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.

I frantically pushed Lucia aside, my Omega instincts making me shrink back slightly under her Gamma aura, but the urgency propelled me forward. I rushed into the kitchen, tearing open the lid of the pot. Inside, the boiling spiced honey cakes bobbed, and next to it, a small bowl still held a few half-eaten ones. My heart raced as I opened the bottom shelf of the fridge and counted them. Only a few remained.

I collapsed onto the floor, trembling with rage, my fingers clenched tightly, nails digging into my palms. Dean, the Beta of our pack, noticed something was off and instinctively moved to shield Lucia, his posture protective yet dismissive of me, an Omega. His broad frame loomed over me, and for a moment, I felt the weight of his rank pressing down on me.

"Jessica Martin, you can't be serious," Dean said, his voice tinged with the authority of a Beta. "We waited so long for you that we ate a couple of your spiced honey cakes. Is it really that big of a deal?"

My eyes burned with anger as I shouted at him, my voice rising, "Dean Simmons! These are the spiced honey cakes my mom made for me. She made them right before she passed away!"

My mom died in an accident. Barely an hour before the crash, she had made these cakes and left them in the fridge. They are the last piece of her I have left. I've always been hesitant to eat them, only allowing myself a few when I'm overwhelmed with missing her. But now, Lucia and Dean had managed to ruin almost half of them.

Dean appeared shaken, but he continued to stubbornly defend Lucia, his loyalty to her rank evident in his tone. "Lucia didn't mean any harm. She thought she was doing something nice for your birthday. How were we supposed to know you'd cherish those cakes so much..."

"Get out," I growled, my voice low and trembling. My wolf stirred within me, a rare flicker of defiance.

"Get out!" I repeated, louder this time, my voice echoing in the small kitchen.

"I don't want your fake efforts to celebrate my birthday. Just leave, all of you!"

In my fury, I grabbed whatever was nearby and hurled it at them with all my strength. Dean shielded Lucia, but a streak of red appeared on his forehead. He froze, gingerly touching the spot, his face pale with shock.

After a long silence, his expression dark, he bitterly spat out, "Jessica Martin, you're out of your mind."

With a slam of the door, he was gone.

I sat amidst the wreckage, clutching the few precious spiced honey cakes my mom had left me, sobbing uncontrollably. My wolf whimpered softly in the back of my mind, a rare moment of shared pain. The bond between Dean and me, once so strong, now felt like a frayed thread, barely holding together. I could feel it, the pull of his rank, his authority, but I refused to let it dictate my emotions any longer.

The kitchen was silent now, save for my quiet sobs. I stared at the mess, the remnants of my mother's last gift to me scattered across the floor. The pack hierarchy, the ranks, the expectations—it all felt like a suffocating weight. But in that moment, as I held the few remaining cakes close, I felt a strange sense of resolve. I was an Omega, yes, but I was also Jessica Martin, and I wouldn’t let anyone—not even a Beta—take away what little I had left.

Exhausted from crying, I lay down on the bed and drifted into a deep sleep, my body still aching from the emotional turmoil of the day. The scent of pine and snow lingered faintly in the air, a reminder of the cold winter outside the pack’s territory.

Late at night, Dean returned.

I quickly shut my eyes, feigning sleep, though my heart pounded in my chest. His footsteps echoed softly against the wooden floor, each one bringing him closer until he stopped in front of me. In the darkness, I felt his gaze heavy upon me, the weight of it almost tangible. There was a long silence, but no apology came—just a low, deep sigh that carried more regret than words ever could. Eventually, he left the bedroom, his presence fading as he moved into the living room.

The sound of his voice carried faintly through the walls, soft but unmistakable.

“Leaving on New Year’s Day? Not sticking around a bit longer?”

My chest tightened as I recognized the name he said next. “Lucia, don’t blame yourself. I know today wasn’t your fault. No need to rush off.”

A bitter taste filled my mouth, and I clenched my fists beneath the blanket. The bond between us, once so strong, now felt like a frayed thread, barely holding together.

“I’ll go with you to the theme park on New Year’s Eve,” Dean continued, his voice softer now, almost tender. “You’ve always wanted to see the fireworks, right?”

I closed my eyes tighter, trying to block out his words, but they seeped through anyway. “No worries, I’m free. Don’t stress about Jessica; we can visit her after the holidays. I’ll talk to her, and she’ll understand.”

A wave of indescribable bitterness welled up from my chest, rising to my throat. I turned my head toward the window, watching the snowflakes fall in silence, each one a reminder of the cold distance between us. Something inside me felt buried, frozen beneath the weight of his neglect.

I spent the night wide awake, my mind replaying every moment of the six years we’d spent together. Never had I been so clear-headed, so aware that this long, pointless journey had reached its end.

When I woke up the next morning, the apartment was as empty as ever. The scent of Dean’s wolf, once comforting, now felt suffocating. I packed a few belongings, my hands moving mechanically as I folded clothes and gathered essentials. Booking the next available flight was a relief, a step toward reclaiming my life.

Disappointment is like a coin. This time, I finally had enough for a ticket out.

When I stepped outside, the snow had stopped. The sky was clear and sunny, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside me. I wrapped my coat tighter around myself, the cold air biting at my skin, and picked up my suitcase. The path to the airport felt like a journey toward freedom, away from the suffocating hierarchy of the pack and the shadow of Dean’s indifference.

Before boarding, I opened my messaging app to Dean’s chat. My finger hovered over the screen for a moment, then I typed out a final message.

“I’m going home for Christmas. You don’t need to come this year.”

To my surprise, Dean, who usually left my messages unread, replied almost instantly.

“???”

I stared at the screen, the two question marks mocking me. But I didn’t respond. Instead, I turned off my phone and boarded the plane, leaving behind the life that had never truly belonged to me.