First Love Dies

Abandoned Luna: Now Untouchable

Lila

For eight years, Cecilia Moore was the perfect Luna, loyal, and unmarked. Until the day she found her Alpha mate with a younger, purebred she-wolf in his bed. In a world ruled by bloodlines and mating bonds, Cecilia was always the outsider. But now, she's done playing by wolf rules. She smiles as she hands Xavier the quarterly financials-divorce papers clipped neatly beneath the final page. "You're angry?" he growls. "Angry enough to commit murder," she replies, voice cold as frost. A silent war brews under the roof they once called home. Xavier thinks he still holds the power-but Cecilia has already begun her quiet rebellion. With every cold glance and calculated step, she's preparing to disappear from his world-as the mate he never deserved. And when he finally understands the strength of the heart he broke... It may be far too late to win it back.

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My husband accused me of putting his assistant in the hospital.

He claimed the AC I turned on, despite her protests, caused her to collapse from severe cramps. I was eight months pregnant and the office was dangerously hot, but he still blamed me. To "make it up to me," he invited me to a party at an exclusive club.

I woke up on the floor of a glass-walled freezer.

Outside, my husband, Austen, stood with his arm wrapped around a perfectly healthy Deb. He raised a glass to the city’s elite, toasting to “cooling down” his hot-headed wife.

They watched as his men stripped me to my underwear and forced my bare knees onto a floor of ice. They poured buckets of freezing water over my head and my pregnant belly until I felt a warm trickle between my legs.

I was bleeding. I was losing our baby.

While I lay there, Austen pounded on the glass, screaming at me to apologize, to tell him I forgave him so he wouldn't have to be the monster.

He sneered that I was all alone, that my father was dead and no one was coming to save me.

Chapter 1

The air in Austen Nolan's office was thick and hot, sticking to my skin like a second layer. At eight months pregnant, the heat felt suffocating, a heavy blanket pressing down on me and my unborn child. I walked over to the thermostat, my hand reaching for the cool setting.

"Please don't."

The voice was soft but firm. I turned to see Deb Noble, my husband's personal assistant, standing by her desk. She had a pained look on her face.

"I'm on my period," she said, her voice a little shaky. "The cold air makes my cramps unbearable."

I looked at her, then at the sealed windows of the high-rise office. The sun baked the glass. I could feel sweat trickling down my back. My baby was my priority.

"It's over eighty-five degrees in here, Deb. It's not safe for me."

I turned back to the AC unit and switched it on. A blast of cool air rushed out, and I took a deep, grateful breath. Deb said nothing else, just watched me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

That evening, Austen came home. He didn't kiss me or ask about the baby. He walked straight into the living room where I was sitting and stood over me, his face a mask of anger.

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