Chapter 2
1097 Words
SLOANE
Two months pass after the award ceremony, and I try to convince myself I’m imagining things. Ava and Hunter are close — too close — but she keeps mentioning a boyfriend named Dave. A man she supposedly sees out of town. A man she never brings around. A man she never talks about unless I ask.
A man I’ve never met.
But I let it go. I’m tired. I’m busy. I’m trying to be a good Luna, a good mother, a good wife. I don’t have the energy to chase shadows.
One morning, I’m reviewing the pack’s quarterly budget when I see Ava walking past the office window. She’s wearing a loose sweater, her hair in a messy bun, her face pale. She looks… different.
Rounder.
Softer.
Heavier.
I blink.
Has she gained weight?
Before I can think more about it, she knocks on my door.
“Sloane?” Her voice is small, shaky.
I look up. Her eyes are red. Her hands tremble. She looks like she’s about to collapse.
“Ava, what happened?”
She steps inside and shuts the door behind her. Then she breaks. Full‑body sobs, shoulders shaking, breath hitching.
“He left me,” she chokes out. “Dave left me.”
My stomach drops. “What do you mean?”
“He cheated on me.” She wipes her face with her sleeve. “With someone else. He said he didn’t want… this.”
“This?” I echo.
She looks up at me, eyes glossy and terrified.
“I’m pregnant.”
The room tilts.
Pregnant.
Ava is pregnant.
I stare at her, stunned. My mind races.
But she’s crying. She’s hurting. She needs me.
I kneel beside her. “Ava, listen. You’re not alone. You have me. You have Hunter. You have Caleb. We’ll take care of you.”
Her lower lip trembles. “You… you’d do that?”
“Of course,” I say softly. “You’re family.”
She throws her arms around me, sobbing into my shoulder. I hold her, rubbing her back, whispering comfort. She clings to me like she’s drowning.
And I don’t see the flicker of satisfaction in her eyes when she pulls away.
Ava’s pregnancy becomes “delicate” almost immediately.
She’s nauseous. Dizzy. Emotional.
She cries at everything. She snaps at everything. Especially at me.
If I ask how she’s feeling, she says I’m hovering.
If I give her space, she says I don’t care.
If I cook, she says I’m controlling her diet.
If I don’t cook, she says I’m abandoning her.
But when Hunter walks into the room?
She softens. Smiles. Glows.
And when Caleb is around? She becomes gentle, affectionate, maternal.
He loves it. He loves her. And I try not to let it hurt.
Meals become the worst part of the day.
I walk into the dining room one evening and find Hunter cutting Ava’s food because she’s “too tired.” Caleb sits beside her, showing her a drawing he made. Ava laughs softly, brushing his hair back.
Hunter looks relaxed.
I stand there for a moment, invisible.
Ava notices me first. “Sloane! We saved you a seat.”
Her voice is warm. Too warm.
A performance.
I force a smile. “I’m not hungry. I have work.”
Hunter glances at me, unreadable. “You should eat.”
“I will later.”
I leave before Ava can say anything else.
I eat alone in my office.
Or in the garden.
Or not at all.
Ava always notices.
And she always makes a point of being sweet afterward — bringing me tea, asking about my day, hugging me unexpectedly.
It’s a game. A quiet, cruel game. And I’m losing.
I bury myself in work.
I manage the pack’s finances, approve budgets, review contracts. My assistant, Mara, keeps me organized, handing me files, highlighting urgent items, reminding me to eat.
Ava used to help with Luna duties — decorations for events, choosing china patterns, picking color palettes. She loved the aesthetic parts.
Now she does nothing.
She lounges on the couch, complains about her back, demands attention, and insists her pregnancy is too fragile for stress.
Hunter agrees with her. I try not to resent it.
I fail.
One night, in Ava’s third trimester, I fall asleep early. Exhaustion pulls me under like a tide. When I wake hours later, the bed beside me is empty.
Hunter is gone.
I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes. Maybe he’s in the bathroom. I slip out of bed and head downstairs for a glass of water. The house is quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of nightlights in the hallway.
As I pass the west wing corridor, I hear something.
A sound. A man’s voice.
My heart stops.
Hunter?
I move closer, pulse racing. The sound is muffled, low, rhythmic. Not moaning — just… strange. Breathless. Urgent.
I freeze outside Ava’s door.
“Ava?” I call softly.
No answer.
I knock. “Ava, are you okay?”
Still nothing.
The strange sounds continue — a mix of voices, shifting tones, something like a movie playing too loudly.
My stomach twists. I turn the handle. The door opens.
Ava jerks upright on her bed, eyes wide, face flushed. The room is dim, lit only by the glow of the large TV mounted on the wall.
The TV is playing something inappropriate — not explicit, but suggestive enough that I immediately look away.
“Oh my god, Sloane!” Ava gasps, pulling a blanket over herself. She wasn't wearing any underwear. “You scared me!”
“I—I’m sorry,” I stammer, mortified. “I heard something. I thought you were hurt.”
Her cheeks redden further. “I was watching a movie. I didn’t think anyone would hear.”
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” I say quickly, backing out of the room. “I’m sorry.”
She softens instantly. “It’s fine. Really. Just… knock next time.”
“I did,” I whisper.
I close the door gently and stand in the hallway, heart pounding, face burning with embarrassment. I don’t know why Ava was watching something like that.
I don’t know why the noises sounded so… wrong.
I walk back to the north wing alone, the silence pressing against my ears.
When I crawl into bed, the sheets are cold. Hunter is still not back.
And I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how a home can feel so full and so empty at the same time.
- Writer
