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."

I didn't stay to see them kiss. I ran. I ran to our bedroom, the room where we had slept together for five years, but had never truly been together.

The scent of his expensive cologne hung in the air, a cruel reminder of the man who had just told his ex-girlfriend that marrying me was his biggest regret. I collapsed onto the edge of the bed, my hands shaking so hard I had to tuck them under my thighs.

The door clicked open. I didn't even have to look up to know it was him. The heavy, oppressive weight of his Alpha aura filled the room, making it hard to breathe.

"Pack a small bag," Logan said. His voice was like a shard of ice. "I've already moved your things to the servants' quarters in the West Wing. Chloe will be taking this room."

I looked up, my eyes stinging. "Our room? You’re giving her our bed, Logan? It’s our anniversary!"

Logan didn't even flinch. He walked over to the dresser and picked up a heavy manila envelope. He tossed it onto the duvet next to me. "It was our anniversary. Now, it’s just the day I finally stop pretending. Sign the papers, Giuliana. Make it easy for once in your life."

I stared at the bold letters: PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MATED BOND.

"No," I whispered, pushing the envelope away. "Logan, please. We can fix this. I know I’m not her, but I’ve tried. I’ve given you everything. I’ve been a loyal wife. I’ve been your Luna."

Logan let out a harsh, jagged laugh that made me flinch. "You’ve been quite a handful. My father forced this match to secure the southern borders, and I played along because I thought Chloe was gone for good. But she’s back. The duty is over."

"Duty?" I stood up, grabbing his sleeve. "Is that all I am to you? A contract? Five years, Logan. We’ve shared a bed for five years!"

He ripped his arm away as if my touch burned him. "And every night I closed my eyes and imagined it was her. Does that answer your question? Every time I touched you, I had to remind myself that it was the price of the Alpha title. I’m tired of paying it."

The words felt like a physical strike to my chest. I felt my wolf whimper, retreating into the darkest corners of my mind.

"Please," I begged, my voice breaking. "Don't do this. I’ll do anything. I’ll stay out of your way. I’ll let her stay. Just don't reject me. Don't throw me away like I’m nothing."

"You are nothing to me," Logan said, leaning down so his face was inches from mine. His grey eyes were devoid of any warmth. "You are a boring, plain girl who stood in the shadow of a queen. Sign the papers by morning, or I will have the guards drag you to the border myself."

He turned on his heel and walked out, slamming the door so hard the mirror on the wall rattled.

I didn't sleep. I spent the night on the floor, my head resting against the side of the bed. By 6:00 AM, the cold had seeped into my bones, but a tiny, flickering flame of hope still burned in my chest. If I could just show him... if I could remind him of the life we had built.

I went down to the kitchen. My hands were stiff as I started the stove. I made everything he liked—the dark roast coffee, the protein-heavy omelets he insisted on after his morning run, the fresh biscuits with honey.

I was plating the food when the sound of laughter echoed down the hallway.

Rosser walked in first, her blonde hair perfectly styled even this early. Behind her was Chloe, wearing one of Logan’s oversized dress shirts. My dress shirt. The one I had bought him for his birthday last year.

"Oh look," Rosser sneered, leaning against the kitchen island. "The maid is working early today. Did you get the memo, Giuliana? You don't live here anymore."

"I’m making breakfast for my husband," I said, keeping my head down, my voice tight.

"Husband?" Chloe stepped forward, her voice soft and high, the kind of sound that made men want to protect her. "Logan told me he gave you the papers last night. It’s a bit sad, really. Trying to cook your way back into a man’s heart when he’s already given it to someone else."

"Get out of my kitchen, Chloe," I snapped, finally looking up.

Chloe flinched, her eyes immediately welling with tears. "I... I just wanted some water. I didn't mean to upset you."

At that exact moment, the back door swung open. Logan stepped in, sweating from his run, his chest bare and glistening. He saw Chloe’s tears and his entire demeanor shifted into something feral.

He was across the room in a second, pulling Chloe behind him. "What did you do to her?" he roared at me.

"I didn't do anything! She came in here and—"

"She’s crying, Giuliana!" Logan interrupted, his voice shaking the plates on the counter. "I told you what would happen if you made her feel unwelcome."

"Logan, I made you breakfast," I said, gesturing to the table with a trembling hand. "I just wanted us to talk. Please, just sit down and"

Logan looked at the spread I had spent two hours on. He didn't see the effort. He didn't see the love. He saw an annoyance.

He reached out and swept his arm across the counter.

The plates shattered. The omelets, the biscuits, the coffee—everything flew across the floor, splashing against the cabinets in a messy heap of broken ceramic and wasted food.

"I don't want your food," Logan hissed. "I want you gone. Every time I see your face, I feel like I’m suffocating. Do you understand? You’re a parasite, clinging to a life that was never yours."

Rosser laughed from the corner. "Should I call the omegas to clean this up, or is the 'Luna' going to get on her knees and do it?"

I stared at the mess on the floor, the steam still rising from the ruins of the breakfast I’d made with shaking hands. "You’re really doing this," I whispered. "For her? A woman who left you when things got hard?"

Logan stepped over the broken glass, ignoring the way it crunched under his boots. He grabbed a piece of toast from Chloe’s hand—she had picked it up from a side basket—and took a bite, looking me dead in the eye.

"She’s worth more than a thousand of you," Logan said. "Chloe, go upstairs. I’ll be up in a minute."

Chloe nodded, throwing me a look of pure triumph before disappearing.

Logan turned back to me, his expression flat. "I’m going to the pack meeting. When I get back, those papers better be signed. If they aren't, I won't just dissolve the marriage. I’ll strip you of your wolf’s rank and cast you out as a nameless omega. Choose wisely, Giuliana."

He walked out, leaving me standing in the wreckage of the kitchen.

"Better start scrubbing, honey," Rosser mocked, tossing a dirty napkin onto the floor. "It’s the only thing you’re actually good at."

I waited until she left. Then, I sank to my knees among the shards of glass. I didn't cry. I was past crying. I started picking up the pieces of the plates, my fingers stinging as the sharp edges sliced into my skin.

I looked at the blood dripping onto the white tile.

I realized then that Logan wouldn't stop until he had completely destroyed me. He didn't just want a divorce; he wanted to erase the fact that I had ever existed in his world.

I stood up and walked toward his study. The papers were still in the envelope. My hand trembled as I picked up the pen on his desk the heavy, gold pen I’d given him when he was inaugurated as Alpha.

I looked at the signature line.

If I signed this, I was nothing. If I didn't, he would hunt me.

If I signed this, I was nothing. If I didn't, he would hunt me.

I stared at the gold pen, the metal cold against my skin. Five years of my life, reduced to a single line of ink. I thought about the way Logan had looked at me—like I was a disease he was finally curing.

I dropped the pen. It clattered against the mahogany desk.

"I won't do it," I whispered to the empty room. "I won't make it easy for you."

Before the pen even stopped rolling, the study doors burst open.

Logan stormed in, his chest heaving, his eyes entirely black. His wolf was right at the surface, radiating a murderous intent that suffocated the air in the room. Behind him were three of the highest-ranking Council Elders.

And then came Rosser, practically dragging Chloe into the room.

Chloe’s perfect dress was torn at the collar. But it was her face that made my blood run cold. She was pale, gasping for air, and her lips had a faint, terrifying blue tinge.

"Get the pack doctor!" Logan roared over his shoulder, rushing to catch Chloe as her knees buckled. He scooped her into his arms, his face twisted in a panic I had never, not once, seen him wear for me.

"Logan, what happened?" I asked, taking a step forward.

"Don't you dare move," Elder Vance snarled. He stepped in front of me, his hand resting on the hilt of his silver blade.

"What is going on?" I demanded, looking from Vance to Logan.

Rosser marched up to the desk and slammed a silver tea tray down. On it was a porcelain cup and a small, empty glass vial. "You know exactly what is going on, Giuliana. I found this in your apron pocket in the kitchen."

Vance picked up the vial, sniffing it cautiously. His face hardened. "Liquid wolfsbane. Highly concentrated."

The room spun. "What? No! I was making breakfast. I didn't have any vials!"

Chloe let out a weak, pathetic whimper, burying her face against Logan's neck. "Logan, it burns... my throat burns so badly."

"I've got you," Logan whispered to her, kissing her forehead. Then, he turned his gaze to me. There was no hatred left. There was only the cold, mechanical look of a man looking at a corpse. "You poisoned her tea."

"I didn't make her tea!" I screamed, the injustice of it tearing at my throat. "She came into the kitchen to mock me! I didn't give her anything! Logan, you have to know I wouldn't do this. I’m a healer. I don't use wolfsbane!"

"Liar," Rosser spat. "I saw you hand her the cup right before Logan walked into the kitchen. You smiled when she drank it."

I stared at Rosser, completely paralyzed by the sheer audacity of the lie. "You... you framed me. You both framed me so he would have a reason to get rid of me!"

"Enough!" Logan’s voice shook the glass in the windows. He set Chloe down gently on the leather sofa, letting Rosser tend to her. He closed the distance between us in two strides.

He didn't hit me. He didn't have to. He just leaned down, his face inches from mine, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly quiet whisper.

"I told you to sign the papers, Giuliana. I told you to take the easy way out. But you couldn't stand the fact that I chose her, could you? You had to try and take her from me."

"Logan, please, smell the vial! Scent it! My scent isn't on it!"

"My sister found it in your pocket," he said flatly. "The Council has their proof. Attempted murder of an Alpha's mate is high treason."

Elder Vance stepped forward. "The punishment is death, Alpha. We can perform the execution at sundown to satisfy the pack law."

Death. They were going to kill me. I looked at Chloe on the couch. The blue tinge on her lips was makeup. It was smudge-proof makeup. She caught my eye over Logan's shoulder, and for a split second, her terrified expression vanished, replaced by a cold, victorious smirk.

"Sign the papers," Logan said, tapping the divorce decree on the desk.

"If they're going to execute me anyway, why does it matter?" I choked out, tears finally spilling over my cheeks.

"Because I won't have my pack's history stained by executing my Luna," Logan said, his tone dripping with disgust. "Sign the papers. Relinquish your title. In exchange, I will show you mercy. I will commute your sentence to permanent exile. You walk out of here a rogue, and you never come back."

"Exile? Logan, a wolf without a pack in the dead of winter... that’s just a slower death."

"Then you better start running," he replied. "You have one minute. Sign, or Vance takes your head right now."

I looked at the men who had been my family for five years. They looked back at me with nothing but contempt. I had scrubbed their floors, balanced their ledgers, and bled for their borders. And it took one lie from a returning ex-girlfriend to turn them all into my executioners.

My hand shook so badly I could barely hold the pen. I pressed the gold tip to the paper. The ink bled into the thick parchment.

Giuliana. I didn't add the last name. I didn't deserve it, and neither did they.

The moment the pen lifted, Elder Vance stepped forward with a heavy iron stamp. "The bond is dissolved by blood and law."

He pressed the seal against the paperwork.

The snap of the mate bond wasn't a sound. It was a physical tearing inside my chest. It felt like someone had reached through my ribs and ripped out half of my lungs. I gasped, falling to my knees on the hardwood floor, clutching my chest. The pack link in my mind—the comforting hum of hundreds of wolves that I had felt for five years—went dead silent.

I was completely, utterly alone.

"Get her out of my sight," Logan said, turning his back on me. "Throw her past the tree line. If she tries to cross back over, kill her."

The Enforcers didn't let me pack a bag. They didn't let me put on shoes. They grabbed me by the arms and dragged me through the pack house. I saw the omegas I had protected turning their faces away. I saw the warriors I had healed pretending not to notice.

They dragged me down the dirt road, the rain starting to fall in thick, freezing sheets. When we hit the northern border marker, they didn't just let me go. They threw me.

I hit the mud hard, scraping my knees and palms on the jagged rocks of the No-Man's Land.

"Enjoy the woods, rogue," one of the guards spat, turning his back and walking away.

I lay in the mud for a long time. The rain soaked through my ruined dress, freezing me to the bone. My wolf was whining, a pathetic, broken sound echoing in the empty cavern of my mind. I was so tired. I just wanted to close my eyes and let the cold take me.

But then, the wind shifted.

The smell hit me instantly. It wasn't the clean pine and rain scent of the Blackwood pack. It was a harsh, musky scent. Wet earth, dried blood, and raw wilderness.

Rogues.

I tried to push myself up, my bare feet slipping in the mud. I couldn't run. I couldn't even stand.

A low growl vibrated from the thick brush to my left. Then, another from my right.

Shadows detached themselves from the trees. Five wolves stepped into the clearing, their eyes glowing a predatory yellow in the dark. They were massive, their coats matted and scarred from years of brutal survival outside the pack systems.

I backed up against the trunk of a large oak tree, my breathing shallow.

The wolves shifted. Bones cracked and reformed until five humans stood in the rain, pulling tattered cloaks over their naked bodies.

One of them stepped forward. He was huge. Taller than Logan, broader than any Enforcer I had ever seen. He had dark, messy hair and a rugged face covered in scars. But it was his eyes that held me in place. They weren't yellow. They were a piercing, terrifying amber. When he looked at me, I felt a strange heat prickle at the base of my neck.

Even in his human form, I could tell what his wolf looked like. I could smell the dominance rolling off him. He was the one with the distinct patch of brown fur between his brow.

"Look at this," a younger rogue sneered, stepping closer to me. "A little stray wandered out of the rich lands."

What's your name?

I'm Guiliana, I could barely respond.

"We don't know where she's from, we can't just take her," a woman with a scarred cheek said, her voice tight with caution.

"She smells like the Blackwoods," the younger one argued, sniffing the air. "She smells like money."

"What if she's from a rival pack?" the woman countered, looking at the huge man with amber eyes. "What if it's a trap, Ryan? We can't risk it."

Ryan didn't answer them. He kept his eyes locked on mine. He walked toward me, his heavy boots making no sound in the mud. He crouched down in front of me. He was so close I could feel the heat radiating from his chest.

He looked at my bleeding feet. He looked at the mud covering my expensive silk dress. Then, he looked at my eyes.

"She's not a trap," Ryan said, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold. "She's an exile. Look at her eyes. Her Alpha broke her."

He reached out. I flinched, expecting a strike. Instead, his large, rough hand gently brushed a wet strand of hair from my face. The touch was so unexpected, so shockingly gentle, that a choked sob escaped my lips.

Ryan stood up, his massive frame blocking out the rain.

"Garret, take her," Ryan ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Ryan, the food shortage" the man started.

"I said take her," he growled, a warning rumble vibrating in his chest. "Wrap her up. She's coming with us."

Garret sighed, pulling a thick, dry woolen blanket from her pack and moving toward me.