Chapter One

Alpha Modred has been my mate for five years. I don’t really understand why he hates me so much because I’m a Beta, and he’s an Alpha. He has never liked me. However, on my birthday today, I clutched this little box containing an earring and a diamond necklace. It came from Modred, who had never given me a gift in all our years together.

At least I was pleased that my mate remembered me today and gave me a gift. I shared it on social media right away, but Diana left the following comment: "Some people crave my leftovers." That’s when it finally hit me. In the same building, Modred had purchased a home for Diana. I realized that this present was intended for Diana and not for me. This building was our marital home.

In an attempt to calm myself, I balled my fists in anger and went to her house, only to be met with a startling scene. At a beautiful meal, Modred and Diana were enjoying themselves immensely. As if I had interrupted their moment together, they turned to face me. Modred yelled at me without even giving me a second’s notice:

“Really, Freya, why are you so unintelligent? We are merely discussing business. Does it even occur to you that I would still accept you as my mate if there were any relationship between Diana and me? I had the option to turn you down.”

“I hope you are happy with each other,” I muttered, throwing the diamond box and my engagement ring at him. I sneered because, if this had happened earlier, I would have disagreed with what he said and made sure he gave me the truth. Modred crushed the ring beneath his legs with an angry step, undermining my dignity and my love for him. Then he yelled fiercely, “You need to change your suspicious personality if you want me to accept you as my mate. Stop interfering; Diana and I need to talk about something important. Go contemplate your life.”

I was calm hearing his accusations I was already used to. After I left Diana’s place, I brought out my phone and posted about how Modred had not been faithful to me in the family group chat, and I called off the engagement. Just then, Modred immediately sent a photo of his laptop, saying: "Handling business with a businesswoman." This was someone who had been ignoring my messages, and now he shifted the blame on me, saying: "You’re just angry because I didn’t get you the red expensive shoes you requested, and yet you used my black card to squander money with your male friends."

Messages started dropping in the group chat. My mother’s message caught my attention: "You, this ungrateful child, apologize to Modred right now. If you let your stupid pride get in the way of this perfect marriage, I promise to kill myself to show you this was the only way." Seeing the way it turned out, I immediately exited the group chat. I was not surprised by my mother’s character because, ever since my parents separated, she had been unbearably irritating. Because of this, I had gotten attached to Modred’s gentle character, but after five years together, I realized he was nothing like that—just lies. His gentle character was all meant for Diana. His respect was for strangers, and his coldness was for me.

He has a skill for provoking me into getting angry in front of others, breaking me and making me cry, while he pretends to be the understanding one who forgives. This made people think I was the crazy one, but this time around, he was wrong. I’m letting go, staying quiet not to cause a scene.

My heart, already withered, will not be stirred by him again.

Modred returned with a pair of red shoes while I was operating my phone. He scoffed, “You haven’t made dinner. Why? Are you still angry, huh? Don’t you think it’s enough? You’ve always wanted this particular set of shoes. Here, take them. I even got red, the color you want. So stop sulking,” he said and threw the shoes at me. The shoes looked second-hand; they were thrifted.

I used to envy girls who got gifts from their boyfriends because of the happiness on their faces. I often mentioned it to Modred, but he didn’t care.

“If I knew you were such a vain woman, I wouldn’t have gotten involved with you, Freya. It’s not that I can’t afford these shoes, but do you even deserve this? You’re just a housewife, an unaccomplished woman,” he scolded, accusing me of being lazy and materialistic, forgetting that it was he who told me to quit my job with the promise of marriage.

In Modred’s eyes, I was only fit to be his maid. He was too stingy to buy me anything but had no problem gifting Diana a house and a diamond necklace.

Just earlier, I saw a post on Diana’s social media where he had helped her wear the necklace on her neck, holding her in an intimate manner. After the good time he had with her, he had the nerve to throw this thrifted, old shoe I had been begging him for at me. I was disgusted and kicked the shoe. Then I looked at him and said,

“I don’t like old, second-hand things. Neither do I like dirty, second-hand men.”

Chapter two

Modred grew visibly angry at my words and snapped, “Have you gone mad? How dare you speak to me like that? You’ve got the nerve, huh? Have you forgotten that you’re living under my roof and that I’m supporting you as well?”

I exhaled, forcing myself to hold back a retort. After five years together, I knew better than to argue. The truth was, we’d always split the bills evenly, even after I quit my job. I’d been using my savings to make up my share. The oven beeped, interrupting my thoughts. Ignoring Modred, I slipped on gloves and took the cake out of the oven.

Modred’s confusion was evident as he glanced between the cake and me. Then, in a softer tone, he asked, “Is today your birthday?”

It was my 28th birthday, and it also marked five years since we’d gotten together. I’d spent the entire day baking this cake, hoping we could celebrate together after he finished work.

He scanned the room, looking guilty. Spotting the candles, he picked them up and placed them on the cake. “Freya,” he said gently, “I’ll make it up to you. I’ve been busy. How about this afternoon, we go out, and you can pick any engagement ring you want?”

He sat down, showing me the rare gentle side I’d once fallen for. “Listen, Freya, there’s no reason to be jealous of Diana. What Diana and I had was in the past, when we were young. It happened a long time ago, and I’ve moved on.”

Moved on? Was he serious? My mind flashed back to the time I brought him lunch at the training ground and overheard him talking with some warriors. When they asked why he was with me, he had said, “I can be with any woman, but not Diana.”

Back then, I was naive enough to believe my sincerity could overcome anything. Now I knew better. I had made mistake after mistake, and I realized I needed to lose Modred in order to find myself.

“I don’t think that’s necessary anymore,” I said quietly. “Go ahead—I’ll handle things myself.”

He looked stunned for a moment, clearly unused to this tone from me. After years of swallowing my pride, he had grown accustomed to me always submitting. He probably thought I had already forgiven him.

“Make a wish,” he said. In the past, I’d always wished for happiness and love with Modred. I wished for us to stay together forever. But this time was different.

“I want to be free from Modred and be the happiest woman ever,” I thought as I blew out the candles. When I opened my eyes, Modred was gone. The cake I’d spent hours making lay shattered on the floor. He had left in such a hurry that he hadn’t even bothered to close the door behind him.

I sighed and began cleaning up the mess. Afterward, I checked my phone and saw Diana’s latest post: “I bumped into the cabinet—clumsy me! But my knight in shining armor came to save me.”

Scrolling through the comments, I found Modred’s reply: “I’m always here for you.”

The irony stung. This was the same man who ignored me whenever I had an accident. My phone beeped—a message from Modred. “I’m taking Diana to the hospital because she hurt her leg. Go to her apartment and clean it.”

Another message followed: “And make some hot soup. No garlic.”

It dawned on me that all those times he had complained about the soup I made, calling me names, it was because Diana didn’t like garlic. I considered ignoring the message, but after hesitating for a moment, I headed to Diana’s apartment. When I arrived, Modred was holding Diana, speaking to her softly.

The moment he saw me, his face hardened. “Why are you late? Do you want Diana’s treatment to be delayed?” he barked.

Diana pouted and said, “I’m fine. Don’t be angry at Freya because of me, even though I know she’s never liked me.”

“Enough, Freya!” Modred snapped. “Clean this place up properly. I won’t marry someone who’s jealous and can’t do anything right.” With that, he carried Diana out in his arms. As they left, I muttered under my breath, “Neither will I marry a shameless, cheating man.”

The apartment was a mess. Trash was scattered everywhere, and the sight of two used condoms made my stomach turn. So, this was what he had been doing all those nights he came home late—spending time with Diana.

Diana’s room was filled with luxury items: designer clothes, shoes, skincare products—things I could only dream of. A few days ago, I had asked Modred for a simple lipstick as a birthday gift. His response was scathing: “You’re too old to celebrate birthdays. Do you think makeup will make you look younger? Just do your duty as a housewife. It’s disgusting.”

Clearly, Diana was the younger, polished woman he preferred. Not me.

I blinked back tears and took photos of every corner of Diana’s apartment. Then I went back to my room and packed my belongings. It didn’t take long—Modred had rarely given me anything.

Diana’s possessions filled her apartment, but everything I owned fit into a single suitcase.

After packing, I called my best friend, Marilyn, who was abroad. She answered immediately, as if she had been expecting my call. I tried to hold back my tears as I said, “I shouldn’t have given up my career. I was wrong about everything. I regret it. Marilyn, I want to come and find you.”

“Freya, you’re a fool,” she said bluntly. And she was right—I deserved that. She had warned me countless times, but I hadn’t listened.

The call ended, leaving me feeling even sadder. I broke down in tears, mourning the five years I had wasted. Just then, a new message popped up on my phone: “Bought you the earliest available ticket. Three days from now, at noon.”

Fresh tears streamed down my face. They weren’t just tears of pain but also of relief. This was the beginning of my escape.

Chapter three

Modred didn’t come home that night, and honestly, I didn’t care. After I refused to cook for Diana, he blocked my number. Typical. He always acted like he could control everything. But instead of stressing over him, I decided to focus on myself. I packed a small bag and took a bus back to my hometown. I needed to pick up a few things from my childhood, things that might remind me of who I was before Modred.

The bus ride was bumpy, and the farther we went, the more familiar everything became. The same fields I used to run through as a kid, the same small houses with peeling paint, and the same dusty roads. It all looked the same, but I felt different—worn out, like I didn’t belong there anymore. Modred always said my hometown was beneath him, that my family wasn’t worth his time. I guess he was right about one thing: he’d never set foot here.

I didn’t know what Modred had told my mom, but I knew it couldn’t be good. He had a way of twisting everything, making himself the victim and me the villain. As the bus pulled up to the stop near my childhood home, I saw her—my mom—standing in the doorway, arms crossed. Her eyes darted around as if she were looking for someone else. Modred, probably. When she realized I was alone, her face changed.

“Where’s Modred?” she snapped the moment I walked up.

“He’s not coming,” I said, keeping my voice calm.

Her eyes narrowed. “Haven’t you two made up yet?”

“We’re not going to,” I replied. The second the words left my mouth, her hand flew across my face. The slap was so hard I staggered back, my cheek burning.

But that wasn’t enough for her. She grabbed me by the arm, dragging me toward the door. “You ungrateful child!” she screamed, her voice echoing down the street. People were passing by, some slowing down to watch, but she didn’t care. She never did.

Before I could process what was happening, she grabbed the wooden stick by the door—a stick she used to use on me when I was a kid—and started hitting me with it. The strikes came fast and hard, and I could barely block them.

“Modred told me everything!” she yelled, her face red with anger. “Do you know how lucky you are to have a man like him? And you can’t even keep him happy? Jealous, wild, useless—you’ve always been a disappointment!”

Her words stung more than the blows. She wasn’t just angry; she was hateful.

“You better find a way to marry him,” she continued, her voice shaking. “Beg if you have to, get pregnant—whatever it takes! Because if you don’t, don’t even think about coming back here!”

The stick finally dropped to the ground.

My mother finally stopped her rampage, but not out of guilt or pity. Instead, she blocked the doorway, glaring at me like I was the worst mistake she’d ever made. She didn’t even let me inside the house. Instead, she started tossing my belongings out onto the muddy ground, one by one.

“Get out right now!” she screamed, her voice loud. “Even if you die, you better go die at Modred house!”

Her words hit me hard, but not as hard as the small wooden trophy she threw next. It struck my forehead, and I felt a sharp sting. Blood mixed with the rain, trailing down my cheek in thin, cold streams. I reached up instinctively, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t care, and neither did anyone walking by.

I bent down, ignoring the pain, and started rummaging through the scattered pile of my belongings. Old books, faded photos, and childhood trinkets lay soaked and ruined in the mud. My hands shook as I tried to salvage what little I could, though I wasn’t even sure why. The past I was clinging to had never been kind to me.

Then, out of nowhere, a sleek Bentley pulled up to the curb. Its tires splashed water as it stopped, and for a brief moment, the world seemed quieter, like everything had paused. Modred stepped out of the car, holding an umbrella in one hand, his expression a mix of irritation and smugness.

He walked straight toward me without hesitation. “Freya,” he said sharply, grabbing my arm before I could protest. “Get up.”

I didn’t move, so he yanked me to my feet with more force. The umbrella barely covered us as he dragged me toward the car. His grip was firm, unyielding, and I didn’t have the strength to fight back.

“Freya, have you learned your lesson yet?” he asked, his tone condescending. “You see how the world treats you? No one will ever love you except me. Be a good girl and come home.”

I didn’t respond. I just let him push me into the car. The leather seat was cold against my wet clothes. Modred sat beside me and threw his coat over my shoulders like he was doing me a favor. But the moment the coat touched me, I caught the unmistakable scent of Diana’s perfume. It clung to the fabric, strong and deliberate, like it was meant to remind me of my place.

Modred leaned back in his seat, still talking. “Apologize properly to Diana,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Do that, and you’ll still be the future Mrs. Wyatt.”

I stared out the window, watching the rain blur the scenery as the car started moving. The numbness inside me grew. Once, I had believed Modred was my salvation. I had shared my darkest thoughts and deepest pains with him, thinking he understood me. But now I saw the truth. He had used my vulnerabilities against me, twisting them into chains to keep me under his control. He was never my refuge, and he wasn’t worthy of my love.

While I was lost in thought, Modred’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen before answering, his voice dropping into a softer, almost sweet tone.

“Modred, why aren’t you here yet?” A woman’s voice came through the speaker. It was light, teasing, and unmistakably Diana’s. “Everyone’s waiting for you,” she continued. “They’re all teasing me, saying how the company retreat can’t just have the boss’s wife attending while the boss himself is nowhere to be found. I’m running out of ways to respond…”

Modred shot me an awkward glance, his jaw tightening. For a moment, he seemed caught, unsure whether to leave me behind or drag me along. But he must’ve decided it wouldn’t look right if he left me there.

He cleared his throat. “Freya,” he said, forcing a smile. “Why don’t you come along to the company retreat?”

I almost laughed. Modred had never let me set foot in his company before. Even when I brought him meals, I had to hand them to his assistant outside the building. He always said it was to avoid distractions, but I knew better. I wasn’t good enough to be seen by other pack members.

Now, out of nowhere, he was offering me this—an invitation to his precious company retreat. It wasn’t a gift. It was a performance, a way to save face.

The blood from my forehead had dried a little, leaving a sticky feeling on my skin. I pulled out a tissue from my bag and wiped at it slowly.

“Okay,” I said finally, my voice calm and flat. This was an unprecedented ‘gift’ from him, after all.