When I lost my pup in a rogue attack, Ethan just happened to be there, driving by with his assistant, Fiona, in the passenger seat. He saw my blood-soaked dress, and instead of stopping to help or even offering a shred of concern, he shielded Fiona’s eyes and muttered, "Bad luck. Don’t look." Then he sped off.

I tended to my wound by providing first aid and went to the healers.

That same night, I found something that confirmed everything I had been ignoring for months. As I opened the closet door in Alpha's house, a lace bra—one that wasn’t mine—was stuffed in the corner.

I calmly closed the closet and dialed a number. “Mr. Reed, I’ve made my decision. I can start at your company next week.”

“Wonderful news, Skylar! We’re excited to have you on board!” He replied, his voice cheerful.

The moment I hung up, Ethan walked out of the bathroom. His damp hair clung to his face, his skin still wet from the shower. He used to be quick—five minutes at most. Now, his showers lasted half an hour, his phone was always in hand.

“Who were you talking to?” He asked without looking up from his phone, his tone dismissive, as usual.

“Just Mr. Reed,” I replied evenly.

Mr. Reed is the current Alpha from my previous pack after my father resigned. Ethan is not on good terms with him although they are trying to be civilised in pack meetings.

"Ah," he muttered, already distracted. He barely paid attention anymore, his thoughts constantly elsewhere—probably on her.

I didn’t argue. I didn’t cry or scream like I used to when he brushed me off. Instead, I opened my phone and quietly started drafting my resignation letter. My mind was made up.

Ethan glanced at the empty spot on the nightstand where his usual cup of tea should’ve been. For the first time in seven years, I hadn’t made it for him. He finally looked at me, confusion crossing his face.

“I showed your CT scan to a specialist,” he said casually. “It’s nothing serious and it was just a minor injury. Make sure to keep the wound dry.”

I stared at him, unblinking. The wound he referred to was a deep gash in my leg, requiring eight stitches, the result of the rogue attack. Worse still, I’d found out that I had been four weeks pregnant—our pup had gone before I even had a chance to protect it.

The doctor had told me if I’d been taken to the hospital sooner, the pup might have been saved. But Ethan wasn’t there. He never was.

Or he was, but he only passed by me.

He stepped closer, likely to check what I was doing, but just then his phone buzzed. A smile tugged at his lips before he turned, heading straight into his studies.

As soon as he was gone, I opened my secret social media account. I wasn’t surprised to see his latest post, one visible to everyone but me.

I shouldn’t have let the cutest assistant in the world down. Promised her dinner after work, but got caught up in a meeting. My bad. I’ll make it up to her.

I liked the post with a cold smile, and in the next moment, an email from Mr. Reed popped up—my new contract. I clicked the link and signed it without hesitation. I was leaving this pack, and Ethan, behind.

The next morning, Ethan left early and returned with bagels from a bakery he knew I liked. I reached into the bag, hoping for a chocolate croissant, but before I could grab one, his hand slapped mine away.

“You like peanut butter-flavored bread, right? Got one just for you,” he said, without meeting my eyes.

I froze. After seven years together, he still didn’t know—or didn’t care—that I was allergic to peanuts. The chocolate croissants weren’t for me. They were for Fiona.

“We’ve been together for seven years,” I said quietly, “and you still don’t know I can’t eat peanuts?”

His expression darkened, frustration clouding his features. “Stop making a fuss. Eat or don’t. I don’t care.”

I didn’t argue. Instead, I walked to the bedroom, grabbed the lace bra, and returned. I handed it to him, my voice steady. “When you see Fiona later, return this to her.”

Ethan’s brows furrowed as he peeked inside the bag. When he saw the lace bra, surprise flickered across his face. He opened his mouth, probably to deny or explain, but when he saw my calm expression, he said, “I’ll tell her to stop leaving things around.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, turning away.

For a moment, Ethan seemed to sense something was wrong. “I can give you a ride to work,” he offered, as if that would fix everything.

Seven years together, and not once had he driven me to work. I had trudged through storms, through snow, without a single offer of help. Yet Fiona, on her very first day, was chauffeured by him like a queen.

Without another word, I grabbed my bag and left.

That was the moment I knew. I wasn’t just leaving the city. I was leaving him, too. I'm breaking up with Alpha for good.

As I pondered how Ethan treated his assistant, Fiona, compared to how he treated me, my hand trembled, knocking my fork to the floor. My thoughts were a mess, and when I bent down to pick it up, I saw Ethan standing by the doorway, dressed and ready to leave.

Without even turning back, he tossed his words over his shoulder. "Something urgent came up at the office. I'll give you a ride next time," he muttered before hurrying out. Just like that—no concern, no care. I stood there in silence, wondering when exactly I became invisible to him.

When I limped into my cubicle, the pain in my leg from the rogue attack throbbed, but I pushed through. Something was off today, though. My colleagues kept casting me sympathetic glances. It was as if they knew something I didn’t.

Later, as I filled my water bottle in the break room, I overheard two colleagues whispering behind me.

“So, it’s true? Alpha really ditched our Luna for that assistant of his?” one said.

“Yeah! You should’ve seen it this morning. Fiona showed up with a stain on her dress, and he picked her up in front of everyone in the meeting room,” the other replied.

My grip on the bottle slipped, and it crashed to the floor, spilling water everywhere. The room went silent. I crouched down, cleaning up the mess without a word, my hands shaking as I threw the pieces of my pride into the trash along with the broken glass.

The day dragged on, and I ended up working late into the night. It was past ten when I suddenly felt something warm on my shoulders.

"Skylar," Ethan's voice muttered, draping his coat over me. Why didn’t you respond to my messages?"

I didn’t turn around. Instead, I pulled out my phone and saw his text: What flavor of milk tea do you usually like?

I hadn’t asked him for a milkshake in three years, not since that one summer. I’d begged him for one back then, and he’d looked at me with disdain. “Milk? Really, Skylar? You’re nearly 30. Don’t make me sick with this childish crap.”

But now, here he was, holding out a milk as if that would erase everything.

“I won’t be able to sleep if I drink it now,” I said, not even bothering to look at him.

There was a pause. “You used to beg me for this,” he said, sounding genuinely confused.

I didn’t respond. He muttered something about going to the bathroom and said we’d leave together after, but I hardly heard him. His phone buzzed, lighting up the desk beside me. A message from Fiona flashed across the screen:

You silly! Sending me a lot of milk teas at once! Trying to make me fat, huh?

I stared at the screen for a moment, then turned my attention back to my computer, my heart ice cold.

When we got home, I went straight to the bedroom and started packing. I wasn’t staying here any longer. Ethan came in, freshly showered, and noticed the changes immediately—my things missing from their usual places.

He frowned but didn’t ask. “Hey, I’m going to Paris for a business trip next month. If you want anything, just make a list.”

I didn’t hesitate. “Nah, I don’t need anything.”

He dropped his towel onto the bed, a chill entering his voice. "What’s wrong? You mad because I bought you the wrong ?"

I blinked at him, confused, but before I could respond, he scoffed. “You know I can’t stand women being dramatic. Skylar, you’re being ridiculous. It's just a milk tea.”

That old, familiar disgust was in his eyes. The same look he gave me when I showed the slightest hint of emotion. Without waiting for an answer, he stormed out, slamming the door to his study behind him.

Seven years. Seven years of silent treatments, of me always apologizing, groveling to make things right. But this time, I wasn’t going to do that. I cocked an eyebrow, switched off the bedside lamp, and didn’t knock on the study door.

The next morning, I made breakfast as usual, ate alone, and got ready to leave for work. Ethan came out of his study, still on his phone, barely sparing me a glance.

“Take the day off,” he ordered, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “I need you to make me an identical fondant cake by 5 p.m.”

I stared at him, the absurdity of it almost making me laugh. There I was, trying to hold my world together, and he was focused on some cake.

I lost my child, the future Alpha of this pack, and yet, he didn't care that much.

So, I gave a noncommittal nod, but my mind was already elsewhere.

Ethan was still lost in his phone as he turned away, probably messaging Fiona.

I was leaving. Soon. I wouldn’t have to pretend anymore.

Ever since Ethan and I started dating, I’d been making him a birthday cake every single year—by hand, from scratch. But this time, when he asked me to make a cake, I knew it wasn’t for him. I didn’t need to check his phone to know who the cake was really for; I’d seen that little cartoon avatar on his screen before. It was Fiona’s.

The silence in the room was unnerving, but Ethan seemed oblivious to the weight of his request. His expectant gaze lingered on me, waiting for my usual compliance.

“Send me the picture,” I said, keeping my voice neutral as I stood up. “I’ll head out now to buy the ingredients.”

As I walked out, my mind drifted back to the time Ethan had helped me land my first job, seven years ago. I had been so grateful then, thinking I owed him everything. But now, all I wanted was to be free. ‘Once I finish this cake, I’ll be done with him,’ I thought, my steps feeling heavier as I left the apartment.

“Skylar,” Ethan’s voice broke through the silence just as I reached the door. His tone was unsure, as though he had more to say.

“Anything else?” I asked flatly, without turning around.

There was a pause. “…I’ll Venmo you for the ingredients,” he added weakly.

I continued walking, not bothering to reply. In the elevator, I pulled out my phone and opened our chat history. 5,363 messages. That’s how many I had sent him over the years. He had only replied to 25. The numbers stung, but I could only smirk at the absurdity of it all.

Later that night, around 8 p.m., my phone rang. Ethan’s name flashed on the screen.

“Where are you?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

I sat in a diner, picking at my food. “What’s up?” I sidestepped his question.

“Nothing much,” he said softly, almost awkwardly. “The cake you made was delicious, as always. Thanks. I know it was a lot of effort.”

Before I could respond, I heard Fiona’s overly sweet voice in the background.

“Skylar! I heard from Ethan that you made my birthday cake today. Wow, you’re so talented!” she gushed. “I wish I could bake like you, but I’m so clumsy. Ethan always calls me his little dummy.”

Her voice dripped with fake innocence, and before I could even process what she said, she invited me to the party.

But Ethan cut her off, his tone firmer now. “You don’t need to come,” he said, before hanging up. A few minutes later, another message from him buzzed on my phone: [If you stop by, grab a bag of tomato-flavored chips for Fiona from the store.]

I sighed, the sarcasm bubbling up in me as I smiled faintly.

Now, I am the topic of a funny gossip. The pack's Luna was just someone's errand woman.

When I pushed the door open to the private room where the party was being held, I spotted Ethan immediately. He was feeding Fiona a slice of cake, her eyes wide as she looked up at him adoringly.

The moment Ethan saw me, his expression darkened with irritation. I could see it in his eyes—he hadn’t expected me to show up.

“Skylar!” Fiona greeted me with a saccharine smile, her voice like syrup.

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t I tell you not to come?” he snapped, his irritation clear.

Before I could respond, Fiona jumped in, pouting dramatically. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I just really wanted those chips, so I tricked her into coming,” she said, feigning innocence.

Ethan’s hard expression softened as he reached out to ruffle her hair. “You little munchkin,” he muttered with a fond smile.

I watched the exchange, my resolve hardening. This was my moment.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a resignation letter, stepping forward. “Ethan, one of my colleagues has a family emergency and needs to leave. I need you to approve this.”

He barely glanced at the letter before scribbling his signature, his attention still focused on Fiona. But as he handed the letter back to me, his fingers brushed against the burn marks on my palm, a reminder of the cake I’d made. His brow furrowed, his eyes lingering on my hand.

“You came here just for this?” he asked, his voice low and unreadable.

I nodded, keeping my expression neutral.

His face darkened, and for a second, I thought he was going to say something more. But then he flinched, pulling his hand back like he’d been burned. Disgust flashed across his face, and I knew it wasn’t just about the cake.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Fiona’s eyes light up. “Oh! Skylar! That red bracelet you’re wearing... it looks familiar,” she said, leaning in with a sly smile. “I just remembered—I saw something just like it in Ethan’s trash can the other day.”

I saw Ethan subtly move his hand to cover his wrist, but I pretended not to notice.

“These bracelets are common,” I replied calmly. “If you like it, I can give you this one.”

There is no sense in wearing this bracelet anymore. I am my own person, my pack, and a mateless Luna.

Fiona didn’t respond, her eyes narrowing slightly. The tension in the room thickened, but I felt nothing but a sense of finality. This was the last time I’d let them both play their little games.