting weirder by the day."

He wrapped his arm around Rachel's shoulders and led Jack out the door.

As the sound of their car faded, I crawled back to the guest room and collapsed onto the bed. Only after the deadly palpitations quieted down did I grab my phone.

I dialed a number I hadn't called in a very long time.

"Mr. Foster, it's Sarah. I want to withdraw all the patent rights belonging to me from the Blue Moon Pack."

Similar to human patent laws, werewolves had their own legal system for intellectual property.

Whether a pack filed for a patent was up to the Alpha, and the process required detailed documentation, including development history and efficacy reports.

Filing a patent allowed a pack to control production and distribution, bringing in massive wealth depending on how they marketed it.

My antidote research had been highly successful, generating astronomical profits for our pack.

Although the patents had been held under the pack's name, as the sole creator, I had the legal right to reclaim all ownership.

Mr. Foster agreed immediately, scheduling a meeting for tomorrow afternoon to finalize the details.

As soon as I hung up, I received a message from the pack's chief healer.

"Luna Sarah, your lab results are back. Your heart failure has worsened. Honestly, you have less than three days left. Please come to the clinic immediately."

Three days.

I stared at the screen, my dry lips curling into a bitter smile.