Aria couldn’t move for a long time after Damien left. She stood by the window, her reflection blurred by moonlight, heart pounding against her ribs as if it were trying to escape.
Adopted.
She had always known, in some small tucked-away corner of her mind, but hearing it spoken aloud—hearing Damien confirm it with a certainty that came from records, not whispers—made it feel raw, undeniable.
Her mother, the woman who raised her, had never hidden the truth. You were chosen, she’d told Aria when she was just a girl. You were meant to be mine. It had been enough back then. She’d loved fiercely, and Aria never felt less for lacking blood ties.
But now… with Ethan. With Damien. With wolves.
Aria pressed a hand to her stomach, as if grounding herself. Who was she, really? What blood ran in
