On our seventh anniversary as mates, Alpha Gianni Marshall took me to a secluded mountain resort nestled deep within pack territory. The hot springs were said to be blessed by the Moon Goddess herself. I woke in the middle of the night to find the bed beside me empty. Meanwhile, Maeve Sanchez—his Delta secretary—posted an update on Instagram, tagged at the resort location: “Got picked up by a handsome Alpha.” The photo showed Maeve with her wet hair wrapped in a white towel, and a large, muscular hand gently drying her hair—the hand was unmistakably Gianni’s.

A wave of nausea hit me as I commented beneath the post, “Casting a wide net these days, aren’t you? Don’t wear yourself out.”

The entire night passed without Gianni returning, not even a mind link. I descended the mountain alone and returned to our pack estate—only to find it just as empty. By evening, as Gianni walked through the door, I was on the balcony consulting a pack lawyer. The pungent scent of Maeve’s overpowering perfume clung to him; she’d been steeped in that suffocating fragrance all day. I shut off my screen without turning to face him.

“You could at least say something when you come home!” he barked, his Alpha tone sharp and commanding. “You left the resort without a word. If you didn’t want to be there, just say so!”

His voice was filled with anger as he growled from behind me. I stood up and turned to him, my gaze involuntarily falling on the scar above his brow. Once, it was a reminder of love and sympathy; now it felt like an insult. I looked at him coldly and spoke, “Where did you go?”

Gianni’s eyes darted, his voice rising in an effort to assert dominance. “What do you mean? The bed was uncomfortable, so I changed rooms.”

“Ha, changed rooms? More like changed women!” I shot back, disgusted at the Alpha in front of me.

He faltered, then insisted, “Cleo, what nonsense are you spouting? Maeve didn’t have a place to stay, so I helped her get a room!”

Maeve. He addressed her so intimately, yet he always called me Cleo, creating a distance between us. If you didn’t know better, you’d think Maeve was his Luna.

“Did you get her a room and help her dry her hair the whole night?” I questioned, seeking evidence from Maeve’s Instagram post, but found nothing—the post had been deleted or hidden.

Gianni saw me searching fruitlessly on my phone and regained some composure. “Don’t start making wild accusations just because of something you saw or heard! You sound like a nagging old she-wolf!”

With that, Gianni stormed upstairs, slamming the door so forcefully that the echoes reverberated through the empty estate. Ever since his business took off, all I’ve seen is his retreating figure. We haven’t had a proper conversation in ages; every attempt ends in an argument after just two sentences. He, however, speaks gently to Maeve, as if she were his mate.

The lawyer’s message echoed in my thoughts: gather evidence if I wanted any chance at making my case clear. I tucked the advice away and headed to my studio, picking up a paintbrush. Painting always helped when I felt either particularly bad or extremely good. The careless strokes showed my restless mood.

I lost track of time until Gianni opened the studio door and stood there, displeased. “Are you not going to make dinner? All you do is paint—what’s your art worth nowadays? Is making dinner too much for you now?”

I paused. Every time I pointed out how close he was to Maeve, he deflected by insulting my art, telling me I lacked understanding, unlike Maeve, whose insight supposedly helped him more than I ever could. How quickly he forgets that when he came from a poor pack with nothing, I was the one who invested in his startup. Coming from a prominent pack, my parents didn’t want me mating with someone like Gianni, fearing I’d suffer. But his ambition convinced me otherwise.

When we became mates, he promised I could stay at home and paint, assuring me he’d take care of everything. I’d be his Luna in a castle. During his early days of entrepreneurship, he wouldn’t hire help, and I willingly took on the household chores, not wanting him to bear all the burdens. He used to say, “Your hands are meant for painting; leave the heavy lifting to me.” Now the estate is here, but instead of a Luna, he expects a servant.

Ignoring his words, I resumed painting. After a while, he scoffed loudly and slammed the door as he left.

Later, Maeve shared another post on Instagram, captioned: “Our Alpha is quite the charming mate—accomplished in business and kitchen alike.” The picture showed a table laden with food. Comments below read: “Is this the same Alpha Marshall we know? Clearly the one beside Ms. Sanchez is different!” To which Maeve replied, “Oh, it’s still the same Alpha Marshall!”

I gripped my phone tightly while reading the post. Gianni never brought me along for pack events, so few knew he was mated. Many at the pack office shipped Gianni and Maeve as a couple, something I was well aware of. Gianni always dismissed it as mere rumors—if wolves fantasize, that doesn’t make it true, he claimed. Yet I ignored the saying where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Without any missteps, why are boundaries so often crossed?

I went to bed early, already resigned to him not returning.

It was morning, and I was preparing breakfast when a sharp knock echoed through the quiet of my apartment. If it were Alpha Gianni, he wouldn’t have bothered knocking—he’d have barged in as if the place still belonged to him. I hesitated, wondering who it could be.

Opening the door, I found Beta Lawson standing there, his posture slightly hunched in deference. In his hands, he held a mismatched bouquet of sunflowers, baby’s breath, and champagne roses, the arrangement haphazard and unappealing.

"Luna Cleo," he said, his voice respectful but tinged with awkwardness. "These are for you."

I took the flowers, though my stomach churned. Only Alpha Gianni would send something so garish, thinking it could somehow mend the cracks in our shattered bond. He’d always done this—thrown together whatever was available after our fights, as if a poorly arranged bouquet could erase the hurt.

I didn’t feel anger anymore, just a dull numbness. Without a second thought, I tossed the flowers into the trash. They were an eyesore, a reminder of a bond I no longer wanted to acknowledge.

As I sat down to eat, I scrolled through the pack’s shared mind link. Maeve, his Delta secretary, had posted a new update. Her voice, sweet and self-assured, echoed in my mind.

"I think the one on the left looks better. What does everyone think?" she wrote.

Attached were images of two bouquets. The one on the left was elegant and refined, clearly chosen with care. The one on the right was the monstrosity now sitting in my trash.

Comments flooded in from other pack members. "The one on the left is stunning! The one on the right is hideous," one said.

Maeve’s response was swift and smug: "Exactly, the right one is so ugly, I didn’t want it."

My chest tightened as the pieces fell into place. These weren’t just any flowers—they were the ones Maeve had rejected. Alpha Gianni hadn’t even bothered to choose something for me; he’d sent me the leftovers, the scraps she deemed unworthy.

A bitter ache settled in my chest, but I refused to let it consume me. I was no longer the Luna of the Silvermoon Pack, no longer bound to Alpha Gianni by a bond that had brought me nothing but pain. Still, the sting of his indifference lingered, a reminder of how little I had meant to him all along.

I didn’t sleep well last night and ended up nodding off in my studio. A phone call jolted me awake. It was Gianni.

“There’s a pack gathering tonight. Get ready; I’ll send someone to pick you up. And don’t dress like an old maid, don’t embarrass me.” He hung up before I could respond.

I stared at the phone in silence. As expected, the Alpha of the Silvermoon Pack ignored yesterday's events. I shrugged off his words and continued painting.

After a while, he called again: “Cleo Hudson! Are you ignoring me now? The driver’s downstairs, you’d better hurry up. Tonight’s gathering is crucial for the pack.” He hung up again.

Since it was a pack event, I quickly tidied myself and went downstairs. Gianni rarely invited me to these gatherings, almost as if he thought I wasn’t presentable. Maeve, his Delta secretary, was usually glued to his side during such occasions. Wolves who didn’t know better would jokingly call her Luna.

The driver took me to the venue, a grand estate on the outskirts of the city. “Ma’am, the Alpha will be here shortly.” Not knowing where to go, I waited in the corridor.

A black SUV pulled up, and Gianni stepped out from the driver’s seat, his broad frame commanding attention even from a distance. Maeve slid out from the passenger side, her eyes locking onto mine immediately, a smug smile plastered on her face. I ignored her completely.

Gianni approached me, his dark eyes scanning my outfit with disapproval. “Why are you dressed so plainly? People might think I don’t treat my mate well. You really aren't as good at dressing up as you used to be.”

Maeve, her makeup flawless and her dress clinging to her figure, sauntered over to Gianni, running her hand along his chest soothingly. “Don’t be upset, Alpha. Even without dressing up, she’s still pretty.” Gianni’s face softened as he looked down at her. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Maeve.”

I watched the pair with cold detachment, feeling like the outsider in my own mate’s life. My clenched hands ached.

Inside the private room were a few familiar faces—all high-ranking members of the Silvermoon Pack, which only heightened my confusion about why I was here. But I soon found out.

After I sat down, Gianni leaned in and whispered, “When Gamma Williams arrives, be pleasant. Don’t sulk.” Right on cue, Mr. Williams—a portly middle-aged Gamma—walked in. Everyone stood up, his gaze landing on me. Though uncomfortable, I managed a polite smile and greeted him.

He beamed and extended his hand, but I pretended not to notice. Unfazed, Mr. Williams exchanged pleasantries with Gianni before sitting down. Throughout the dinner, I avoided conversations. I could feel Mr. Williams’ lingering gaze and attempts to steer the conversation toward me, but I deflected them all.

Gianni, noticing Williams’ displeasure, whispered angrily at me, “Why are you brushing him off? Don’t you know how important this alliance is for the pack? You’re only making things worse!”

His words gave me a hint of why I was invited. As the dinner wrapped up, I felt a wave of nausea, threatening to bring up the spiced honey cake I’d eaten. I excused myself to the restroom, unwilling to return to that unpleasant room, and stayed there for a long time.

Unsure how much time had passed, my phone rang. It was Gianni's arrogant voice, “Get back on your own. Maeve is drunk, and I’m taking her home.” I heard a woman’s soft whimper in the background. “Alpha...”

Suppressing my disgust, I retorted, “So Maeve is your Luna now, huh?” Gianni's voice rose, “What’s gotten into you? Did you do anything worthwhile tonight? Maeve drank so much for the pack, can’t I at least take her home?”

“Should I be the one sacrificing myself to make it worthwhile for you?” He was momentarily speechless, then snapped, “What nonsense are you talking? I’m taking Maeve home.”

The call ended abruptly. I let out a self-mocking laugh and was about to leave when I heard the restroom door creak open. Suddenly, a pair of hands encircled my waist, the person reeking of alcohol, nuzzling against my neck.

“Luna Cleo, why are you still here? Were you waiting for me?” It was Mr. Williams’ voice, sinking my heart to rock bottom. Fortunately, he was too drunk and not very strong; I managed to wriggle free and fled.

I ran for what felt like forever until I was far from the estate, my heart pounding, my hands trembling uncontrollably. My phone pinged with a message from Maeve: ‘The success of this alliance is thanks in no small part to you, Luna Cleo.’ Maeve knew, and she probably orchestrated it.

The estate was remote, and no taxis were in sight. Gianni hadn’t even left me a car. I walked along the road, surrounded by darkness and solitude. My heart felt as bleak as the night. I knew Gianni didn’t like me, didn’t love me, and even despised me. But I hadn’t expected him to stoop so low.

He had become a stranger. In the past, when someone harassed me, he’d fiercely defend me, regardless of the odds. The scar he bears is from that time. But now he was the one putting me in harm's way.

If I stayed in this mate bond any longer, it would only hurt me more. After a long walk, I finally hailed a cab. Gianni didn’t come home that night.

The next day, an ugly bouquet arrived. Without a second thought, I asked Lawson, the Beta delivery guy, to toss it out.