After I got home and showered, drying my wet hair, Dean finally returned, soaked through. The bottoms of his pants were drenched from the rain, and as soon as he saw me, he slammed his umbrella down, glaring at me with the kind of authority that only a Beta could wield. His aura, usually calm and composed, was now sharp and impatient, pressing against me like a weight.

“Jessica, are you messing with me? Do you have any idea how long I’ve been searching for you? It was pouring rain, and I kept looking for you everywhere! I even thought you…”

I calmly set my towel aside and picked up his umbrella, putting it away. “It’s just a bit of rain; why are you making such a fuss? Don’t forget, two weeks ago, you left me standing in the rain for two whole hours.”

Dean stood there, his broad shoulders stiffening as he clenched his fists. His dark eyes, usually so commanding, now flickered with frustration. The sweet aroma wafted from the kitchen—the spiced honey tea was almost ready. Without further comment to him, I went into the kitchen, poured some into a mug, and sat at the dining table, sipping slowly. Spiced honey tea is good for the stomach; I should drink more.

Dean frowned, his jaw tightening. “I’ve told you, I can’t stand ginger.”

“But I do.” I looked up and smiled, though my wolf stirred uneasily in the back of my mind, sensing the tension.

Dean doesn’t like ginger, cilantro, or scallions—my all-time favorites. To me, these are essential for bringing flavor to any dish, and without them, something always seems lacking. Changing someone’s habits isn’t easy, especially when it means going against their innate preferences. Yet since we started dating, I stopped adding these to any meal, always deferring to his tastes as a Beta should.

After I spoke up, Dean was visibly unhappy. He sat irritably on the sofa, his large frame taking up most of the space, and repeatedly flicked his lighter open and shut. When he’s worked up, he unconsciously fiddles with it, and the clicking sound filled the room, sharp and unnerving.

“Jessica, what’s going on with you? You’ve been acting strange since the hot pot dinner. Is it just because I didn’t consider you and chose a spicy one?”

Is it because of the spicy hot pot? Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. I’ve been compromising for so long, constantly giving up, and suddenly, I’m just tired. I’ve unexpectedly felt the urge to end this relationship, though my wolf whimpered softly, tugging at the bond that still lingered between us.

“Gamma Lucia is moving abroad for good. This is her last visit back and she won't be staying long. She poses no threat to our relationship. She’s an old friend, and I was just helping her out, asking you to make allowances for her. What’s the big deal? Why do you have to make everyone unhappy?”

Am I the one causing unhappiness with my unreasonable behavior? But when I’m silent, when I’m compromising, who cares about my sadness? Why must it always be me who sacrifices for the happiness of others? I felt my wolf growl faintly, a rare moment of defiance, but I pushed it down, unwilling to let it surface.

Dean’s tone softened slightly, though his aura remained heavy. “You know how it is, Jessica. As a Beta, I have responsibilities. Gamma Lucia is important to the pack, and I can’t just ignore her. But you’re my mate. You should understand that.”

I looked at him, my heart aching as the bond between us pulsed faintly, a reminder of what we once had. But I couldn’t ignore the truth anymore. “I do understand, Dean. I’ve always understood. But understanding doesn’t mean I have to keep sacrificing myself.”

He stared at me, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. But then he sighed, running a hand through his damp hair, and looked away. The silence between us was heavy, filled with unspoken words and unresolved pain.

I ignored him and quietly finished the spiced honey tea. His puzzled eyes followed me as I silently retreated to the bedroom. The window was open, and at some point, a gentle snowfall had started outside. I gazed at this unfamiliar territory of the Crimson Fang Pack, and suddenly it felt so cold.

Years ago, with a heart full of warmth, I had followed Dean Simmons, the Beta of our Silver Moon Pack, to this new pack where I knew no one. As an Omega, adjusting to the hierarchy here had been difficult, but Dean had been my anchor. Six years have passed since then, and that once fiery heart had slowly grown cold and silent from compromise and insecurity. I thought that by staying by his side, he would eventually see me. But the mate bond isn't logical; effort doesn't change it, nor does humble flattery. The truth is, humble love cannot flourish in our world. It only nurtures relentless hurt and oblivious arrogance.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and scrolled through the recent messages from my father. "Jessica, just a week until Thanksgiving. When are you and Dean coming home? I'd like to prepare ahead of time." "You've been together for six years now. This visit, your father plans to discuss your marking ceremony with him."

Since my mother's passing, my father, a respected elder in our pack, had become much quieter, and my mate bond had become his sole concern. Dean and I have been together for six years, yet he has never brought up the topic of formalizing our bond. I've tried to hint at it, asking things like, "When will you come home with me?" He always dodged the question, changing the subject.

It was only after persistent questioning and even getting upset that he reluctantly agreed to come home with me this year for the holidays. The cold air nipped at my nose as I took a deep breath, rubbing my aching sinuses. Now I understood that my father’s hopes might be dashed.

My wolf stirred within me, a quiet whimper of understanding. She had always sensed Dean's distraction, his attention drifting toward Lucia Weaver, the high-ranking Gamma who seemed to effortlessly command his admiration. Even as a Beta, Dean's aspirations often seemed to reach beyond our bond, toward status and power that an Omega like me could never provide.

I curled into myself, feeling the weight of our pack's hierarchy pressing down on me. In the Silver Moon Pack, I had been just another Omega, but here in the Crimson Fang Pack, I felt invisible, overshadowed by Lucia's grace and status. My father had warned me about leaving our pack, about the challenges I would face as an Omega in a new territory. But I had been too blinded by love to listen.

The snowfall outside grew heavier, blanketing the territory in a thick layer of white. I shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around me. My wolf's presence in my mind was a small comfort, a reminder that I wasn't entirely alone. But even she couldn't erase the growing certainty that Dean and I were drifting apart, our bond fraying under the weight of neglect and unspoken truths.

That night, Dean didn’t sleep in our shared room.

Whenever we argued, if I didn’t take the first step to make amends, he would never approach me. I knew he expected me to come knocking on the guest room door, all apologetic, as if I were the one who had wronged him. But this time, I was drained, unwilling to be the one to bridge the gap again. The guest room door creaked open and shut, making quite a racket as Dean paced deliberately in the living room, his heavy footsteps echoing through the pack house. Once he realized I was ignoring him, he finally quieted down, the silence settling like a thick fog.

That night, I slept soundly for the first time in weeks. No one to steal the blankets, no one to shove me to the edge of the bed, and I didn’t have to wake him up in the morning. When I woke up the next day, Dean had already left for his duties as Beta in the Crimson Fang Pack. The empty house felt lonely, with only the sheer curtains swaying gently in the breeze, letting in the faint scent of pine from the forest surrounding the pack territory.

I got ready quickly and headed to the pack’s administrative building, where I worked as an Omega, organizing records and managing communications. I threw myself into work, occupied with meetings and data crunching, trying to forget the tension between us. It wasn’t until I happened to check my phone that I realized it was already eight in the evening.

My father had sent me a message: "Jessica, it’s your birthday today. I ordered a cake to be delivered to your place!" It hit me then—it was my birthday. In the six years with Dean, he hardly ever remembered my birthday, but my parents always did. When my mother was alive, she’d order a cake for me every year. My eyes suddenly stung with tears, the weight of her absence pressing on my chest.

I hurriedly gathered my things and rushed home, the cold night air biting at my skin as I ran through the pack grounds. As I opened the door to our house, I was greeted by Lucia Weaver, the high-ranking Gamma who always seemed to hover around Dean. "The birthday girl is home!" she exclaimed, her voice dripping with false sweetness. She wore my loungewear, sporting an apron, looking like she owned the place. As I stood there, stunned, Dean appeared, affectionately taking the spoon from her hand.

"Lucia remembered it was your birthday today, so she came over to cook and celebrate with you," Dean said, his tone casual, as if this were perfectly normal. He hadn’t finished speaking before I pushed past him, my eyes anxiously scanning the room.

Finally, in the corner of the coffee table, I spotted the cake my father had ordered. But it wasn’t intact—a piece was missing. Dean noticed my confusion and offered an explanation. "You came home late, and Lucia insisted on waiting for you for dinner. Her blood sugar dropped, so I cut a piece of cake for her as a quick fix. You don’t mind, do you, Jessica?"

I clenched my fists and bit my lip hard, walking over to the cake my father had thoughtfully prepared. The inscription “Wishing Jessica Eternal Happiness” was missing the word “Happiness,” ruined by their careless hands. Tears finally spilled over, the humiliation and anger bubbling up inside me.

"Dean, I do mind! How could you, without my permission..." But before I could finish, a familiar scent hit me—ravioli, the dish my mother used to make for me on my birthdays. My heart paused in that instant, the memories flooding back, and I felt my wolf stir in the back of my mind, her quiet presence a small comfort in the chaos.

Lucia stepped forward, her smile soft but her eyes sharp. "Jessica, I’m sorry if I overstepped. I just wanted to make sure you had a nice birthday. Dean and I thought it would be a good surprise."

I swallowed hard, the bitterness coating my throat. "It’s fine," I muttered, though it was anything but. I picked up the ruined cake, the weight of it heavy in my hands, and walked past them to the kitchen. As I set it down, I caught Dean’s reflection in the window, his expression unreadable. For a moment, I thought I saw something—guilt, maybe?—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

That night, I sat alone in the kitchen, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound in the house. I took a small bite of the cake, the sweetness doing little to ease the ache in my chest. My wolf’s presence lingered in my mind, her silent support a reminder that I wasn’t entirely alone. But as I looked at the empty chair across from me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was losing something far more important than just a birthday.