Waylon forgot to mute the live audio on his Instagram story, and the playful voice of a girl echoed in the background, sharp and unmistakable.

"My lingerie got ruined again because of you."

"Can you stay with me just one more day? I don’t want you going back to *her*."

Thalia, Luna of the Silver Moon Pack, was tipped off by a well-meaning packmate. She stared at the screen, her fingers hovering over the story. In the past, she might have cried, thrown a tantrum, or even threatened something drastic. But now, she simply hit the like button and scrolled away.

---

Waylon called her later that evening.

"My flight’s delayed. Don’t wait up for dinner."

His voice was flat, cold, and distant, even over the phone. The excuse sounded rehearsed, almost indifferent.

Previously, Thalia would have responded with, "It’s okay, Alpha. What time will you be home? I’ll wait for you." She would have kept chatting to pass the time while he was stuck at the airport, clinging to whatever scraps of his attention she could get.

But now, she merely murmured an indifferent "Mm-hmm." She didn’t even bother to say, "Have a good trip, Alpha."

...

Because the night before, before falling asleep, Thalia had stumbled upon Waylon’s Instagram story. It was strange—someone like him, who rarely shared updates about their marking ceremony or pack events, suddenly posting a story was unusual. She eagerly clicked on it, ready to give it a like after watching, but then she heard the voice.

Waylon had forgotten to mute the live sound on his story. The girl’s playful voice was unmistakably clear.

"Are you reporting back to *her* again?"

"Ugh, my lingerie got ruined again because of you."

"Can’t you stay with me one more day? I don’t want you going back to *her*."

At first, the lively voice made Thalia think it was perhaps some random couple. Until she swiped to the last photo.

Then she heard Waylon’s low, indulgent laugh.

"I’ll buy you new ones."

For as long as she had known Waylon, he had always been distant—an unapproachable Alpha, calm and composed, reserved and discreet. Thalia always thought a person like him couldn’t possibly speak such intimate words openly. After all, when she had tried to whisper sweet nothings to him in the past, Waylon would only furrow his brow and say, "Luna, can’t you show a little restraint?"

But restraint, it seemed, was a luxury he only demanded of her.

Thalia’s wolf stirred within her, a low growl of frustration and hurt. She silenced it, burying the emotions deep. She was no longer the naive Luna who would beg for scraps of his affection.

The pack dynamics were clear: an Alpha’s infidelity was not uncommon, but it was rarely this blatant. Thalia had heard the whispers, seen the sidelong glances during pack gatherings. Emmie Anderson, the young Delta, was becoming a constant presence in Waylon’s life. Her resemblance to Stormi Shaw, Waylon’s late mate, was no coincidence.

But Thalia was done playing the dutiful Luna.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, her chin lifting slightly. The mate bond between them was fraying, its once-strong pull now a faint, almost imperceptible tug. She had made her decision.

When the time came, she would sever it—properly, formally, and without hesitation.

For now, though, she would bide her time. The Silver Moon Pack needed stability, and she wouldn’t let her personal turmoil disrupt it.

But Waylon Daniels, Alpha or not, would soon learn that she was no longer the woman who would wait for him to come home.

Waylon’s reply was brief, catching Thalia off guard. He seemed to have more to say, but she had already ended the call. Unable to express himself over the phone, he resorted to texting her.

*“I’m coming back with a surprise for you. Is there anything you’d like?”*

It was his way of smoothing things over, testing the waters. After Waylon’s Instagram post the previous night, one of his Beta, Alaya Alvarez, had noticed and commented.

*“Alpha, aren’t you worried Luna will find out and go ballistic?”*

Waylon’s response was swift and dismissive. *“What else could she possibly do?”*

Even through the screen, Thalia could sense the Alpha’s scornful tone. He seemed to have forgotten that she had added Alaya on WhatsApp months ago and could see their exchange.

In the past, Thalia would have erupted—crying, shouting, making threats. Her love for Waylon had once been obsessive, and whenever another female werewolf entered his life, she had prepared for battle. It had always annoyed him.

For three years, they had tormented each other, yet remained bound by the mate bond, though the distance between them grew. When they underwent the marking ceremony, Thalia had told herself, *Despite everything, I’ll spend my life with him.* But now, after only three years, she felt utterly exhausted.

Calmly, Thalia liked Waylon’s post and turned off her phone to sleep. When she woke up, the post had disappeared. Shortly after, he called, claiming his flight had been delayed.

She checked the flight status. The weather in the city he was in was perfect; no delays were reported. The only plausible excuse involved the faint voice of a girl in the background of his call. Thalia couldn’t think of another reason.

The weight of his betrayal settled heavily on her chest, but this time, she didn’t cry. Instead, she felt a cold detachment, a quiet resolve forming in the depths of her heart. Her wolf stirred faintly, a low growl of discontent echoing in her mind, but Thalia silenced it. She had no energy left for battles—not with Waylon, not with his indiscretions, and certainly not with the pack’s whispers.

She glanced at the framed picture of their marking ceremony on the wall, the memory of that day now tainted by the shadow of Stormi Shaw and the lingering presence of Emmie Anderson. Thalia turned away, her jaw set. She was done fighting for a bond that had long since begun to wither.

Waylon returned to the den just past midnight, his towering frame silhouetted in the doorway. The scent of pine and musk clung to him, a subtle reminder of his Alpha status. His sharp, amber eyes flickered with surprise as they landed on Thalia, sprawled across the couch in the dimly lit living room.

“Luna,” he began, his deep voice carrying the weight of authority, “I thought I told you not to wait up.”

Thalia hadn’t been waiting for him. She had simply dozed off while reflecting on the fragments of their bond—moments that once felt sacred but now seemed distant, like memories from another lifetime.

Waylon crossed the room with the grace of a predator, his muscular frame casting a shadow over her. He held out a small gift bag, its wrapping crisp and elegant. “A present for you,” he said, his tone softer than usual, though it still carried the undercurrent of command.

Thalia hesitated before taking the bag, her fingers brushing against his. She opened it carefully, revealing a delicate figurine—a wolf pup carved from polished wood, its details intricate but oddly impersonal. It wasn’t the kind of gift Waylon would choose on his own.

The memory of that voice—soft, playful, and undeniably feminine—flashed in her mind. Emmie’s voice. Thalia’s chest tightened, but she schooled her expression into neutrality.

Waylon watched her intently, his amber gaze searching for a reaction. When none came, his brow furrowed, the faintest hint of frustration crossing his features. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?” he asked, his Alpha tone creeping into his voice, a subtle reminder of his rank and dominance.

Thalia met his gaze, her own eyes steady despite the storm brewing within her. “Can you keep it quiet when you freshen up later? I need to rest. Don’t wake me.”

His frown deepened, the lines on his forehead more pronounced. For a moment, he looked as though he might argue, but then he simply nodded, his expression unreadable. Thalia wondered what he had expected her to say. Should she have asked about the post he’d made on the pack’s social board? Or the way Emmie had been seen at his side during the recent patrol? But none of it mattered anymore.

Not even the Alpha mattered anymore.

The next morning, Waylon left for the pack’s headquarters, his presence lingering in the den like a ghost. By noon, Thalia’s phone buzzed with an incoming call. She picked it up, her voice calm but distant. “Yes, Alpha?”

“Luna,” Waylon’s voice rumbled through the line, carrying the faintest hint of impatience. “Aren’t you bringing me lunch?”

Thalia paused, her fingers tightening around the phone. The question felt like a test, a reminder of her role as Luna. But the bond between them, once unshakable, now felt as fragile as glass. “I’ll send someone,” she replied, her tone neutral but firm. She hung up before he could respond, the weight of his expectations settling heavily on her shoulders.