Alpha's Regret: When I Want a Divorce

Lana's POV

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In the emergency room, the automated female voice sounded like a death knell. Cold. Mechanical. Final.

"Still no answer from your Alpha?"

The nurse tapped her tablet with an irritated rhythm. She was a Beta, her scent spiked with the sharp, burnt-coffee tang of a woman who had worked a double shift and had zero patience left for "human complications."

I lowered my phone, forcing a smile. "He's in a high-level board meeting. He doesn't like to be disturbed. Can I just sign for the procedure myself?"

The nurse grumbled about "poor wife" and "absentee mate" under her breath before thrusting a digital consent form toward me.

Seven calls. I had called Silas Vane seven times.

Seven times I had reached out to my husband-the billionaire Alpha of the Silver Ridge Pack, the man whose ring was a heavy, cold weight on my finger-and all I got was a mechanical rejection.

From the first day of our marriage, I knew my husband would never be mine to call.

He ran a publicly traded company.

Even his own family had to go through his secretary just to see him.

How could I expect anything more-an unloved wife?

Still, I called him seven times.

He had to know it was an emergency.

Three years of frustration, disappointment, and heartbreak crashed into me all at once.

Was it finally time to give up?

Ding.

A text message vibrated against my thigh. My heart did a pathetic, desperate little leap. Please let it be him. Please let him ask if I'm okay.

I pulled the phone out with my uninjured hand. It wasn't Silas. It was an unknown number.. a video file.

I opened it.

The footage was grainy, filmed in the dim, amber-soaked light of The Nocturne, the city's most upscale, restricted bar that didn't cater to the likes of me.

There he was. Silas Vane. My Alpha.

He looked devastating. He'd ditched his suit jacket, and his crisp white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the jagged edge of a tattoo on his collarbone, a mark of his lineage he had never let me touch.

He was sprawled on a velvet sofa, his long legs stretched out with a raw, predatory power that made every Omega in the room instinctively tilt their necks in submission.

But his eyes-those gold, terrifyingly beautiful eyes-were fixed on the woman draped over his arm.

Celine Thorne.

The Beta who had been his first love. The woman he'd been forced to leave behind three years ago when his family's dying patriarch demanded he marry me to save the Vane name.

Celine leaned into him, her vintage silk dress sliding off one shoulder, her flawless skin shimmering in the club lights.

The crowd around them erupted in cheers, someone calling for a toast. And someone cheered them on to kiss. Silas didn't pull away.

He didn't move an inch to reclaim his space. Instead, a dark, flirtatious smirk played on his lips.

It was a look he had never, not once, wasted on me, as he raised a glass of amber liquid to her.

The video cut to black.

I gripped the phone so hard the fresh stitches in my palm throbbed with a sickening heat. No wonder he hadn't answered. He was too busy welcoming his "true mate" back to the pack. He was too busy celebrating the end of us.

My fingers trembled as I typed a message with my one good hand, the words blurring through the unshed tears I refused to let fall.

[No need to hide from me anymore.]

[I agree to the divorce.]

[I'll be at the lawyer's office tomorrow at 10 AM.]

[Bring your seal.]

[Don't be late]

These days, most modern werewolves don't chase fated mates anymore.

Most choose their mates.

Some wolves never meet their fated mate in a lifetime.

Some don't care if they have one at all.

Some even despise the idea of a lifetime decided for them by the Moon Goddess.

Silas Vane was the latter.

He loved Celine Thorne deeply, and they promised each other they would reject their fated mate.

But his parents were traditionalists, convinced a fated mate was what was best for him.

And the powerful aunt who ruled warned: if Silas Vane dared to refuse, he would be disowned.

His company, his fortune, his reputation - all gone.

When they used their power to search the entire city and found me: the one with a 100% match to their son, they forced him to marry me.

The first time I met Silas Vane,

I felt his hatred long before the mate bond could pull me in.

But I had no choice back then.

My grandfather had cancer, with a last wish unfulfilled.

His treatment cost a million per shot.

I had no other way out but to agree to his aunt's demand - to marry him.

For three years, I had played the perfect Luna. I had cooked his meals, managed his PR, and endured his silence.

What he didn't know was this: the reason his parents had forced him to marry his 100% compatible fated mate wasn't just for the family.

It was for him.

He'd been born with a sickness.

A 100% compatible alpha and luna?

It wasn't just about the family's legacy.

It was about keeping him alive.

Suddenly, my phone rang. The screen flashed: ALPHA VANE.

My brain screamed at me to ignore it. To throw the phone against the ER wall.

But the bond which was the thin, fraying, one-sided connection we shared, made my thumb swipe "Accept" before I could stop it.

"Hello?" I whispered, my voice sounding small and brittle.

"Lana? It's Celine." The voice on the other end was smooth, like honey poured over thorns.

"Silas is completely drunk at The Nocturne. You should probably come pick him up before he does something... regrettable."

The line went dead.

She was marking her territory. She wanted me to see them together. She wanted me to know that even though I held the title, she held the man.

"To hell with both of them," I hissed.

I didn't want to go. Every cell in my body wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

But if he spent the night in her bed, he'd miss ten o'clock and "forget" the signing tomorrow.

I couldn't stay in that gilded cage for one more second.

He had to come home tonight.

When I arrived at the club, I tore the medical bandage off my hand.

The wound was raw, but I refused to look like a victim.

I walked into the VIP lounge seeing Celine was glowing, leaning into Silas's neck, her scent, sweet jasmine and victory, filling the air.

While for me, wearing my pajamas under a trench coat. I looked like a discarded housewife.

"Mrs. Vane!" Celine chirped, pulling back with a performance of "accidental" guilt.

"Please, don't be upset. Silas just had a couple too many drinks. I was just helping him stay upright. You know how he gets when he's celebrating."

The scent of her perfume was cloying, suffocating.

"Don't bother apologizing to her, Celine," a voice sneered. It was Mara, Celine's sister.

"Everyone knows the Alpha hates being tethered to a human fluke like her. If it weren't for that contract, you'd be the one carrying his heirs by now."

Laughter rippled through the lounge, sharp and jagged as the glass that had cut my hand.

Silas remained slumped in his seat, his eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to the insults being hurled at his wife.

I felt a coldness wash over me-the kind of cold that only comes when you truly have nothing left to lose. I looked Mara dead in the eye, my gaze unfaltering.

"You're right, Mara," I said, my voice cutting through the laughter like a blade. "He might hate me. He might even loathe the ground I walk on.

But until 10:00 a.m. tomorrow, I am still the Luna of this pack. I am still the woman who sits at the head of the table. And as for heirs..."

I turned my gaze to Celine, letting it linger on her pale, triumphant face.

"You should ask Silas if he's even capable of marking a Beta. Or has he forgotten who actually saved his life while his sweetheart was hiding in Europe, waiting for him to either die or get rich?"

The room went deathly silent. The music seemed to fade into the background. Celine's face drained of color.

I reached down, grabbing Silas's heavy, warm arm. His skin was burning, the Alpha heat radiating off him in waves.

"Wake up, Silas," I hissed into his ear, my voice trembling with a mix of fury and heartbreak.

"One last job as my husband. Drag yourself home so you can sign those papers. Then, and only then, you're hers."

The moment my fingertips finally brushed the skin just enough to wake him-

Someone yanked my shoulder back, hard.