My Ex-Mate Wants Me Back

The scent of burnt rosemary filled the kitchen, a bitter reminder of another hour passed in silence. I stared at the clock. 11:45 PM.

Our fifth anniversary was fifteen minutes away from being over.

I smoothed the silk of my dress, the one I’d saved for tonight. It was a deep, midnight blue the color Logan once said he liked, though I doubted he even remembered saying it. I had spent the entire afternoon preparing his favorite meal, decorating the dining hall of the Blackwood pack house, and waiting.

Always waiting.

The heavy oak doors finally groaned open. I stood up, my heart doing that pathetic, hopeful flutter I couldn't seem to kill.

Logan walked in, looking every bit the lethal Alpha he was. His suit jacket was draped over his arm, his tie loosened, and his face set in that familiar mask of bored indifference. He didn't even look toward the candlelit table.

"You’re late," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Logan paused, his grey eyes sliding toward me. There was no apology in them. Just irritation. "I had a pack meeting, Giuliana. Don't start."

"It’s our anniversary, Logan. Five years. I thought tonight might actually matter to you."

He let out a short, dry laugh as he tossed his jacket onto a chair, missing the seat. It slid to the floor. I instinctively moved to pick it up, but his voice stopped me cold.

"Leave it. And stop acting like a martyr. We both know why we’re married. My father needed a stable alliance, and your family was eager to sell you off. Let’s not pretend this was a fairy tale."

The words stung like a physical blow. "I’ve given you five years of my life. I’ve run this pack house, I’ve handled the omegas, I’ve stood by you through every border skirmish. Does none of that count?"

"It’s what you were contracted to do," he said, walking to the sideboard to pour himself a glass of whiskey. He didn't offer me one. "You’ve been a competent Luna. Don't ruin it by becoming needy."

Before I could respond, the sound of sharp heels clicking against the marble floor echoed through the hall.

Rosser, Logan’s younger sister, strolled into the room. She was wearing a smirk that always signaled trouble. She glanced at the dinner I’d slaved over and wrinkled her nose.

"Oh, Giuliana. Still trying to play house? It’s a bit pathetic, don't you think?" Rosser reached out and picked up a crystal wine glass from the table, turning it over in her hands. "Logan doesn't want your pathetic little dinners. He wants a woman who actually commands respect, not a glorified housekeeper."

"Rosser, please. Not tonight," I pleaded.

"Why not tonight?" she sneered. She let her fingers loosen. The glass hit the floor, shattering into a thousand glittering shards. "Oops. My hand slipped. Clean that up, will you? Since you’re so good at serving."

I looked at Logan. He was staring into his whiskey, completely silent.

"Logan?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Are you going to let her talk to me like that?"

He took a slow sip before looking up. "She’s right about the dinner, Giuliana. It’s cold. And the smell is giving me a headache. Just... clean up the mess and go to bed."

"Clean up the mess?" I repeated, a hot tear finally escaping. "Your sister just insulted your wife and smashed our wedding crystal, and you want me to clean it up?"

Logan stepped toward me, his Alpha aura flaring just enough to make my knees weak. It wasn't the warm, protective power a mate should feel. It was a cold, crushing weight.

"I want you to stop making a scene," he hissed, his face inches from mine. "I’ve had a long day. I don't want to hear your whining. You want to be the Luna? Then act like one and handle your household without crying like a pup."

He turned to Rosser. "Where is she?"

Rosser’s smirk widened. "In the study. She’s been waiting for you for an hour. She’s much more patient than some people."

My heart stopped. "Who? Who is in the study?"

Logan didn't answer me. He started to walk away, but I grabbed his arm. The skin felt like fire under my touch, but he flinched away as if I were a leper.

"Who is in there, Logan?"

He sighed, a sound of pure exhaustion. "Chloe is back. She arrived this afternoon."

The name felt like a death sentence. Chloe. The woman he had been obsessed with before our marriage. The woman who had broken his heart and left him for a rogue.

"You brought her here? Into our home?"

"It’s my home," he corrected sharply. "And she needs protection. Her father is being hunted, and as Alpha, I’ve granted her sanctuary."

"Sanctuary in the pack house? On our anniversary?" I was shaking now, the reality of his cruelty finally sinking in. "You’ve been with her all evening, haven't you? That’s why you’re late."

"She needed me," he said simply. "Unlike you, she isn't built of stone. She’s fragile, Giuliana. She actually feels things."

"And I don't?" I shrieked. "I’ve been standing here for four hours waiting for a man who doesn't even see me! I’ve been your shadow for five years! I feel everything, Logan! I feel every time you look through me! I feel every time you compare me to her!"

"Then maybe you should stop feeling so much," he snapped. "It’s exhausting. Rosser, make sure Chloe has everything she needs in the East Wing."

"The East Wing?" I gasped. "That’s right next to our bedroom!"

"It’s the most secure area," Logan said, his voice dropping to a dangerously low tone. "Don't bother her, Giuliana. If I find out you’ve been making her feel unwelcome, you’ll regret it. Am I clear?"

I stared at him, the man I’d loved with every fiber of my being. He looked at me with more hatred than he showed our enemies.

"You’re a monster," I whispered.

"I’m an Alpha," he replied. "And you’re a girl who forgot her place."

He walked away, following Rosser toward the study. I stood in the middle of the shattered glass, my feet bare, the cold marble seeping into my skin.

A moment later, the door to the study opened. I saw a flash of blonde hair and heard a soft, melodic laugh. Then, I heard Logan’s voice a voice that was never this soft for me.

"I’m here now, Chloe. You’re safe."

The door clicked shut.

I looked down at the table. The candles were flickering out. I reached out and grabbed the edge of the tablecloth. With a scream of pure, unadulterated rage and pain, I yanked it.

The plates, the silver, the expensive risotto, and the wine all crashed to the floor in a heap of porcelain and waste.

I waited for him to come back. I waited for him to roar, to punish me, to do anything.

Nothing.

The house remained silent. He didn't care enough to even be angry.

I walked toward the stairs, my head spinning. As I passed the study, the door was slightly ajar. I shouldn't have looked. I knew I shouldn't have.

Through the crack, I saw Logan sitting on the edge of the desk. Chloe was standing between his knees, her hands resting on his chest. He was looking at her with a look of pure, agonizing longing.

"I shouldn't have married her," Logan whispered, his voice cracking. "Every day with her is a reminder of what I lost when you left."

"I'm here now, Logan," Chloe murmured, leaning in. "I’m never leaving again."