The scent of detergent filled my nostrils as I mechanically sorted through another load of laundry. Three years as Luna of the Silver Creek Pack, and here I was, still doing the work of an Omega. My hands were raw from the harsh chemicals, but that physical discomfort paled compared to the ache in my chest.

I glanced at the clock—Atticus would be finishing his afternoon pack reports soon. Maybe if I caught him before his evening meetings, he'd actually listen to what I had to say.

My parents' medical bills had been piling up for months. Dad's heart condition required specialized treatment, and Mom's arthritis medication wasn't covered by their insurance. As Luna, I had access to pack funds for emergencies, but Atticus controlled all financial decisions.

I gathered my courage and made my way to his office, the familiar weight of disappointment already settling in my stomach.

Atticus didn't look up when I entered. His pen scratched across documents, his focus entirely on the papers before him.

"I need to talk to you about something important," I said, keeping my voice steady.

He glanced at his watch. "You have three minutes."

"My parents' medical bills are getting out of control. Dad's new medication alone costs—"

"Two minutes."

I swallowed hard. "I think we should allocate some pack funds to help them. They're struggling, and I'm their only daughter."

Finally, he looked up, his gray eyes devoid of emotion. "That would be an inefficient resource allocation."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "Inefficient? They're my parents."

"And this is a pack, not a charity." He returned to his paperwork. "We have budget constraints like everyone else."

"But—"

"One minute."

I watched in stunned silence as he signed a document with a flourish, then reached for another folder. My eyes caught the name on the file tab: Foster Family Financial Support.

"Is that for Leila's family?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Atticus nodded without looking up. "Her mother's condition requires extensive treatment. The pack will cover all expenses."

Something cold and bitter unfurled inside me. "So it's 'inefficient' to help my parents, but Leila's family gets unlimited support?"

"That's different." He checked his watch again. "Time's up."

* * *

The bedroom was silent except for the ticking of the clock on Atticus's nightstand. I sat rigidly on the edge of our bed, watching him move with precision as he removed his shirt.

"It's time," he announced, his tone as clinical as if he were scheduling a meeting.

"Time for what?" I asked, though I already knew.

"To fulfill our duty to the pack." He reached for his phone and tapped the screen. "I've calculated the optimal window based on your cycle."

A small electronic timer appeared in his hand. He placed it on the nightstand and pressed the button. The digital countdown began: 45:00.

"Forty-five minutes should be sufficient," he said, approaching me with the same detached efficiency he brought to pack budget meetings.

I stared at the timer, something inside me cracking. "You're setting a timer? For us to... for this?"

"It ensures we stay on schedule. I have an early pack run tomorrow morning." His fingers worked at my buttons with mechanical precision. "This way, we can fulfill our obligation without disrupting other responsibilities."

Obligation. That's what I was to him. A duty to be performed efficiently.

"Don't touch me," I whispered, my voice trembling.

He ignored me, his hands moving to my waist. "We need to produce an heir. The pack requires it."

Something primal stirred deep within me. A growl built in my throat, surprising us both.

"Don't you dare treat me like this," I hissed, shoving him away with unexpected strength.

His eyes widened fractionally—the first genuine emotion he'd shown all day.

"You're nothing but a glorified incubator to him," my wolf snarled inside my mind, her voice stronger than I'd ever heard it.

"Jane," Atticus said, his voice hardening into the Alpha tone that had kept me submissive for years. "Control yourself."

But something had changed. The timer on the nightstand seemed to mock me with each passing second.

"Do you even see me?" I demanded, my voice rising. "Or am I just another item on your schedule?"

"You're being irrational," he replied coldly.

"I'm being human!" I screamed, the words tearing from my throat. "Something you clearly aren't!"

For the first time in our relationship, I saw real shock register on his face. Then his eyes flashed amber—his wolf responding to the challenge.

"Calm down," he commanded, his Alpha tone vibrating through the room.

But instead of submission, I felt something new rising within me. My vision sharpened, colors intensifying. A strange warmth flooded my veins.

"Calm down?" I repeated incredulously. "You set a timer to have sex with your mate!"

"Jane," he growled, stepping toward me.

I didn't back away. Something wild and untamed surged through me, and for the first time since our mating, I didn't lower my gaze.

My wolf was awake. And she was furious.

I woke before dawn, my hands still trembling from last night's confrontation. The timer. The clinical efficiency. The way Atticus had looked at me like I was just another pack resource to be managed.

My wolf paced restlessly within me. *We deserve better than this.*

"You're right," I whispered, pushing myself out of bed.

I moved to the kitchen, pulling out ingredients for Atticus's favorite blueberry scones. Maybe if I showed him I was willing to try, he would meet me halfway. Maybe we could salvage what remained of our relationship.

The kitchen filled with the scent of butter and fresh berries as I worked. For a moment, I felt hopeful. These small gestures had worked in the beginning of our relationship, before pack duties and hierarchies had consumed us.

"They're just like the ones from that little café in Portland," I murmured, remembering how Atticus had smiled when I'd surprised him with scones during our first year together.

I arranged the freshly baked pastries in a basket and headed toward his office. The pack house was quiet this early, most wolves still sleeping after morning runs or night patrols.

As I approached Atticus's office, I heard voices inside. One was unmistakably his—clipped and authoritative. The other was softer, feminine.

"I'm telling you, it hurts more than you think," Leila's voice drifted through the partially open door.

I froze, the basket clutched against my chest.

"Let me see," Atticus replied, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

I pushed the door open wider, stepping into the doorway.

The scene before me stopped my breath. Atticus had Leila's hand in his, his fingers tenderly examining what appeared to be a minor paper cut on her index finger. His expression was one I'd never seen directed at me—pure concern mingled with protective fury.

"It's nothing," Leila said, but she made no move to pull away.

"It's not nothing," Atticus countered, reaching for a tissue. "You should be more careful."

The tenderness in his voice was like a knife twisting in my chest. In three years of marriage, he had never once spoken to me with such warmth.

Neither of them had noticed me yet. I watched as Atticus carefully wrapped the tissue around Leila's finger, his touch lingering.

"I brought..." My voice cracked as I stepped forward. "I made your favorite scones."

Atticus looked up, his expression instantly hardening into the mask of indifference I knew so well. No trace of the concerned mate remained.

"Jane," he acknowledged coldly. "What are you doing here?"

Leila's eyes flickered between us, a hint of satisfaction crossing her features before she composed herself into a picture of innocence.

"I wanted to talk," I said, setting the basket down. "About last night."

"There's nothing to discuss," Atticus replied, returning to his desk. "You were emotional."

"I want to sever the mate bond," I blurted out, the words tumbling from my lips before I could stop them.

The silence that followed was deafening.

"I see," Atticus said finally, reaching for a folder in his desk drawer. His movements were unhurried, as if I'd just requested a routine pack transfer rather than the dissolution of our sacred bond.

He pulled out several documents and placed them on the desk between us.

"These are the standard separation papers," he explained, his tone businesslike. "You'll need to gather all your personal financial records by tomorrow. The pack council will review everything before approving the separation."

I stared at the papers, unable to process his clinical response.

"And this," he continued, sliding a key across the desk, "is for your personal belongings in the pack house. But I'll need you to leave the safe alone. We can't risk any tampering with pack funds during this process."

"Tampering?" I repeated, incredulous. "You think I'd steal from the pack?"

"It's procedure," he replied flatly.

Something snapped inside me. Three years of suppression, of playing the perfect Luna while being treated like a servant, crystallized into pure rage.

"Where is the safe?" I asked quietly.

"Jane," he warned, "that's not necessary."

I turned away from him, my vision suddenly sharper, colors more vivid. A strange warmth flooded my veins as I stalked past a stunned Beta Marcus and into the adjoining room where the pack's financial records were kept.

The heavy steel safe loomed before me. Without hesitation, I placed my hands on the reinforced door and pushed.

The metal groaned, then gave way with a sickening crack.

"Jane!" Atticus shouted behind me. "Stop this instant!"

But I was beyond his commands now. With strength I never knew I possessed, I ripped the door from its hinges.

"Your precious safe," I said, turning to face him, "and everything else you value more than me."

I reached inside and retrieved my passport, birth certificate, and the few personal documents that were rightfully mine.

Atticus stood frozen, his mouth slightly open as he stared at the destroyed safe—and at me.

For the first time since our mating, I walked away from him with my head held high.

The car hummed steadily as we drove toward the pack council headquarters. I stared out the window, watching the landscape blur past. Today was supposed to be the day—the day we would officially begin the process of severing our mate bond. Despite everything, a small part of me had hoped Atticus would change his mind, would suddenly realize what he was losing.

"We should be there in twenty minutes," Atticus said, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. His voice was neutral, as if we were discussing a routine pack meeting rather than the dissolution of our sacred bond.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My wolf paced restlessly within me, still angry from our confrontation days earlier.

Atticus's phone rang suddenly, the sound piercing the tense silence between us. He glanced at the screen and frowned.

"Leila," he answered, his voice instantly softer than it had been moments before.

I watched his expression change as he listened—concern replacing the cold indifference he'd shown me for months.

"What? Slow down," he said, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. "Where is she now?"

My stomach twisted as I realized what was happening.

"She's at the hospital," he continued, already slowing the car. "We'll be right there."

"Atticus," I began cautiously, "we have the meeting—"

"Leila's mother attempted suicide," he cut me off, his voice tight with worry. "She needs me."

The car screeched to a halt at the side of the road. Before I could process what was happening, Atticus turned to me, his eyes already distant.

"You need to get out here," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"What? You can't be serious." I stared at him in disbelief. "We're in the middle of nowhere!"

"Jane," he snapped, his Alpha tone vibrating through the car. "This is an emergency. Leila needs me."

"And what about me?" I whispered, hating the tremor in my voice. "What about our meeting?"

He didn't even hesitate. "You can find your own way to the council. Or reschedule."

With that, he pushed me out of the car and sped away, leaving me standing alone on the dusty roadside.

* * *

It took me nearly two hours to reach the pack hospital, my feet blistered and my pride in tatters. But I refused to be defeated—not today.

As I pushed through the hospital doors, the first thing I saw was Atticus in the lobby, his arm around a weeping Leila. His other hand held her mother's chart as he spoke urgently to a doctor.

"—and make sure she gets the best care possible," he was saying. "Whatever she needs."

I stood frozen, watching as he pulled out his wallet and handed over his credit card without even checking the amount.

"Put everything on my account," he instructed the receptionist. "No expense spared."

The words echoed in my mind—"no expense spared." Just days ago, he'd called my parents' medical needs "inefficient resource allocation."

Leila looked up then, her tear-streaked face finding mine across the lobby. For just a moment, something like triumph flashed in her eyes before she buried her face in Atticus's chest again.

"Thank you," she sobbed. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

Atticus's hand stroked her hair gently. "You don't have to thank me," he murmured. "I'll always be here for you."

Always be here for her. The words cut deeper than any knife.

* * *

Three days later, I returned to the pack house to collect my belongings. The house was quiet as I moved through the familiar hallways, packing my clothes and personal items.

I froze at the sound of voices coming from the kitchen. Cautiously, I moved closer.

"—just until you're feeling better," Atticus was saying, his voice gentle. "The guest room is all set up."

"You're too good to me," Leila replied softly.

I peered around the corner and saw them—Atticus standing at the stove, stirring something that filled the kitchen with a warm, savory aroma. Leila sat at the counter, watching him with undisguised adoration.

I must have made some small sound because Atticus turned suddenly, his eyes widening when he saw me.

"Jane," he said, surprise evident in his voice. "You're back."

"What is she doing here?" I asked, nodding toward Leila.

Atticus straightened, his expression hardening. "Leila needs somewhere to stay while her mother recovers. As Alpha, I've granted her temporary residence in the pack house."

"For her emotional recovery," Leila added softly, her eyes meeting mine with barely concealed satisfaction.

I looked between them—Atticus at the stove, a dish towel in his hand, preparing food for another woman in what should have been our home.

In three years of marriage, he had never once cooked for me.