After three years of loving Tristan Callen with everything I had, he finally gave me flowers. 9,999 roses and a set of silk lingerie for my 25th birthday. A grand, sweeping gesture that felt like a dream. I posted it online, eager to share a rare moment of happiness.

But the dream shattered when Selene Ashford, his preferred mate, commented beneath my post: [Some people are just desperate enough to settle for scraps.]

I stared at the words, my chest tightening. The roses, the gifts… they weren’t meant for me. They were hers, as always. And the mansion he’d just bought? Not for us, but for her.

I should’ve known better.

Still, I needed answers. So I grabbed the flowers and drove to Selene’s new place, just outside our pack’s territory. The moment I stepped inside, I found them together, seated at a candlelit table, laughing like nothing else in the world existed.

Tristan’s eyes flicked to me, but there was no guilt. No shame. He just gave me that cold, indifferent stare and growled, “Can you stop being so damn paranoid? Selene and I are discussing pack business.” His voice lowered, laced with condescension. “And if there really was something between us, do you think you'd even be my Luna?"

I almost laughed. The sheer audacity of it. The old me would’ve screamed, demanded answers. But this time? I didn’t have the energy.

Instead, I smiled—a calm, bitter curve of my lips—and tossed the roses onto the table. Then, I slipped off the engagement ring and let it fall.

“I wish you both happiness.”

The ring clinked against the floor, rolling to Tristan’s feet. He crushed it beneath his boot, like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.

“If you want to stay my Luna,” he sneered, “fix your attitude. Stop being so suspicious. You’re embarrassing yourself.” His eyes flicked to the door. “Now get out. We’ve got serious matters to discuss.”

I stood there, frozen for a beat. Every word slicing deeper than I thought possible. But I didn’t cry. Not this time.

I turned and walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Back home, I opened the pack’s group chat and typed a simple message: [The engagement is off. Tristan Callen and I are done.]

I should’ve left it there. But anger burned beneath my skin, urging me to add: [Congratulations to Selene Ashford. You won.]

The group chat exploded within seconds.

Tristan, ever the master manipulator, posted a picture of his computer. [Handling pack matters, as usual.] Then came the twisting of the knife: [Ember, you don’t need to throw a tantrum just because I didn’t buy you that dress. And I never brought up the fact that you used my credit card to party with your male friends.]

My mother jumped in immediately, her scolding sharp and public. [You ungrateful child! Tristan has done everything for you. Apologize now. Don’t ruin this. You’ll regret it.]

I didn’t bother replying. Just sighed and exited the chat, tossing my phone aside. What did I expect? They always believed Tristan. He was their Alpha. Their golden boy. And me? I was the girl who never lived up to anyone’s expectations.

I leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling. My mother’s words echoed in my head, her disappointment cutting deeper than I wanted to admit. She hadn’t always been this way. Once, she was kind. Gentle. But after my father’s death, that version of her disappeared.

I’d clung to Tristan because he felt like an escape. A safe place. But I’d been wrong.

His warmth, his kindness—all of it was reserved for Selene. For me, there was only indifference. Cold remarks designed to wound. He was a master at making me lose control, watching as I unraveled in front of others. And every time, he played the hero, offering his forgiveness while painting me as the problem.

I pressed my palms to my eyes, forcing back the tears. Not this time. I wouldn’t let him break me again.

An hour later, Tristan came home. I was scrolling at my phone and he was standing, looking at me, while holding a wilted bouquet of roses.

“Really?” I said flatly, eyeing the flowers disgustedly.

He rolled his eyes. “Still sulking? I got you the damn flowers, Ember. What more do you want?” He shoved them at me, the petals damp and drooping. “You’ve always wanted this, right? Stop acting like a child.”

I took the bouquet, staring at it. Once, I would’ve been thrilled. I used to envy the girls who walked down the street, holding fresh flowers from their mates. I’d told Tristan that once, but he’d laughed it off.

“If I’d known you were this vain,” he said now, his voice sharp, “I wouldn’t have wasted my time. You’re a wolfless Omega, Ember. Be grateful Moon Goddess chose you at all to be my mate.”

I felt something crack inside me. He always knew where to hit, how to twist the knife just right.

I met his gaze, my voice calm but cold. “Grateful? For what? Being your second choice?” I stepped forward, the bouquet slipping from my hands. “Tell me, Tristan—are these the same roses you used with Selene? I saw Selene's post earlier while I was scrolling, she was in a tub, full of petals. You really are amazing…” I sarcastically added.

Tristan's jaw clenched, but he didn’t deny it.

I smirked, bitter and broken. “I don’t need second-hand flowers. And I sure as hell don’t need a second-hand man.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re acting ridiculous. Don't you know how lucky you are?.”

I laughed—a bitter, hollow sound. “Lucky? For what? Being treated like an afterthought?” I stepped closer, my voice sharp. “I deserve better than this. Better than you.”

Tristan opened his mouth to argue, but I was done listening.

“Get out, Tristan.”

For the first time in years, I felt something close to peace. Even if it hurts like hell.

Tristan’s face twisted into something cold and cruel, his voice sharp. “Ember, what right do you have to talk to me like this? Don’t forget—you’re living in my house. I’m the Alpha. And I’m the one supporting you.”

His words hit like a slap. I bit my lip to keep from snapping back.

The oven beeped, cutting through the tension. I turned away, grateful for the distraction. I slipped on oven mitts and pulled out the cake. The scent of chocolate filled the air, warm and bittersweet.

Tristan’s gaze lingered on the cake, confusion flickering across his face. His brows furrowed. “Is today… your birthday?”

A hollow laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Of course, he didn’t remember. Today wasn’t just my birthday—it was also the third anniversary of our relationship. Three years. Three long, exhausting years.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said quickly, guilt softening his tone. “We can go this afternoon. Pick out a bigger engagement ring. Whatever you want.”

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay calm. Whatever I want. As if a ring could fix everything. As if I didn’t already know where his heart truly lay.

He sat across from me, his usual charming mask slipping back into place. “Ember, you need to stop being so jealous of Selene. We were together a long time ago. It’s over.”

Over.

The word echoed in my head, hollow and cruel. But I remembered. I remembered everything. The way he had looked at her. The things he had said when he thought I wasn’t listening. The first time I heard him say, “Anyone’s fine to be my mate. As long as I can forget Selene.”

I had convinced myself it didn’t matter. That love, real love, could overcome anything. But now, sitting across from him, I felt the weight of every mistake I’d made.

“No need,” I said, my voice cold and distant. “You go ahead. I’ll handle things myself.”

Tristan blinked, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to this version of me. The one who didn’t beg or bend. But years of playing the perfect, submissive mate had dulled his instincts. He smiled, thinking I’d forgiven him.

“Make a wish,” he said, lighting the candles.

I stared at the flickering flames. Every year, I wished for the same thing: love, happiness, a future with Tristan.

This time, I closed my eyes and whispered, I want freedom. I want peace. I want to be free from him.

When I opened my eyes, Tristan was gone. The candles still burned, the cake untouched. I glanced toward the door, where the sound of it slamming shut still echoed. He hadn’t even bothered to close it properly.

I pulled the cake and threw it on the floor. All was ruined. Three hours of my effort was wasted out of anger. Just like the three years I had spent with him.

I calmed myself and picked up my phone. Numb. I should be numb. I was about to call my best friend when a notification popped up from my socmed app: [Selene highlighted a post for you.]

I curiousy checked it. Selene posted: [I’m such a clumsy girl! Bumped into the cabinet again. But my hero is here to help me.]

Below it, Tristan had commented: [I’ll always be here for you, Selene.]

I stared at the screen, the words blurring through my tears. Always there for her. Not me. Not the woman he had promised to love.

A message buzzed in:

Tristan: Selene hurt her foot. Taking her to the hospital. Clean up her place and bring soup. No ginger.

I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. It all made sense now. The way he exploded every time I used ginger in our meals. Not because he hated it, but because she did. Selene did.

I wanted to scream, to throw the phone against the wall. But I couldn’t. Years of conditioning kept me in place. I grabbed my coat and headed to my car.

I was already in Selene's house when I saw her draping over Tristan, her arms around his neck. He whispered something to her, soft and tender. Something I hadn’t heard in years.

When he saw me, his eyes hardened. “You’re late,” he snapped. “If Selene’s treatment gets delayed—”

“Tristan, don’t,” Selene said softly, her eyes wide and innocent. “It’s not Ember’s fault. She’s always had… bad impression of me.”

Tristan’s glare deepened. “Enough with that, Ember. Go and clean this place up. I’m not marrying a jealous mate who can’t do anything right.”

He left, carrying her out like some tragic princess. I stood there, trembling.

“I wouldn’t marry a lying, cheating Alpha either,” I whispered.

I stepped inside, the scent of stale perfume and betrayal hitting me. The bathroom floor was soaked. In the trash, two used condoms. My stomach churned. So this was it. His overtime, his excuses—it had all been for her.

Selene’s room was a shrine to luxury. Designer bags, high-end skincare, glittering jewelry. I thought about the lipstick I had asked Tristan for, just days ago. How he had sneered at me.

“Twenty-four years old and still trying to act like a teenager?”

I clenched my fists, the memory burning. I wasn’t eighteen anymore, but that didn’t make me worthless. It didn’t make me disposable.

I pulled out my phone and took pictures of everything. Not for revenge. For me. Proof of what I had endured.

Upstairs, I packed quickly. Everything I owned fit into one suitcase. Three years, and this was all I had. The only gifts Tristan had ever given me were things to keep me in my place—kitchenware, cleaning supplies. I left them all behind.

I called Cherry, my best friend. She answered on the fourth ring.

“I was wrong,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I gave up everything for him. I want out. I need out.”

Cherry sighed. “You should’ve left years ago.”

Minutes later, a new message came through:

Cherry: Flight booked. Three days. Be ready.

The dam broke. Three years of tears, of pain, of hoping for something that would never come. They all poured out.

In three days, I would be free.

For the first time in years, I felt a glimmer of hope.

Tristan didn’t come home that night. No text, no call. Nothing. After I refused to play housemaid and make soup for Saint Selene, he blocked my number like a petulant teenager. Classic. I sat in the cold silence, letting it sink in. This time, though, I didn’t feel the usual sting of rejection. I just felt… done. So freaking done.

The next morning, I threw some clothes in a bag. It wasn’t much—just enough to get me through whatever this next chapter of my life was going to be. I needed to grab a few things from my hometown anyway. Maybe find pieces of the old Ember I lost somewhere along the way. The bus ride was long and quiet, just me and the rain tapping against the window. With each passing mile, it felt like I was shedding layers of the life I’d wrapped around myself. A life that revolved around him.

When I finally arrived, my mother was waiting at the front door. Not for me, of course. No, she was scanning the street for Tristan, like some fangirl waiting for a celebrity sighting. Her face twisted in disappointment when she realized I was alone.

“Where’s Tristan?” she snapped, her eyes narrowing like I’d committed some unspeakable crime.

“We’re done,” I said, my voice hollow. “I’m just waiting for the rejection.”

Before I could say more, her hand flew out and slapped me across the face. Hard. I staggered back, more stunned than hurt.

“You’re throwing it all away,” she hissed. “Do you have any idea what you’ve lost? Tristan is an Alpha! You should be on your knees, thanking him for choosing you. Girls like you don’t get second chances.”

Yeah, I knew. She’s been drilling it into my head since I was a kid. Marry an Alpha. Secure the future. Blah, blah, blah. But here’s the thing—Tristan wasn’t a future. He was a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

When the broomstick came down on my back, I barely flinched. I was numb. She kept screaming, yelling things like, “Beg him back! Get pregnant if you have to!” As if that would magically fix everything. The weight of her words crushed me more than the hits ever could.

Then she kicked me out. Threw my stuff into the mud like garbage. A photo frame hit me square in the forehead, leaving a cut that started bleeding. Cool. Perfect way to top off the morning.

I knelt there in the rain, picking up what little I had left. The rain soaked through my clothes, mixing with the blood dripping down my face. I didn’t even care. Let it pour.

Right on cue, a sleek black Bentley rolled up. Tristan. Because of course he’d make a dramatic entrance. He stepped out, looking every bit the untouchable Alpha in his tailored suit. His eyes flicked over me—soaked, bleeding, broken—but all he did was curl his lip in annoyance.

“Get in,” he barked, like I was a stray dog he decided to pity.

I climbed into the car without a word. What was the point? His leather seats were warm, but I wasn’t. He threw his coat over me, but the scent of Selene’s perfume clung to it like a bad memory.

“Have you learned your lesson?” he asked, voice cold but smug. “No one will ever love you like I do. Apologize to Selene, and we’ll fix this. You’ll still be my Luna.”

Oh, Luna. That word used to mean something to me. Now, it was just a leash. I turned my head, watching raindrops race down the window. I didn’t have the energy to argue. Not anymore.

His phone buzzed, and he answered it without hesitation.

“Tristan, where are you?” Selene’s voice purred through the speaker. “The pack’s waiting, babe.”

Babe. I felt my stomach twist. He didn’t even bother to hide it anymore.

“Come to the retreat,” he said suddenly, glancing at me like I was an afterthought. “You should be there.”

I blinked. Me? He never let me anywhere near his pack stuff. But sure, why not? Let’s add public humiliation to the list of today’s accomplishments.

“Okay,” I said, wiping the blood off my face with the sleeve of his coat. What else was I supposed to do?

The retreat was at some ridiculous mansion deep in the woods. The kind of place that screamed wealth and power. I barely noticed. Inside, the room buzzed with energy—Alphas, Betas, pack elites—all mingling and sizing each other up. And there I was, standing next to Tristan like a prop.

Selene was the first to greet us, of course. She draped herself all over him, flashing me a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Ember! So glad you could make it.”

I gave her a tight smile, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Tristan’s hand rested on my lower back, a silent command to stay close. Like he cared. I stuck to his side, pretending I wasn’t dying inside. People stared, whispered. I felt like a sideshow attraction.

The rest of the night was a blur of fake smiles and forced small talk. Every word out of Tristan’s mouth was a lie. Every touch was calculated. I was nothing more than a pawn in whatever game he was playing.

When it was finally over, I retreated to the guest room Tristan had arranged for me. It was huge, lavish… and empty. Just like me.

I locked the door and collapsed onto the bed, letting out a shaky breath. My phone buzzed. A text from Cherry.

Cherry: Two days. Stay strong.

Two days. That’s all I had to survive. Then I’d be free. Free from Tristan. Free from this life.