As Freya stared at the intimate warmth in those photos, the dull ache in her chest sharpened into something merciless—each beat of her heart felt like a claw raking her from within.
A memory surfaced through the haze.
Twenty years ago, when she was nine, her parents died in a glider crash. While her relatives fought viciously over her guardianship to steal the Hamilton Pack inheritance, only Riven—just fourteen at the time—took her hand and brought her into his home.
Back then he had promised, “Freya, I’ll protect you. You’ll never suffer again.”
That vow became the guiding moonlight of her life. No matter how many times she stumbled, she always followed him.
When she learned of his weak stomach, she studied foodcraft magic and perfected nourishing dishes just for him.
When he left to study overseas in the Northern Crescent, she forced herself to master the language and travel there just to enroll in the same academy.
Highborn circles gossiped that Freya was nothing but a little wolf raised to be Corvath’s future Luna. She didn’t care. She believed their love would endure all storms.