The scent of pine and damp earth clung to me as I trudged through the forest, seven long years of building the Elliott Pack weighing heavy on my shoulders. Alpha Osman Elliott walked beside me, his presence as commanding as ever, his broad frame towering over me. His once-warm eyes had grown cold, distant, and I could feel the shift in him even before he spoke.

The pack's den loomed ahead, a sprawling structure that stood as a testament to our hard work. But the moment we stepped inside, I knew something was wrong. The air was thick with tension, and the pack members—Delta warriors and Omegas alike—avoided my gaze, their heads bowed in submission. I caught the faint scent of another she-wolf, sweet and floral, and my stomach churned.

"Amaris," Osman's voice cut through the silence, sharp and final. He turned to me, his chiseled jaw set in a way that made my heart sink. "The Elliott Pack needs an heir. You can't bear pups, and I can't lead a pack without one."

I stared at him, the words slicing through me like claws. My wolf whimpered in the back of my mind, a low, mournful sound. But I didn't argue. I simply nodded, my throat too tight to speak, and turned to leave.

That evening, my mother reached out through the pack's mind link, her voice soft but insistent. "Amaris, come home when you're ready. Jayden, the Delta, has always been waiting for you."

Three days before the pack's official ascension to prominence, Osman pulled me into his den for one last night. His hands were rough, his scent overpowering, and he didn’t bother with restraint. The next morning, he dressed in his finest Alpha attire, a deep crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders, and left without a word. I was bedridden for three days, my body aching and my spirit shattered.

"Alpha," I sent a message through the mind link, my voice trembling. "Are you busy? I miss you terribly."

There was no response. The silence was deafening. Tomorrow was the day the pack would solidify its dominance, and Osman was nowhere to be found. Unable to shake the gnawing anxiety, I forced myself to his office that night, my steps unsteady.

The den was alive with activity, pack members bustling about in preparation for the celebration. But they avoided me, their eyes darting away as I passed. I reached Osman's office, the heavy wooden door creaking as I pushed it open. The room was dimly lit, the scent of his Alpha presence still lingering. On his desk sat a worn bowl of stew, the same one we’d shared in our early days.

I logged onto his computer, the screensaver a picture of us in our old den, crammed into a corner, eating from that very bowl. My fingers traced the crack along its edge—the same crack from our first argument. My eyes landed on the date in the corner of the photo—April 16th, exactly seven years ago today. It was the day he promised to mark me as his mate once the pack ascended.

A jolt ran through me, and I reached for my phone to call him. Just then, a clap of thunder exploded outside, making me drop it. When I picked it up again, his social media page was open.

The overhead lights flickered out, leaving the computer screen's eerie glow reflecting my pale face. His latest post, a mere minute old, was an engagement photo. The woman wasn’t me.

Osman was wearing the cufflinks I’d given him, his hand cupping the back of another she-wolf's head as he kissed her. The caption read, "Finally found the one."

My fingers shook uncontrollably, nails biting into my palms, as drops of blood blurred the ring on her finger in the photo. The ring was identical to the design I had tucked away in my phone case, a design Osman had once sneakily looked at while I was asleep. I thought he was planning a surprise for me. Some surprise.

On impulse, I scrolled through the last message Osman sent before leaving: "Wait for me; I’ll bring you a gift from my trip to England."

He lied about the business trip. The location tag on his engagement photo showed they were in New Zealand.

A suffocating wave washed over me. I shakily dialed his number, but all I got were endless busy signals.

The storm roared all night, and I spent it curled up in his office. The next day broke bright and sunny. Osman returned to the country, arm-in-arm with her, all over the headlines.

After the pack's ascension, there was a celebration. Despite my crucial role in the pack, I was barred from attending. I forced my way past the Delta guards, my clothes rumpled and my spirit bruised, to stand by Osman's side. The pack members stared, their whispers cutting through the air like knives, but I held my head high. I had earned my place here, even if Osman had forgotten it.

He stood tall, his broad shoulders filling out the tailored white tuxedo, his Alpha aura commanding the room. Beside him, Vivienne Johnston clung to his arm, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders like a Luna in waiting. The sight of them together made my stomach churn.

Upon seeing me, Osman’s brow furrowed, and his voice carried that familiar Alpha tone, sharp and dismissive. “Is today the day you choose to dress like that, deliberately trying to make me look bad?”

The Victorian-style dress I had picked out long ago still hung in the corner of the room, a silent reminder of what could have been. But Osman hadn’t given me the chance to wear it. I forced a smile, gesturing to Vivienne, who was draped in haute couture, and shakily asked, “Alpha Osman, who’s this? Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

At the mention of her, his expression softened, a rare warmth creeping into his voice. “Vivienne Johnston, my mate.” Then he gestured toward me, his tone flattening. “Amaris, my... former Omega.”

My smile froze, tears pooling in my eyes instantly. Osman looked away, his expression serene, as if he were discussing the weather rather than severing seven years of loyalty and sacrifice.

“Amaris, we were never officially mated, were we?” he said, his tone almost casual. “You don’t need to look at me like that. I appreciate the seven years you stood by me, but the Elliott Pack needs an heir. You can’t have children; don’t hold me back, okay?”

His words were a mix of questioning yet assured, as if he were explaining something obvious to a child. I felt paralyzed, unable to move a single inch. The onlookers’ stares were filled with spite, all directed at me. Everyone in the pack knew I had been by Osman’s side through every struggle, every triumph. Yet here he was, humiliating me at such an occasion. The weight of his Alpha aura pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe.

Vivienne watched my discomfort with composed detachment, her lips curling into a faint, smug smile. Suddenly, her hand shook, and she spilled a full glass of red wine all over me. Before I could react, she gasped, her voice dripping with faux innocence, “Sister Amaris, I didn’t mean to.”

Osman wiped away her tears with a kiss, his voice soothing. “No one blames you, Vivienne.” Tears and wine mingled on my face, and I couldn’t stop trembling. Amidst the laughter of the crowd, I heard someone mutter, “An Omega who can’t bear pups is just useless.”

Osman sighed, his Alpha tone softening slightly as he leaned in, his voice low but firm. “I know you’ve worked hard, Amaris. How about I double your year-end bonus? Just don’t make a scene today.”

I pushed him away, staring at him in disbelief. This was the Alpha who once reacted as if the world was ending whenever I cried. How did he change so drastically overnight? I couldn’t understand or accept it.

Seeing my vacant stare, Osman’s patience wore thin. He returned to Vivienne’s side, pulled a check for two million dollars from her handbag, and tossed it in front of me. “Consider it compensation.”

I didn’t pick it up, my gaze fixed on her handbag. It was the same one I’d added to my shopping cart on Amazon two years ago but never bought. Osman had promised to get it for me.

Vivienne took out a lipstick from the bag and handed it to me, her smile sweet but her eyes sharp. “Alpha Osman gave this to me. Since you like it, I’ll give it to you as an apology for what just happened.”

I didn’t take it, and her eyes reddened. Osman, pained, frowned at me, his Alpha tone cutting through the air. “Take it, Amaris. Vivienne gave it to you.”

I accepted it, picking up the check as I went. Seven years ago, when his pack was on the brink of collapse, I sold my family’s den and gave him three million, with the transfer note simply reading [Home]. Is this what differentiates love from a lack of it?

Amidst the revelry, I turned and left. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw Osman kneeling to tie Vivienne’s ballet shoes, something he had done for me seven years ago. On her ankle was a bracelet identical to mine—the one Osman gave me for my birthday last year, claiming it was one of a kind.

Looking up, I met Vivienne’s smug smile. Pain shot through my heart, and I quickened my steps, not even stopping when my earring fell. It was the first gift Osman ever gave me. It pierced the carpet like a thorn lodged in my heart forever.

As I stepped out of the Elliott Pack’s grand hall, thunder rumbled through the sky. Moments ago, it was sunny; now, a torrential downpour drenched everything. I walked in the rain, my white t-shirt stained by mud.

My phone buzzed. Opening it, I saw a message from my mother. [Come home once you’ve had your fun, Jayden has been waiting for you.]

Above my mother’s message was an unread one from John: [I’ll wait for you, always.]

I hadn’t had the chance to respond to the message before everything started spinning, and then I blacked out.

Luckily, a rogue named Faith Austin found me and rushed me to the pack healer’s den. Though I regained consciousness, they insisted on keeping me for observation due to my persistent high fever. I ended up staying for three days, during which the only message I received was from Beta John Walker. Otherwise, my phone was silent.

I suddenly remembered that Alpha Osman’s pack had just secured a major alliance, and I had stepped down from my position as his trusted advisor. He must be swamped with responsibilities. Just as I was about to check in, I dialed his number and instantly realized my mistake. With a bitter smile, I hung up.

Alpha Osman called me back immediately. Before I could speak, he greeted me with a scornful laugh. “Amaris, calling a mated man so late? Aren’t you worried my Luna might get the wrong idea? What happened to respect?”

My throat tightened, and I was about to end the call. But he spoke first: “Come back and clear out your things. Vivienne is a neat freak. We’ve been stuck in a temporary den for three days, and my back is killing me.”

His words stung, but I countered coolly, “Alpha, are you sure it’s the den giving you back pain?”

He paused, then laughed, “Well, that could be part of it, but mainly it’s because my mate’s irresistible.”

I fought back tears and hung up. When he called again, I ended it once more. Perhaps my actions had set him off.

He sent two text messages in rapid succession:

*“Amaris, you’ve got guts, hanging up on your Alpha now!”*

*“Come back here and clear out your stuff immediately, or don’t blame me if I throw it out!”*

Curled up on the cot in the healer’s den, I couldn’t stop the tears.

I thought back to when Alpha Osman and I first met at a pack gathering. That night, some unfamiliar she-wolves cornered me in the restroom just because the male their leader liked had shown interest in me. They wanted to teach me a lesson.

Just as they were about to douse me with cold water, the door flew open. A hand with elegant fingers reached out and knocked the bucket from the lead she-wolf’s grasp.

Alpha Osman, with a cigarette poised at his lips, took in the scene with narrowed eyes, his gaze finally landing on me. After realizing I was unharmed, he spoke, his alpha tone low and commanding: “I don’t usually hit females, but I’m ready to make an exception.”

As he said this, his knuckles cracked menacingly, and he suddenly yanked the leader off balance. Amidst their shrieks, he grabbed my hand, and we ran.

In the chaos, I accidentally tore a mother-of-pearl button from his shirt. When we reached the forest’s edge, he stopped, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he lifted me onto a low stone wall.

“Amaris, can I be your mate?” His cool hand brushed the back of my neck as he leaned closer, his long lashes grazing my forehead.

My heart raced uncontrollably. Gripping the button, I inexplicably nodded.

That marked the beginning of my obsession. I believed Alpha Osman was my guiding light, not realizing he was the abyss.

I had turned that mother-of-pearl button into a pendant, wearing it for seven years without ever taking it off, even during pack runs.

It’s time to move on.

I snapped the silver chain, watching the pendant arc gracefully into the trash bin—a finality, just like part of me dying.