My phone woke me at seven.

Then again at 7:02. Then 7:05.

I answered the fourth call without opening my eyes.

"Sienna Whitmore, what is going on?" My mother didn't bother with hello. "The Moon Goddess Hall just called me. They said the Ashford ceremony is *postponed*. Postponed! Your aunt already flew in from the coast!"

"I know, Mom."

"You know? That's all you have to say?"

"For now."

I hung up before she could cry. The phone buzzed again right away.

The wedding planner sounded like she'd swallowed a wasp. "Miss Whitmore, I have one hundred and twenty guests booked at the lodge. Do I cancel? Extend? Who's paying the deposit?"

"Give me until noon."

The third call was Elder Garrick. He didn't shout. That was worse.

"Child," he said slowly, "what did you do to offend the future Alpha?"

I stared at the ceiling. "I asked him for a fair chance."

"That isn't an answer."

"It's the only one I have, Elder."

When I finally scrolled through my messages, there were sixty-three of them. Some said *Stay strong, honey.* Some said *Called it.* One just said *LOL.*

None were from Ronan.

But Brielle had posted on the pack link at 5:14 that morning.

A photo. Ronan on the estate steps, settling his jacket around her shoulders. His hand rested on her arm. The same hand that had held mine at my father's funeral. The same hand that had slid a ring onto my finger.

Her caption read: *A real promise is never broken.*

I set the phone down. Picked it up again. Dialed.

He answered on the sixth ring.

"What?"

Behind him, a soft voice whined. "Ronan, the nurse said I have to change into the gown. Help me with the zipper?"

"One sec, Bri." Then, to me, sharper: "Sienna, I'm busy. Make it quick."

"Where are you?"

"Private clinic. Bri's stomach was still off this morning. I'm not leaving her alone." He exhaled hard. "Listen. Call the hall and cancel. Tell your relatives. Handle the penalty fees from the vendors. You're good at that stuff."

"I'm good at that stuff," I echoed.

"You know what I mean. Don't make this a thing."

I wound the blanket's edge around my finger. "Ronan. Do you remember what yesterday was?"

He went quiet.

One second.

Two.

"Our original wedding date," he said, and his tone softened like he was being generous. "I know you're upset, sweetheart."

My birthday. He'd stood beside my cake and clapped for it. Twenty-seven candles, and he'd forgotten by sunrise.

I didn't correct him.

I ended the call.

---

Seven years fit into one cardboard box.

His letters from university went in first. Blue ink, sloppy hearts in the margins. *You're the only future I want.*

Then the silver hairpin from our first full-moon dance. He'd tucked it behind my ear and whispered that I glowed brighter than the sky.

Then the bracelet. Two names carved side by side. The *R* had worn smooth from my thumb rubbing it.

Last came the ring.

I held it up to the window. The emerald caught the morning light, deep and green.

I'd spent every cent of my savings on that raw stone. Three years of shelving archive books at night. Ronan had found out and laughed, then scooped me into his arms and spun me until I was dizzy.

"You're the most precious treasure I'll ever own," he'd said.

Own.

I should've heard it back then.

I didn't put the ring in the box. I sealed it in a plain white envelope and wrote his full name on the front.

My lawyer, Mira Delacroix, met me at her office door. She weighed the envelope in her palm.

"Just this?"

"Just that. Hand it to him directly. Not to his Beta. Not to anyone else."

She studied my face. "And if he asks for a message?"

"There isn't one."

---

The manager of the Moon Goddess Hall nearly dropped his pen.

"You want to *keep* the booking?"

"I want to transfer it." I slid the form across his desk. "Out of the Ashford family name. Into mine. A private bonding ceremony, three days from now."

He blinked at the paperwork. "Miss Whitmore, the deposit was paid by—"

"By me. Check the receipt."

He checked. His eyebrows climbed. "So it was."

"And I want it in writing that only I can approve changes to the venue. No one else. Not an Alpha heir. Not his friends."

He signed. Stamped it. Then he hesitated, the stamp still raised in his fist.

"Forgive me for asking." He lowered his voice. "Is the groom still Ronan Ashford?"

I smiled. It felt easy for the first time in days.

"No."

---

The council's moonstone altar sat beneath a ring of old oaks, cold even in the afternoon sun.

The priestess was ancient, her braid as white as frost. She read my petition twice. Then she set it aside and gripped my wrist with surprising strength.

"Do you understand what you're asking?"

"I'm asking to end a bond."

"A *fated* bond. With an Alpha's blood." Her clouded eyes searched mine. "The backlash will tear through your wolf. Some she-wolves lose the ability to shift for months. Some for longer. The pain alone has put strong warriors on the ground."

"I know."

"Then why choose it?"

I thought of an empty dice cup. Of candy spilling out of a pocket.

"Pain I can survive," I said. "Being someone's wager, I won't."

She held my gaze a long moment. Then she released me and nodded toward the altar.

I unclasped the mate token from my throat. A silver crescent Ronan had pressed into my hands the night the bond first snapped into place. It was still warm from my skin.

I laid it on the stone.

The priestess offered me a silver blade. I drew it across my palm. The sting was sharp and clean. Red welled up and dripped onto the moonstone, one drop, then three, then a thin line.

The stone began to glow.

"Say it," the priestess murmured.

My voice came out steady.

"I, Sienna Whitmore, reject Ronan Ashford as my fated mate."

The silver-blue mark on my wrist split straight down the middle.

Then the pain hit.

It ripped through my chest like claws turning inside a wound. My knees struck the stone. My wolf screamed somewhere deep in my ribs, and I folded forward, gasping.

And I saw everything.

Ronan at nineteen, kissing me under the library stairs. Ronan at twenty-two, swearing he'd never let me go. Ronan last winter, his chin on my shoulder, whispering, *Always you.*

Every promise cracked apart in front of me.

I didn't cry.

I laughed. One broken, breathless sound against the cold altar.

The priestess's hand settled on my back. "It's done, child."

---

Across the valley, in the Ashford estate, Ronan lifted a moonstone pendant from its velvet box.

"Turn around, Bri."

Brielle swept her hair aside, smiling at her reflection.

The clasp never closed.

Pain slammed into Ronan's chest. The wine glass in his other hand burst, shards and red spraying across the table. Deep inside him, his wolf let out a long, keening howl.

He staggered. Caught the table's edge. His face drained to gray.

"Ronan?" Brielle spun around. "Ronan, what's wrong?"

"Sienna," he rasped.

His phone lit up on the table.

*COUNCIL NOTICE: Your fated mate has rejected your bond. The rejection is complete.*

His bloody fingers fumbled for the screen. He found my name. His thumb hovered over it.

Before he could press call, a second notice flashed across the top.

*Sienna Whitmore has submitted a new marriage registration. Proposed spouse: Alpha Callum Voss.*