On the day of our tenth anniversary as mates, I hid in Armando’s studio, planning a surprise. To my dismay, a young Delta from our pack, Araceli Griffin, had joined him as his model. Watching her gradually undress, I saw a spark in his eyes that I hadn’t seen in years. "Exquisite, truly breathtaking," he exclaimed, his voice carrying the weight of an Alpha’s authority. "In ten years, I haven’t seen such beauty." He couldn’t resist striding over to kiss her. I clenched my fists until my nails pressed painfully into my palms, staying silent. After a decade of trailing behind him, I suddenly felt an overwhelming exhaustion, as if the weight of the Silver Moon Pack’s expectations was crushing me.

Opening the safe, I found a portrait of myself, elegantly framed. Armando had painted it the year I became Luna. For ten years, I cherished it, admiring it daily, fearing someone might steal it, so I kept it locked away. But now, I no longer wanted it. I ripped apart the frame and tore the canvas, tears falling uncontrollably down my cheeks. I stuffed the pieces into the trash and headed downstairs just as Armando returned, holding a spiced honey cake.

"A student needed my advice on a painting, so I’m back a little later," he explained, just as he always did. "Hope you haven’t been waiting too long." In the past, I would have believed him without hesitation and helped him with his coat. But now, I remained motionless, sitting on the couch with a book, and responded flatly, "Hmm."

"What’s wrong?" He placed the cake on the coffee table, his Alpha tone already edged with irritation.

"Nothing," I replied.

"Then why aren’t you helping me with my coat?"

I looked up at him. His features were sharp, his broad shoulders and muscular frame commanding respect. His gold-framed glasses perched on his prominent nose, giving him a refined and dignified appearance. He was the Alpha of the Silver Moon Pack, a respected artist, and the man I’d been bound to for ten years—my mate. I thought I might confront him when he got home, perhaps have a heated argument. But now, I felt too worn out to say anything.

Today marked our tenth anniversary as mates. An hour ago, I had worn a Victorian-style dress and had my hair styled at the salon. Armando loved painting, loved the arts, and as his Luna visiting his studio for the first time, I didn’t want to embarrass him. After getting my hair done, I took a watch to Armando’s studio, intending to surprise him. I found his workspace and waited inside. There were many paintings of all sorts. I couldn’t understand art, but as long as it was painted by Armando, I found it beautiful.

I walked to the lectern, where a messy stack of sketches lay. They depicted various female bodies, none with faces. On one of the sketches, a line read: "Why, why can’t I find perfection?" I had always known Armando sought to create a perfect masterpiece. What I didn’t understand was what perfection meant to him. After all, I had always thought his work was already perfect.

Just then, I heard footsteps and hurried behind the curtain, ready to surprise him. But unexpectedly, I also heard a young woman’s voice. "Alpha Rivera, please don’t tell anyone about today."

"Don’t worry, it’s your privacy. I wouldn’t," Armando reassured her, his tone softer than I’d ever heard it with me.

I peeked out from behind the curtain. The girl had settled into a chair, and Armando was picking up his brush. I recognized her—it was Araceli Griffin, a Delta in our pack. She’d visited our den a few times, each time bringing pastries, claiming she’d made them herself for her esteemed Alpha.

As I watched them, my wolf stirred within me, a low growl of discontent echoing in my mind. I ignored it, focusing instead on the sinking feeling in my chest. This wasn’t just about a painting or a model; this was about the bond we were supposed to share, the sacred connection the Moon Goddess had given us. And now, it felt like it was slipping through my fingers.

I stepped out from behind the curtain, my presence catching Armando off guard. His eyes widened for a moment before he schooled his expression into one of calm authority. "Alexandria," he said, his Alpha tone firm but tinged with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I looked at Araceli, who was hastily covering herself, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I came to surprise you," I said finally, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. "But it seems I’m the one who’s surprised."

Armando’s jaw tightened, and I could see the gears turning in his mind as he tried to come up with an explanation. But I didn’t wait for it. I turned on my heel and walked out of the studio, the weight of our bond pressing down on me more heavily than ever.

I stood in the corner of the den, my arms crossed tightly over my chest, as Araceli Griffin—a Delta in our pack—began to unbutton her shirt, letting the fabric slip away piece by piece. My heart clenched in my chest. Was she really going to strip down like this in front of my mate, the Alpha of the Silver Moon Pack?

I glanced at Armando, my mate of ten years, and my stomach twisted. His eyes were alight with a fervor I had never seen before, not even when he painted his most prized works. His hands trembled slightly as he gripped his paintbrush, his focus entirely on her.

"Incredible," he murmured, his voice low but filled with awe. "In all my years, I’ve never seen such a vision of perfection."

His words cut deeper than I expected. For a decade, I had stood by his side as his Luna, trying to bridge the emotional distance he always kept between us. I had poured my heart into our bond, hoping to ignite even a fraction of the passion he now showed for her. But every time I tried to share my feelings, he would dismiss me with a curt, "I’m busy. Can you stop bothering me?" His coldness had become a familiar ache, one I had learned to endure. But this—this was something else entirely.

"Alpha Rivera," Araceli purred, her voice soft and teasing. "Am I your perfect masterpiece?" Her cheeks were flushed, and she bit her lower lip in a way that made my stomach churn. It was then I realized that Armando’s pursuit of perfection wasn’t confined to his art. It extended to her—a living, breathing embodiment of everything he had always seemed to crave.

"Yes," he replied without hesitation, his voice thick with admiration. "You are everything I’ve ever dreamed of, Araceli. I need you." He set down his paintbrush and crossed the room in a few quick strides, pulling her into his arms. His lips found hers in a kiss that was far from chaste, and I felt the room spin around me.

I stood frozen, my blood turning to ice. In the past, I might have stormed out, yelling and causing a scene. I might have demanded answers, demanded respect. But not this time. This time, I simply watched, my tears falling silently as the reality of his betrayal washed over me.

For ten years, I had given up my own dreams, my own ambitions, to be the Luna he needed. I had molded myself into the picture of elegance and grace, hoping to earn his love, his attention. But now, as I watched him fawn over her, I felt nothing but exhaustion. My wolf stirred within me, a low growl of pain and anger echoing in the back of my mind, but I silenced her. There was no point in fighting this anymore.

Armando pulled away from Araceli, his eyes still locked on hers, and I felt the weight of his indifference settle over me like a shroud. I had been a fool to believe I could ever be enough for him. And now, standing there, I realized I didn’t want to be.