After seven long years by his side, things finally changed on my birthday. Ashton Maguire—my mate, the one I'd always believed was meant for me—sent me 9,999 roses. A bouquet for a true bond, so I thought. He also sent a set of lace lingerie, a strange choice for someone like Ashton who never really cared about grand gestures and affection. I posted the flowers proudly, only for a comment to appear beneath the photo. His “secretary” JoAnn, left the words, “Some wolves pick up only the scraps I leave behind.” I was surprised to see such strange comments from someone who worked in Ashton’s office

That was when the truth clawed its way to the surface: he’d bought her a house, close to ours. The roses, the lace—everything was meant for her. Everything became crystal clear, I sensed an affair was going on between

I didn’t think twice. With the full moon rising behind me, I took the roses and followed the scent that now seemed so bitter. I found them, candlelight illuminating their secret. There he was, the wolf I’d pledged my life to, looking at her with a tenderness I’d never received. His gaze sharpened as he saw me, his eyes gleaming with a cold silver light. “Can you stop being so paranoid?” he snapped. “JoAnn and I are just discussing territory boundaries. Besides, if she really mattered more than you, would you even have had the chance to mark me?”

In the past, I would have raised my voice, might have bared my fangs and demanded the truth. But not tonight. With a calmness I didn’t know I possessed, I tossed the bouquet and my engagement band, letting the weight of my decision settle in the air. “I wish you both all the happiness you deserve,” I said,with a voice cold as ice.

The band rolled to his feet, and he crushed it under his heel, as if it were nothing more than dust. “If you want to keep me, change your paranoid nature. Get out of here and reflect on yourself,” he sneered with annoyance written all over him. Ashton has always treated me poorly in the presence of many. No wonder, I had little respect from people.

I felt a sense of relief wash over me, strange feelings yet liberating, as I turned my back on him and left. As the sun rose, I sent a message to my family pack, announcing the betrayal and calling off the engagement. Ashton always quick to play the innocent one, posted an image of his workspace, claiming he was just dealing with “pack business” alongside a “female subordinate.” Then he twisted the blade further, saying: “Katy, you’re throwing a fit because I didn’t buy you that ceremonial pelt. I haven’t even complained about you drinking at gatherings with other males.”

The family chat erupted, with my mother’s voice cutting through first, her words as biting as a cold northern wind. She accused me of not being worthy of Ashton demanding I apologize and salvage our “bond.” She even threatened to exile herself if I failed to mend things with him.

My mother had always been volatile, ever since my parents’ separation fractured our pack. I had mistaken Ashton’s coldness for strength, his silence for stability. But over the years, I realized that the kindness he was capable of was reserved for JoAnn. I had merely been his anchor, something to keep his image stable, while his healrt wandered. Ashton was a casanova

He was skilled at breaking me down with subtle cruelty, taunting me until I bared my teeth in anger, only for him to play the role of the patient one. He had the pack convinced I was a crazed she-wolf, but this time, I wouldn’t play his game.

When I stepped away from the phone and out into the woods, the scent of the earth and wild grass around me, I felt a primal surge within. No longer would I be bound to a wolf who saw me as less than worthy. I had a wildness, a power that he couldn’t take from me. But after seven years, I’d learned to stop expecting kindness from him. Ashton had never been the man I thought he was, and the person I had once adored seemed to vanish over time, replaced by someone cold and distant. His patience, his gentleness—it wasn’t for me. It was always for JoAnn Reilly, the girl he was really kind to, the one who never got angry or disappointed. She was the one he smiled at with warmth, the one he treated like she mattered. But me? I was just a nuisance, a tool to vent his frustrations.

And every time he saw me upset, he’d twist the knife deeper, cleverly playing the role of the victim, as if I were the one at fault. I’d shout, and he’d remain calm, pretending to be the understanding partner, forgiving me for my outbursts. His behavior was calculated, designed to make me look crazy in front of everyone else. He didn’t care about my feelings. Not really. The worst part of everything was how he always had his way of gaslighting me.

I had stopped crying over it a long time ago. What was the point? My heart had long since shriveled, the pain of caring for a man who would never change had hollowed me out.

When Ashton came home that evening, his hand clutching a soggy bouquet of roses, I didn’t even look up from my phone. He scoffed loudly, breaking the silence. "Why haven't you cooked dinner? Still mad? Enough is enough. Haven’t you always wanted me to buy you flowers? I got them, so stop sulking."

He tossed the wilting roses onto the coffee table, the petals falling apart as they hit the surface. I didn’t respond. I had stopped expecting anything from him—especially not gestures of affection that felt so hollow and unrequited.

But there was something different in the air that night. A shift, a tension. Ashton’s voice, usually smooth with disdain, held something else now, something darker.

As he reached out to touch my shoulder, I flinched. It wasn’t just the touch that made me pull away, but the feeling that crawled beneath his skin. The air around us grew heavier, like the oppressive weight of an approaching storm. I hadn’t noticed before, but his scent—it was changing. I could smell the faint hint of something wild, something primal.

He noticed. "What’s wrong?" he asked, his voice low, almost a growl.

I stared at him then, really looked at him. His eyes were darker than I remembered, his jaw tight with barely contained fury. The shift was subtle but unmistakable. And in that moment, I knew. I knew Ashton was hiding something from me, just as I always suspected he was having an affair with JoAnn.

"Ashton?" My voice was shaky. I didn’t know why I was afraid, but I couldn’t deny the fear that curled in my stomach. "What are you—?"

He laughed then, a deep, rumbling sound, the kind that didn’t belong to a man, but to something much more dangerous. "You’ve been so blind, haven’t you?" He stepped back, his posture shifting, his hands twitching at his sides as if they wanted to claw at something. He was barely holding it together.

"Ashton, what is this?" I asked again, my pulse quickening.

And then, without warning, he let out a hiss, a sound too low and feral. His hands clenched into fists, and his nails—his claws—grew longer, sharper, gleaming silver in the dim light.

I froze. The roses on the table shattered, their petals flying in all directions as Ashton’s transformation began. His face twisted in agony, his skin rippling as his muscles stretched, and in moments, the man I had loved looked at me with an angry rage in his eyes.

In his place stood a creature of nightmare. His eyes gleamed with the savage hunger of a predator, his body massive and covered in fur. The air around us crackled with energy, a kind of dark magic that sent chills through my bones. And for the first time in years, I felt something for him again. But it wasn’t love. No, it was fear—raw, unfiltered fear.

I stood there, paralyzed, as Ashton, stared down at me, his lips curling into a twisted smile. "You thought I was just a man," he said, his voice now a guttural growl. "But I’ve always been more. And now you’re going to see the real me."

As I backed away, I couldn’t help but feel a sick sense of betrayal. But this wasn’t just about betrayal anymore. This was something darker. Something much, much more dangerous.

And I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face it.

I had became accustomed to silence. To submission.

Ashton thought I was forgiving him once again as he lit the candles, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Make a wish," he said.

Every year before, I’d wished for happiness, for a love strong enough to bind me and Ashton together forever. But this time, my wish was different. Silently, I whispered, "I want freedom. I want to be happy, free of Ashton... forever."

As I blew out the candles, a strange shiver crawled down my spine, a stirring in my blood that felt almost... alive. But before I could process it, I noticed Ashton was gone, the cake I’d spent hours making lay splattered on the floor, and the front door was left swinging open.

I checked my phone. There it was. JoAnn's new post: "I'm so clumsy! Nearly fell over again. Luckily, my Prince Charming was there to save me."

In the comments, Ashton, who couldn’t be bothered to even look at me when I was in the hospital after an accident, replied: "Whenever you need me, I'll always be there."

I liked the post. Moments later, a message from Ashton popped up: “JoAnn hurt her foot. I’m taking her to the hospital. Come over and clean her place. And make some bone broth to bring to the hospital.”

Something inside me snapped. The realization hit like a lightning bolt. Ashton’s supposed “allergy” to peanuts was just a preference—JoAnn’s. Every criticism, every attack, was never really about me. Ashton treated me like a piece of trash, I was never his priority.

A low growl rose in my throat, catching me off guard. I ignored it and trudged downstairs.

When I reached the apartment, Ashton was cradling JoAnn, speaking softly as though the rest of the world ceased to exist. The faint scent of her perfume filled the air, mingling with something else, something earthy and... wild.

Ashton saw me, his face darkening with irritation. "Finally, Katy. Don’t dawdle. If JoAnn’s treatment is delayed because of you—"

JoAnn tugged on his sleeve. "Ashton, I’m fine. Please, don’t be mad at Katy." Her soft eyes turned to me, filled with feigned innocence. "I know she’s never liked me."

Ashton snapped, "Enough, Katy. Clean up properly. I’d never marry a jealous woman who can’t even manage her chores!" With that, he whisked her away, disappearing down the hallway.

Watching them go, I muttered to myself, "As if I’d marry a lying, cheating man."

The room was a mess, water soaked the bathroom floor, and two used condoms lay discarded in the trash. A sudden wave of revulsion rose in me, but it wasn’t the usual bitterness or sadness. This felt... different. Sharper. Deeper.

My vision dimmed at the edges as a fierce heat surged through my veins. The luxury, the brand-name items that cluttered JoAnn’s room, Ashton’s empty promises... it all suddenly felt trivial, hollow and selfish. I was dumbfounded. After all this years, I was just a use and dump piece of trash.

I pulled out my phone and took pictures of every corner of the room, from her luxury perfumes to the remnants of their night together. When I was done, I packed my things in silence, aware of every slight creak in the floorboards, the soft hum of the apartment's walls around me.

With each passing second, the strange tingling in my blood grew stronger. It was like an energy rising within me, clawing its way out. I thought back to the years I’d wasted, the nights spent alone while Ashton gave his affection freely to others except me. Something deep within me roared in response. I was devastated.

Finally, I called Brittany, my childhood friend. She picked up after the third ring, her voiced laced with irritation.

"I’m leaving him forever," I whispered. "I was wrong to throw away my career, my dreams... my life. I want to come find peace, Brittany."

She called me a fool. She said I deserved whatever was happening, she had long warned me about Ashton. Then she hung up. I sat in the empty room, the last of my hope leaking away like ice from water.

A message buzzed on my phone moments later: Brittany bought you a ticket. Three days from now. Noon.

Relief mixed with fury in my chest. And then I felt it—a ripple of power surged from my bones, through my muscles, tearing at my skin, pulling and shifting. Pain shot through me, agonizing yet liberating, and in the dim light, I watched as my hands became claws, as the room around me filled with the scent of damp earth and rain.