The first day Isabella moved into the main house, she was already bossing around the lower-ranking Omegas, redecorating the living room Ethan’s mother had left. 

“This black leather seating is too gloomy.” Her slender fingers brushed over the leather, then she turned to Ethan with a soft smile. “Ethan, what if we switch to moonlight vine-woven furniture? It would suit your Alpha status much better.”

Ethan didn’t even blink, just told the Beta steward beside him, “Do as Miss Isabella says.”

I stood on the landing of the stairs leading to the second floor, watching as strong pack warriors carried out the traditional wolf blanket I’d woven myself six months ago.

I’d made it from snow wolf fur, decorated with glowing moss, to celebrate the cubs successfully completing their first trial.

Mason and Maya trailed after Isabella like little shadows, excitedly pointing things out, their high-pitched voices calling out, “Auntie Isabella, this cushion made of starflowers needs to go too! Mother’s weaving is so ugly and not soft at all!”

Isabella gently stroked their heads, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Alright, we’ll change it all.”

My fingers tightened slightly, nails almost digging into my palms, but then I relaxed them.

Those blankets and cushions…

I’d woven and stitched them myself, thread by thread, infusing them with my healing wolf ability while I was pregnant with them, enduring the discomfort of the new mate bond.

They were filled with the softest snow rabbit down and calming moonflower seeds because, as pups, they were allergic to many common materials.

Now, they were being thrown into the trash without a second thought.

Over the next few days, this once-familiar main house became increasingly strange, filled with Isabella’s overly sweet Omega scent.

Ethan and the cubs absolutely doted on Isabella, as if she were the true Luna of this pack.

“Isabella, you shouldn’t be touching these rough tasks.” Ethan stopped Isabella as she was about to tidy up some clutter, his long fingers gently resting on her delicate wrist, his tone softer than I’d ever heard. “Your hands are for mixing rare herbs and caressing the cubs, not for this.”