Caroline POV:

It was our third mating anniversary.

In werewolf culture, the third anniversary is significant. It represents the solidification of the bond, the transition from new mates to established leaders.

I wore green. A deep, emerald velvet dress that hugged my curves. It was the color of the forest, the color of the home I used to build in my mind.

I sat across from Blake at Le Lune, the most exclusive restaurant in the territory. He looked handsome in his tuxedo, I had to admit. That jawline, those dark eyes that used to make my wolf howl with desire. Now, looking at him was like looking at a statue. Beautiful, cold, and stone.

"You look... nice," he said, checking his watch.

"Thank you," I said. "I ordered the venison."

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a long, velvet box. My heart gave a stupid, traitorous little jump. Maybe he remembered. Maybe he had bought me the enchanted drafting compass I had admired months ago.

He slid the box across the table.

Just then, his phone buzzed. He looked at the screen. Ariana.

"Don't," I said. It was the first time I had commanded him. "It's our anniversary, Blake. Don't answer it."

"It might be an emergency," he said, answering it anyway. "Ariana? What's wrong?"

I watched his face change from annoyance to concern.

"Calm down," he said. "Where are you? You're here?"

I turned my head. Ariana was standing at the entrance of the restaurant. She was wearing a shimmering silver gown that was far too bridal for a dinner guest.

And on her chest, pinned right over her heart, was the Moonstone Brooch.

The Blood Moon Pack's heirloom. The brooch that belonged to the Alpha's mate. It had been locked in the vault.

"She's having a panic attack," Blake said, standing up. "The crowd... the pheromones are overwhelming her senses."

Ariana stumbled toward our table, clutching her chest. "Blake... I couldn't breathe... I needed to find you..."

She collapsed into the chair next to him—my chair was opposite him. He immediately took her hands, pushing his Alpha aura into her to soothe her. It was an intimate act, sharing energy.

"Why is she wearing the Moonstone Brooch, Blake?" I asked, my voice deadly quiet.

Blake didn't even look at the brooch. "She needed a talisman. Something with Alpha energy to ground her. I let her borrow it from the vault."

"That is for the Luna," I said.

"It's just jewelry, Caroline!" He snapped. "She is hyperventilating. Do you have no empathy?"

Ariana looked at me, her eyes wet with fake tears. "I'm sorry, Caroline. I just felt so unsafe."

Blake looked at the velvet box on the table—my gift. Then he looked at Ariana, who was trembling.

"Here," Blake said. He picked up the box intended for me. He opened it. Inside were diamond earrings. Not the compass. Just generic, expensive diamonds.

He handed them to Ariana. "Focus on these. Look at the light in them. Ground yourself."

Ariana took the earrings. She held them up to her ears, looking at her reflection in the knife blade. "They're beautiful, Blake. They make me feel... safe."

He didn't take them back. He let her keep them.

I felt a sharp pain in my chest, right where the mating bond used to be. It wasn't the bond breaking—that was already gone. It was the death of my dignity.

"Excuse me," I said, standing up. "I need to go to the ladies' room."

I walked away. I didn't go to the bathroom to cry. I went to take a pill—a strong herbal suppressor to numb the phantom pain in my empty womb.

I took out my phone.

He gave the family heirloom to her. He regifted my anniversary present to her to 'soothe' her.

-15.

Total Remaining: 30.

Caroline POV:

When I returned to the table, the atmosphere in the restaurant had shifted. The air was thick with tension.

"You have no wolf," Ariana was saying to Blake, loud enough for the neighboring tables to hear. She was wearing my earrings. "That's why she doesn't understand our connection, Blake. She's basically human. She doesn't feel the pull of the pack like we do."

I stopped at the table. "I understand the pull of loyalty, Ariana. Something you seem to lack."

"Don't start," Blake warned, glaring at me.

Suddenly, the ground shook.

A boom echoed from the kitchen—a gas explosion. Rogues. It had to be.

The restaurant was chaos. Wolves were shifting, tables were overturning.

Above us, the massive crystal chandelier—iron and silver, beautiful and deadly—swayed violently. The ceiling groaned.

I looked up. The anchor bolt snapped.

"Blake!" I screamed.

Time seemed to slow down. The massive fixture was falling directly over our table.

It was the ultimate test of instinct. In moments of life or death, a wolf doesn't think. They react. They protect their most precious thing. Their mate.

Blake moved. He was a blur of speed.

He lunged across the table.

He tackled Ariana.

He shoved her clear of the impact zone, covering her body with his own, rolling them both to safety under a heavy oak sideboard.

I stood there. I didn't have Alpha speed. I didn't have a wolf to enhance my reflexes.

The chandelier crashed down.

The world exploded into pain.

Half a ton of crystal and silver metal slammed into me. I felt my right leg shatter. The jagged metal spikes, coated in silver dust, pierced my shoulder, pinning me to the floor.

The scream that tore from my throat was human and raw. The silver burned like acid, sizzling as it touched my blood.

Dust and debris filled the air.

"Ariana! Are you hurt?" I heard Blake's frantic voice.

"I... I think I scraped my elbow," Ariana whimpered.

I lay under the wreckage, gasping for air. The silver was poisoning me, fast. "Blake..." I croaked.

Blake crawled out from under the sideboard. He helped Ariana up. He checked her over, scanning her for injuries.

Then, he looked at the pile of twisted metal where his wife was buried.

He saw my hand sticking out, blood pooling on the expensive carpet.

He took a step toward me, his eyes wide with horror.

"I can't breathe!" Ariana gasped, clutching his arm. "The dust! My asthma! Blake, don't leave me!"

Blake hesitated. He looked at me, trapped and bleeding out. He looked at Ariana, who was standing and breathing fine.

"Beta guards!" Blake roared at the confused security team rushing in. "Get Caroline out! Get her to the hospital!"

He scooped Ariana up into his arms. "I'm getting Ariana to fresh air."

He turned his back to me. Again.

As the darkness encroached on my vision, I watched him run out the exit, holding another woman, while silver poison ate through my veins.

My phone was shattered in my pocket, but the calculation in my mind was crystal clear.

The chandelier fell. He became her shield. I became the casualty.

-20.

Total Remaining: 10.

Caroline POV:

Six hours. That was how long it took for the doctors to stabilize my vitals and extract the largest shards of silver from my leg. The pain was a dull, throbbing roar, like a beast trapped under my skin.

I signed the discharge papers with a shaking hand. The doctors protested, citing infection risks and the severity of the fractures, but I refused to stay. I couldn't breathe in that room.

I took a cab back to the penthouse. It was midnight. The city below was a grid of uncaring lights.

When I entered the apartment, the smell of whiskey hit me. It was a sharp, biting scent that overpowered the usual cedarwood aroma of the home.

Blake was in his study. The door was ajar. He was slumped in his leather armchair, a half-empty bottle of amber liquid on the desk. His tie was undone, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He looked wrecked, but not for me.

I stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on my crutches, gritting my teeth against the fire in my shattered leg.

He looked up, his eyes glassy and unfocused. For a moment, his face softened.

"Ariana?" he slurred.

The name was a slap. He was looking right at me, his wife of five years, and he saw the ghost of his past.

"No, Blake," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "It's Caroline."

He blinked, and the softness vanished, replaced by a weary irritation. "Oh. You."

He took a heavy swig from the glass. "I thought you were staying at the hospital."

"I came to get some papers," I said. I walked over to the safe. My movements were slow, agonizing. He didn't offer to help. He didn't even stand up.

"Why do you bother?" he muttered, swirling the liquid in his glass. "You're always so busy. So functional. Like a machine."

I ignored him, spinning the dial of the safe.

"You know," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that carried more weight than a shout. "Sometimes I look at these five years... and I think, what a waste."

My hand froze on the dial.

"A waste?" I repeated.

"I'm just waiting, Caroline," he said, staring into his drink. "Waiting for her to heal. Waiting for the mistake to be corrected. We're just... placeholders. You and me."

The air in the room seemed to freeze. My wolf, or the echo of where she used to be, didn't even growl. She was too tired. She was already dead.

I finished opening the safe. I took out the thick envelope containing the magical binding contracts and my personal assets.

I turned to look at him one last time. He had passed out, his head lolling back against the leather.

I went to the bedroom. I pulled the black ledger from my bag. I sat on the edge of the bed, the leather cover cold under my fingers.

I opened it to the page where the number 10 was written.

He called our marriage a waste. He called me a placeholder.

I wrote the number down.

-5.

Then, I remembered the hospital room. When he left me to go comfort her because she wouldn't take a sedative. I hadn't recorded that yet.

-5.

I did the math.

Total: 0.

I stared at the zero. It wasn't a scary number. It was a circle. A completion. It was the shape of a moon that had finally gone dark.

I picked up my phone. I dialed the number for the extraction team.

"Initiate Protocol Omega," I said. "I want the divorce papers filed at dawn. I'm leaving tomorrow."

I looked at the ledger one last time. I didn't close it. I left it on the nightstand, open to that final, damning page.

I had given him every chance. I had given him a hundred points of grace. He had spent them all.