I clenched my jaw, forcing the bile back down. My heart pounded, but my body felt strangely detached—numb, frozen in place as the laughter in the study continued.

My fiancé and my mate. The man I loved. Laughing about me like I was some joke.

I should have barged in. I should have thrown the door open and screamed at him, demanded answers. But I didn’t.

Instead, I turned on my heel and walked away.

My fingers dug into my palm, nails biting into my skin. The hallway felt suffocating, the weight of what I’d just overheard pressing down on my chest. I needed air, space—anything but this crushing realization.

Alpha Damon never loved me.

He never wanted me.

He was using me.

I gritted my teeth and forced myself to keep walking. I wouldn’t break down here. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

I barely made it to my room before the emotions came crashing down on me.

I slammed the door shut, resting my forehead against the cool wood. My entire body trembled. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the words away, wishing I could unhear them.

"She’s just a safety net."

"If she had given it up, maybe I’d keep her around longer."

"She’s delusional."

A choked sound escaped my lips. The pain was unbearable, twisting and gnawing at my insides like a beast that refused to be caged.

How had I been so blind?

How had I convinced myself that Damon and I were destined, that his growing coldness was just stress, that the late nights and hushed conversations meant nothing?

"He’s just busy," I had told myself. "He loves me. He’s just distracted. The wedding planning is overwhelming him."

I had excused every red flag.

And the worst part? I had been warned.

––––––

A few weeks ago…

“Sienna, wake up.”

I groaned as warm hands shook my shoulders. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon filled my nose before I forced my heavy eyelids open. Across from me, my best friend, Eva, stood with her arms crossed, an unimpressed look on her face.

“It’s six in the morning,” I muttered, rolling over and burying my face in my pillow.

“Exactly,” she shot back. “Six in the morning, and your loving mate hasn’t come home from his ‘meeting.’”

I stiffened.

Eva sighed. “Sienna, come on. I’m not trying to ruin your day, but I know what I saw.”

I sat up, rubbing my eyes. “Eva, we’ve talked about this. Damon has important pack responsibilities. He—”

“He was at a club last night,” she interrupted. “I saw him with my own eyes, and he wasn’t alone.”

My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to scoff. “That doesn’t mean anything. Maybe it was a business thing.”

Eva’s jaw clenched. “Sienna, he had a woman on his lap.”

The room suddenly felt too small, too hot. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat, shaking my head.

“You’re mistaken,” I said, voice tight.

Eva exhaled sharply. “I know you love him. I know you want to believe in him. But, Sienna—”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” I threw the blankets off me and stood, walking to the window, desperate to breathe. “Damon loves me. We’re getting mated in a week. I am gonna to be his Luna. Everything is fine.”

A heavy silence followed before Eva finally spoke. “Okay.” Her voice was soft, understanding. “Just… if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

––––––

Now, standing alone in my bedroom, her words haunted me.

Eva had tried to warn me, and I had brushed her off like a fool.

I should have listened.

But I had been too caught up in the fantasy of what I wanted my life to be.

I turned to the vanity mirror, staring at my reflection. My eyes were red, my lips trembling, my skin pale. I looked broken.

I took a shaky breath and wiped my face, erasing every trace of my pain. I forced my lips into a neutral line, training my expression into calm indifference. No one could know.

I would go through with the wedding.

I would smile, play the perfect fiancée, let him believe I was the same foolish woman who adored him.

––––––

The next day, I made my way to the small ticketing office on the outskirts of the pack’s territory. It was the only place that handled long-distance travel, including flights to the Werewolf Council.

The old attendant at the desk barely looked up as I approached.

“I need a ticket,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “To the Council.”

She hummed, clicking a few keys on her old computer before nodding. “Next available flight is in a week.”

My heart stopped.

“In a week?” I repeated.

The woman barely spared me a glance. “Yes. Earliest available departure.”

I almost laughed. The universe was cruel.

A week.

The same day as my wedding.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

“Perfect,” I said, smiling coldly. “That’s even better.”

The pre-wedding party was supposed to be a celebration of love—a night where friends and family came together to honor the bond Alpha Damon and I shared.

It was held at the Shadow Fang Pack’s grand hall, an extravagant space filled with glittering chandeliers and walls draped in deep crimson silk.

The scent of roasted meats and aged wine filled the air, but it did little to soothe the knot twisting in my stomach.

I forced a smile, letting the chatter of the crowd wash over me. Damon was nowhere in sight. He had disappeared earlier, claiming he had "business matters to attend to," leaving me to play the perfect fiancée on my own.

Not that it surprised me.

I scanned the room, my heart sinking when I spotted him near the bar. And he wasn’t alone.

A tall shewolf with sleek black hair and a body made for sin clung to his arm, laughing softly at something he whispered in her ear. Her blood-red dress clung to every curve, the slit revealing far too much leg for a simple "friend."

Alpha Damon’s hand rested comfortably on her waist—too comfortably—his thumb brushing over her exposed skin in a way that sent a sickening twist through my gut.

As if sensing my gaze, Damon glanced up and met my eyes across the room. For a brief moment, something flickered in his expression—not guilt, not regret—indifference. Then, without missing a beat, he leaned closer to the shewolf, whispering something that made her laugh again.

I swallowed hard, reminding myself to breathe.

This was just another game to him. Another humiliation designed to break me little by little. But I wouldn’t let him see me shatter. Not tonight.

I plastered on a smile as he finally made his way over, the shewolf still clinging to him like a second skin.

“Sienna,” Damon greeted, his tone smooth and casual, as if nothing were amiss. “I want you to meet an old friend. This is Alina.”

Friend.

Of course.

Alina’s lips curled into a smirk as she extended her hand. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you, Sienna. Damon talks about you all the time.”

I took her hand, my grip firm as I met her gaze head-on. “Really? I can’t say he’s mentioned you.”

Her smile faltered for a brief second before she recovered, leaning into Damon just a little more. “Well, we go way back. He’s always been so... generous.” Her voice dripped with suggestion, and the way she looked at him made her true intentions painfully clear.

I felt every pair of eyes in the room on us—on me—waiting to see how I’d react.

I wanted to scream. To wipe that smug expression off her face and demand answers. But instead, I did what I had always done. I stayed silent.

Damon slipped an arm around my waist in what was supposed to be a loving gesture. But his touch was cold—a performance for the audience.

“You know how it is,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my temple. “I can’t help it if my friends adore me.”

A laugh bubbled up in my throat, sharp and bitter, but I swallowed it down.

I wouldn’t let him see me break.

“I’m sure they do,” I said coolly. “Enjoy catching up. I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

I stepped out of his embrace, offering a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

Let him play his games. I wouldn’t fall apart for him.

As I turned to walk away, I caught the barely concealed laughter from his friends at a nearby table. Logan, his Beta and best man, smirked as I approached.

“Damn, Sienna,” he drawled, tipping his glass toward me. “You’re really cool about all this. Most girls would be losing their minds by now.”

The others chuckled, exchanging knowing glances as if I weren’t even there.

I smiled sweetly. “I suppose it takes confidence to handle a man like Damon.”

Logan raised a brow. “Or maybe you’re just too naïve to know better.”

The words struck harder than they should have. They weren’t wrong. I had been too blind—too desperate to hold onto a fantasy that never existed.

Still, I refused to let them see how much it hurt.

I met Logan’s gaze, my voice unwavering. “Better naïve than pathetic.”

His smirk faltered, but before he could respond, a voice cut through the tension.

“Oh, don’t be too hard on her, boys,” Alina purred, stepping to Damon’s side once more. “Not everyone is cut out for this world.”

I clenched my jaw, willing myself to remain calm.

“Especially someone as... delicate as Sienna,” she continued, her eyes gleaming with malice. “I mean, it’s sweet how much you worship him. You’re lucky. Most women in your position would be left behind.”

A sharp, cruel silence followed her words. Even Logan raised a brow, as if surprised by how far she was willing to push.

I forced a polite smile. “It’s funny,” I said softly. “You talk like you’re an expert in being left behind.”

Alina’s smile slipped, just for a moment. Good.

Damon chuckled low under his breath, clearly entertained by the spectacle. He wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“You’re handling this so well, babe,” he murmured in my ear, his voice too soft for anyone else to hear. “But you always do, don’t you?”

My stomach twisted, but I refused to give him the reaction he wanted.

“Of course,” I said smoothly, stepping out of his touch. “I know my worth.”

I left him there, surrounded by his friends and his mistress, but I knew the damage had already been done.

The murmurs followed me as I slipped onto the balcony, the cool night air brushing against my flushed skin. My hands trembled as I gripped the railing, trying to steady my breath.

I had wanted to believe—so badly—that things would be different. That Damon still cared.

But tonight proved otherwise.

He wasn’t trying to hide it anymore.

The kitchen smelled of roasted herbs and simmering broth, the scent wrapping around me like a long-forgotten comfort. I moved through the space with practiced ease, my hands working automatically as I stirred the stew. Cooking had always been second nature to me—a labor of love, a quiet act of devotion—but tonight, the act felt hollow.

Tonight, I wasn’t just making dinner. I was cooking for the last time in this pack.

I didn’t let myself linger on the thought. I didn’t let myself feel.

Instead, I focused on the warmth of the pot against my palm, the steady rhythm of the knife slicing through vegetables, the way the fire crackled beneath the bubbling stew.

For years, I had been the one to do this. Every meal, every gathering, every celebration.

Not because it was my duty, but because I had wanted to. For him.

Even when Damon never once acknowledged the effort. Even when he took it for granted.

I should have stopped a long time ago.

I lifted the ladle, bringing a spoonful of the rich, aromatic broth to my lips. Perfect. It was warm and hearty, seasoned just right.

I had just begun plating when I heard him enter.

The air in the room shifted. The warmth that had lingered in the kitchen was stripped away in an instant. I didn’t need to turn around to know he was in a foul mood—I could feel it in the way his energy pressed against me, sharp and cutting.

His footsteps were slow, deliberate, as he approached.

I inhaled, steadying myself. Just a little longer.

Damon stopped at the counter, arms crossed as he stared down at the meal I had carefully prepared.

I waited for the usual indifference. The half-hearted nod before he walked away without a word of thanks.

But today was different.

The moment his eyes landed on the stew, his lips curled in disgust.

“What the hell is this?”

I blinked. “Dinner.”

His jaw tightened, irritation flashing in his gaze. "This?" He gestured to the plated food like it was something vile.

I set down the ladle, keeping my voice steady. “Yes, this.”

Damon let out a low, humorless chuckle. “You expect me to eat this garbage?”

The insult should have hurt. Maybe once, it would have.

But after everything? After watching him parade his mistress in front of me? After hearing the cruel words he whispered behind my back?

I simply stared at him, my face carefully blank.

“I made it the way I always do,” I said calmly.

His expression darkened. “Well, then maybe you’ve been making it wrong this whole time.”

I said nothing, refusing to take the bait.

Damon’s anger thrived on reactions. He wanted me to flinch. He wanted me to cower.

But tonight, he would get nothing.

His hand shot out, grabbing the heavy pot from the stove. For a brief second, I thought he was going to throw it at the wall. Instead, he took a step toward the sink and, in one smooth motion, poured everything down the drain.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

I just watched as the stew—the meal I had spent hours preparing—disappeared in a swirl of wasted effort.

The scent of roasted herbs turned bitter in my nose, the steam rising from the sink mocking me.

A sharp, searing pain flared across my hand.

I hissed, jerking back. Some of the stew had splashed, burning the skin along my wrist. It hurt, but I didn’t make a sound.

Damon turned, leaning casually against the counter as he studied me with cold amusement.

“Even an animal wouldn’t eat that,” he muttered.

The words echoed in my head, bouncing off every scar, every past humiliation.

Not once had I ever asked for his gratitude. Not once had I demanded his appreciation.

But to pour it out?

To burn me in the process?

I slowly exhaled, wiping my hand against my dress. The pain was manageable. The sting, temporary.

The damage had already been done long before this moment.

“Noted,” I murmured.

Damon raised a brow, as if surprised by my lack of reaction. He had expected tears. Maybe even anger.

But I was beyond that now.

I turned away, grabbing a damp cloth to press against the burn.

For the past years, I had stood in this very kitchen, making meals for a man who had never once deserved them.

And tonight, for the last time, I had done it again.

A few warriors passed by the open kitchen door, throwing me quick glances—not all of them cruel, not all of them indifferent.

Some of them had always respected me. They had eaten what I made, thanked me in quiet ways Damon never did.

They were not the problem.

But they also weren’t the reason I was leaving.

Damon pushed off the counter, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled.

“Alina made dinner at her place,” he said carelessly. “I’ll just eat there.”

Of course, he would.

I nodded, setting the cloth aside. “Enjoy.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if the lack of emotion in my voice unsettled him.

I wasn’t giving him anything.

No tears. No anger. No sign that he had wounded me.

Because he hadn’t.

Not in the way he wanted.

Without another word, I walked out of the kitchen, leaving the empty pot behind.