My gaze flickered to Marcus. He was looking at me now, and for the first time in a long time, there was pity in his eyes.
"Anastasia’s right, Alpha Derick," he said carefully.
"You still defend the woman who murdered our only son’s daughter?" my father snapped. "I can’t believe you’re this blind, Alpha Marcus!"
Marcus's jaw tightened. "Is love really that easy to throw away, Alpha Derick? She’s your daughter. And I still care about her."
"Care?" My father let out a bitter laugh. "You care for a murderer?!"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd—wolves from allied and neighboring packs, all whispering about me. About the disgrace of the Redmoon Pack.
"She’s not my daughter anymore!" my father declared, voice full of venom. "After what she’s done, she deserves it! She deserves to die for killing Lily!"
I saw it then.
Marcus’s face flushed—not with anger, but with shame.
Not shame for me.
Shame for himself.
For defending me in front of others.
He wasn’t doing this for me. He was doing it to salvage his own reputation.
He never truly loved me.
Because if you love someone, you stand by them. You believe in them.
I thought Marcus knew me better than my own parents. But he didn’t.
No one did.