Dallas POV:

Time seemed to slow down. The water was freezing, numbing my limbs, dragging me down like lead weights were tied to my ankles.

I treaded water, my head barely above the waves. I saw Desmond. He had surfaced, shaking the water from his hair. He looked frantic.

"Dallas!" he shouted? No.

"Chelsea!"

He swam right past me.

He was so close I could have reached out and touched his foot. He didn't even look. His eyes were locked on the shimmering silver dress floating twenty feet away.

"I've got you!" Antone yelled, swimming alongside his brother.

They both converged on Chelsea, who was thrashing and screaming, keeping herself perfectly afloat. They flanked her, supporting her, cooing words of comfort.

I stopped kicking.

The realization hit me harder than the freezing water. It wasn't just a rejection of a title. It wasn't just a political move.

They didn't care if I lived or died.

Desmond, the man the Moon Goddess had designed for my soul, was swimming away from me while I drowned.

"Help..." the word was a whisper, lost in the roar of the ocean.

My legs gave out. The cold had seeped into my bones. I looked at the yacht, at the lights, at the three figures moving away from me toward the ladder.

Let it end, a voice inside me whispered. It was my wolf. She sounded tired. We have no pack. We have no mate. Let us sleep.

I stopped fighting. I let the air leave my lungs.

I sank.

The water closed over my head, silencing the world. It was peaceful down here. Dark. Quiet.

I was drifting into the abyss when a rough hand grabbed my hair.

Pain flared, waking me up. I was hauled upward, coughing and sputtering. A life preserver was shoved over my head.

"Gotcha, missy!" a gruff voice yelled.

It wasn't Desmond. It was a crew member. A human deckhand with a cigarette dangling from his lip. He hauled me toward a small rescue dinghy.

Two hours later, I was sitting on a hospital bed in the harbor clinic. I was wrapped in three wool blankets, but I couldn't stop shivering.

The door opened. I expected a doctor.

Instead, Marcus Morgan walked in. He didn't ask how I was. He didn't look relieved.

"The plane is waiting," he said.

I stared at him, my teeth chattering. "I almost... died."

"Chelsea is in shock," Marcus said, brushing imaginary lint off his suit. "My sons are with her. You caused quite a scene, Dallas. Dragging the future Luna overboard? You're lucky I don't finish what the ocean started."

I looked at him. Really looked at him. I saw the rot in his soul.

"I'm ready," I said. My voice was raspy, damaged by the salt.

"Good. The car is outside. You go straight to the tarmac. No goodbyes."

"I don't have anyone to say goodbye to," I said.

I stood up. My legs were weak, but my resolve was iron. I walked out of the room.

Down the hall, I saw them.

Desmond and Antone were standing outside a private room. Desmond was pacing, his hands in his hair. Antone was talking to a nurse.

Desmond turned. He saw me.

He froze. For a moment, relief washed over his face. He took a step toward me, his mouth opening to speak.

"Mr. Morgan?" A nurse poked her head out of the room. "Miss Taylor is asking for you. She's very distressed."

Desmond stopped. He looked at the nurse. Then he looked at me.

I didn't wait for his choice this time. I knew what it would be.

I turned my back on him and walked toward the exit signs. I pushed through the double doors into the rainy night.

I climbed into the black sedan waiting at the curb.

"To the airport," I told the driver. "And don't stop."

I pulled out my phone. I opened my contacts. Desmond. Antone. Morgan Estate.

Select All. Delete.

As the car sped away, I felt a physical snap in my chest. It was the last thread of the bond, stretching until it broke.

I wasn't Dallas of the Morgan Pack anymore. I was nobody. And I was going to Seattle to marry a monster.

Desmond POV:

The wedding was supposed to be the event of the decade.

The cathedral was filled with white roses. The pews were packed with dignitaries from every major pack on the West Coast. The air smelled of expensive perfume and anticipation.

I stood at the altar, adjusting my cufflinks. My hands were shaking.

"Stop fidgeting," Antone whispered from beside me. He was my Best Man, though he looked like he hadn't slept in a week. "You look like you're facing a firing squad."

"Where is she?" I asked.

"Chelsea is coming. The limo is five minutes out."

"Not Chelsea," I snapped. The growl ripped out of my throat before I could stop it.

Antone stiffened. He knew who I meant.

Dallas.

It had been three days since the yacht incident. Three days since I watched her walk out of the hospital, her small figure wrapped in a grey blanket, looking like a ghost.

I hadn't called. I couldn't. Chelsea had been 'fragile,' demanding my constant attention, waking up screaming from nightmares about drowning. Every time I tried to check on Dallas, Chelsea needed water, or a back rub, or reassurance that I loved her.

But the silence from Dallas was deafening.

Usually, even with the rejection, I could feel a faint hum. A sense of her existence. Like a radio station playing softly in another room.

Today, there was nothing. Just static.

"She's gone, Des," Antone said quietly. He looked down at his shoes. "Father said the plane landed in Seattle two days ago. The transfer is complete."

"She should be here," I muttered, pacing a small circle. "It's tradition. The pack members are supposed to witness the Alpha's union."

"She's not pack anymore," Antone reminded me. "We made sure of that."

The organ music started. The heavy oak doors at the back of the church groaned open.

The guests stood up.

I looked down the long aisle. I expected to see Dallas standing in the shadows at the back, watching me with those big, sad eyes. I wanted her to be there. I needed her to see this, to know that I was doing this for the pack, not because I didn't want her.

But the back of the church was empty.

Just the ushers.

Chelsea appeared, walking down the aisle on her father's arm. She looked beautiful. Perfect. The ideal Luna.

But as she got closer, the scent hit me.

It was cloying. Too sweet. Synthetic.

My wolf paced inside my head, agitated. Not her. Not Mate.

I tried to push the beast down. Shut up, I told it. This is for the billions. This is for the territory.

Chelsea reached the altar. She took my hand. Her skin was soft, but there was no spark. No electricity. It felt like holding a mannequin's hand.

"Dearly beloved," the officiant began.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I ignored it.

It buzzed again. And again. A sharp, insistent pattern used only for pack-wide emergencies.

"Desmond," Chelsea hissed through her smile. "Turn that off."

But a cold dread was pooling in my stomach. It wasn't a normal text vibration. It was the emergency pack alert.

I pulled the phone out, ignoring the gasp from the front row.

It was a notification from the Pack Registry Database.

USER REMOVED: Dallas Cole.

STATUS: Pack Affiliation Transfer Complete.

NEW AFFILIATION: Simmons Pack (Seattle).

ROLE: Mate/Luna.

The phone slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the marble floor.

The echo rang through the silent church.

"Desmond?" Chelsea asked, her voice trembling.

"She did it," I whispered. The words felt like ash in my mouth. "She actually did it."

"Who?"

I looked at Chelsea, but all I could see was the empty space where Dallas should have been.

"She married him," I said, my voice rising. "She married the cripple."

"So what?" Chelsea snapped, her patience fraying. "She's gone. Good riddance. Now put the ring on my finger."

A sudden, sharp pain pierced my chest. It wasn't physical. It was the metaphysical severing of hope. My wolf threw back its head and let out a howl of pure, unadulterated misery inside my mind.

She belonged to another Alpha now.

I looked at the altar, at the priest, at the woman I was supposed to marry for power. And for the first time, I realized exactly what that power had cost me.

"I have to go," I said.

"What?" Chelsea shrieked.

"I have to go!" I roared. The Alpha Command slammed into the first three rows, forcing people to cower.

I turned and ran. I ran down the aisle, past the stunned guests, past my furious father. I burst out of the church doors into the sunlight, gasping for air, clutching my chest.

But the emptiness remained.

Dallas was gone. And she had taken my soul with her.