Her trembling-lip routine made her look like the moon goddess’ tragic martyr.
Lucian’s jaw clenched with fury. When he faced me again, his voice was low, harsh—sharper than claws.
“You’ve crossed a boundary you can’t take back, Vivienne,” he said coldly. “Apologize to her.”
I let out a hollow laugh, stunned even by the sound of it.
“You want me to apologize?” My voice cracked, thick with disbelief. “Lucian, do you even know what this is?”
My hands trembled as I shoved the medical report into his chest. My throat burned with unshed tears.
He didn’t glance at it.
He tore it in half—the entire diagnosis—without hesitation. The shredded paper fluttered to the floor like snow.
“I don’t care what your report says!” he snapped. “All I know is that you’ve gone too far this time. Spirits, Vivienne—you’re pregnant! How could you harm another expecting wolf?”
Hot tears escaped down my cheeks, unbidden and silent. My whole body shook—not from injury, but from a fury so deep it felt ancient.
Lucian saw the tears and, for a brief moment, his anger dulled. His tone shifted, trying to soften.