“Elyria,” Theron had whispered to me once beneath the glow of the full moon, his voice warm and intimate as he pulled me against his side near the packhouse balcony, “you would take care of me better than anyone else ever could. Even better than Marisella.”

At the time, his words had wrapped around my heart like a blessing.

“I love her,” he admitted back then with a careless honesty that should have warned me. “The Moon Goddess knows I do. I want her. But Marisella would always choose ambition over me if it came down to it.” Then his fingers brushed lazily against my shoulder as he smiled down at me. “You’re different, Elyria. You’re loyal. You’re the kind of woman who stays. The kind who serves her mate without question. And for that, I’ll give you the best life you could ever dream of.”

I had believed him completely.

Like a fool, I believed every single word.

I let him bind our names together before the pack elders without complaint. There had been no grand mating ceremony beneath the sacred moon altar, no feast filled with music and dancing, no flowers woven into my hair by laughing friends. The official union had been quiet and simple, witnessed only by a few elders and sealed through blood, moonstone vows, and signatures pressed onto ancient pack records.

At the time, none of that mattered to me because I loved him so deeply that I mistook scraps for devotion.

Now, looking back, I finally understood the truth I had refused to see for twenty-five years.

Theron never truly chose me.

Not first.

Not completely.

I had simply been the safe choice waiting behind him while Marisella chased the future she wanted.

And when she finally returned willing to stand beside him, I became unnecessary.

No.

Worse than unnecessary.

I became convenient.

The woman who cooked his meals, prepared his clothes, and warmed his bed while another woman occupied his heart.

The next morning, not a single person in the packhouse asked whether I had slept well. No one noticed the swelling around my eyes from crying through the night or the trembling in my hands as I poured morning tea into polished silver cups.

The great hall buzzed with excitement instead.

Servants moved in and out carrying traveling trunks while laughter echoed near the hearth. Rich fabrics and expensive cloaks were spread across the couches, their scents filling the air with lavender oils, fresh leather, and imported perfumes from the southern territories.

I stood quietly near the edge of the room with my hands clasped together, watching everyone admire garments and jewelry as though this were the happiest occasion in the world.

My son turned toward me with a grin that reminded me painfully of the little boy I used to rock to sleep during thunderstorms.

“Mother,” he said excitedly, “aside from the alliance meetings, we’ll also be attending a sacred union ceremony during the voyage. Can you believe it? The entire event is supposed to be magnificent.”

For one terrible moment, my heart stopped.

I forced myself to blink normally.

“A union ceremony?” I repeated softly.

Marisella stood several feet away near the hallway mirror, holding a flowing white gown against herself while one of the servants adjusted the fabric around her shoulders.

The sight alone made my stomach twist painfully.

Still, I managed to ask, “Whose ceremony is it?”

Father scoffed immediately as though I had asked something foolish.

“What interest would you possibly have in that?” he muttered. “You are remaining here to oversee the packhouse while everyone else is away.”

Then his gaze sharpened slightly.

“And since when do you care about gatherings like these? It is someone from Theron’s alliance circle. Matters beyond your concern.”

I smiled.

At least, I think I did.

The expression felt weak and unnatural on my face now.

“Of course,” I murmured quietly.

“Do not worry, Mother,” my son added with a laugh, entirely unaware that every word felt like another knife twisting deeper into my chest. “We will bring you gifts from the southern markets. I know how much you enjoy those herbal oils and moonstone perfumes.”

Marisella giggled softly behind him before adding sweetly, “And we will send enchanted mirror images during the voyage so you can stay updated on everything.”

My chest tightened so painfully that breathing became difficult.

Before I could answer, footsteps echoed from the upper hallway.

Theron descended the staircase wearing a dark formal tunic embroidered with the Darkmoor Alpha crest, looking far more alive than he ever had inside this house with me.

Without even greeting me properly, he tossed a pile of clothing directly into my arms.

“I need these pressed before sunset,” he said flatly. “And be careful with them. The fabric came from the southern packs and costs more moonstones than you could imagine.”

I lowered my eyes immediately.

“Yes, Theron.”

The morning of their departure arrived far too quickly.

The packhouse was filled with noise from sunrise onward. Servants hurried through the halls carrying trunks while voices overlapped constantly with instructions, laughter, and excitement. The scent of perfume oils and fresh parchment filled the air as final preparations continued around me.

And through it all, I remained exactly where I always was.

In the background.

Quietly fixing collars.

Folding scarves.

Brushing lint from cloaks.

Adjusting buttons with careful fingers no one ever noticed unless something went wrong.

Then suddenly, a sharp cry shattered the busy atmosphere.

“My dress!”

Marisella’s voice echoed through the upper hallway in panic.

Everyone rushed toward the sound instantly, including Theron.

I followed behind more slowly, only to find Marisella standing near the guest chambers holding the white ceremonial gown in trembling hands.

A tiny tear had formed near the lower hem.

It was barely noticeable.

But judging by the horrified expressions around the room, one would think the entire dress had been destroyed.

Theron’s eyes immediately landed on me.

Rage flared across his face without hesitation.

“Elyria,” he snarled, “what did you do?”

My breath caught.

“I-I did not touch it,” I said quickly. “I only sent it to the seamstress yesterday along with the other garments. Perhaps they accidentally—”

“I specifically told you to oversee everything personally,” he snapped furiously. “Why would you allow strangers to handle Marisella’s ceremonial gown?”

“I was careful,” I whispered weakly. “I did not mean for this to happen.”

“Do you have any idea how valuable this dress is?” Theron barked. “Can you repay it if something worse had happened?”

The entire room fell silent.

I could feel every pair of eyes on me.

Humiliation crawled across my skin like fire.

“It is alright,” Marisella said softly then, stepping forward with that same gentle expression she always used whenever she wanted to appear kind. “Please do not be angry with her.” Her eyes flickered toward me briefly before returning to Theron. “She is still your mate.”

Theron let out a cold scoff.

“Unfortunately,” he muttered.

Then, without even glancing at me again, he wrapped one arm around Marisella’s shoulders protectively.

“Come,” he said gently to her, his voice immediately softer than it had been with me. “We will purchase another gown before boarding the voyage ship.”

Then he threw the damaged dress directly into my arms.

The silk pooled heavily against my chest as I stood frozen in place.

Around me, everyone resumed moving again as though nothing had happened. Servants carried trunks downstairs while my son laughed about missing the tide schedule, and Father complained about how long the preparations were taking.

No one looked at me.

No one asked if I was alright.

And when they finally left the packhouse together, laughing and discussing the celebrations awaiting them aboard the Moon Tide Voyage, not a single person turned back before stepping through the doors.

Not even once.

By the time the packhouse finally fell silent, I felt as though all the warmth had been drained from its walls along with them. The halls that had once echoed with voices and footsteps now seemed painfully empty, yet the silence brought me no peace. Everywhere I looked, I still saw traces of them—Theron’s abandoned goblet resting near the hearth, Marisella’s forgotten silk gloves draped over the arm of the couch, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air like a cruel reminder that she had already begun taking my place long before I realized it.

I was gathering the torn white gown from where I had left it on the table when the moonstone communication mirror resting near the staircase flickered softly.

A message.

For a moment, I simply stared at the glowing stone without moving. Then, slowly, I walked toward it and brushed my fingers across the surface.

Marisella’s voice filled the room first, soft and gentle in the way everyone always admired.

“Elyria, I’m sorry. The seamstress already admitted the mistake with the dress. You should not have been blamed for it. Please do not dwell on what happened too much.”

I listened to the message once.

Then again.

And somehow, the second time hurt even more than the first.

Did she truly mean it? Or was this merely another attempt to soothe her own conscience? A soft apology meant to erase the memory of Theron humiliating me in front of everyone while she stood there looking kind and understanding. Even now, she still appeared graceful. Merciful. The reasonable woman stepping in to calm the cruel Alpha and comfort the pathetic wife he no longer wanted.

Before I could decide what to feel, the moonstone glowed again.

Theron’s voice replaced hers.

“I left the obsidian credit seal on the kitchen counter,” he said casually. “Buy yourself something while we’re gone. You will have the packhouse to yourself for the next week anyway.”

A hollow laugh nearly escaped me.

Of course.

This was always how Theron operated.

First came the anger.

Then the humiliation.

Then, once his temper cooled, he tossed gifts at me as though material things could erase the damage left behind.

A jeweled necklace after harsh words.

Fine fabrics after nights he ignored me.

Perfumes after betrayal.

As if allowing me to spend his money somehow balanced the cruelty of everything else.

I could practically hear his voice inside my head already.

Here. Buy yourself something nice. Stop sulking now and smile for me like a good Luna should.

My fingers tightened around the edge of the mirror.

Without another thought, I erased both messages from the stone completely before severing the mindlink access tied to their communication signatures.

The silence afterward felt strangely satisfying.

For the first time in years, neither Theron nor Marisella would be able to reach me whenever they pleased.

Later that afternoon, I stood inside my room staring at my reflection longer than I had in years.

Then, slowly, I opened my wardrobe and reached for the crimson dress Theron once claimed was “far too loud” for a woman my age. After that, I picked up the deep berry lip pigment he once mocked for making me “look older instead of prettier.”

I wore both anyway.

Proudly.

The woman staring back at me from the mirror looked unfamiliar, but not in a bad way. There was still sadness in her eyes, still exhaustion carved into the corners of her face, but beneath it, something else had begun stirring quietly.

Something awake.

I retrieved the small pouch of moonstone coins hidden beneath the loose floorboard under my cabinet—the savings Theron never knew existed—and left the packhouse alone.

The city bordering the Darkmoor territory bustled with life beneath the afternoon sun. Merchants shouted from market stalls while wolves moved through the crowded streets draped in rich cloaks and silver jewelry. Normally, I would have felt out of place walking there alone, but today I simply kept moving forward, clutching my bag tightly as though I truly had somewhere important to be.

Perhaps I did.

There was a café near the center square I had passed countless times throughout the years. Every time I mentioned wanting to try their desserts, Theron always dismissed the idea immediately.

“More sweets?” he would scoff. “Elyria, have you looked at yourself lately?”

He always said it with that amused half-smile, as though insulting me was harmless teasing I should laugh along with.

Yet I still remembered the way he once fed the exact same pastries to Marisella during a winter gathering, smiling at her with a softness I had not seen directed toward me in years.

I never said anything back then.

I simply swallowed the hurt quietly like I always did.

But today, I pushed open the café doors and walked inside without hesitation.

The scent of warm vanilla and fresh berries wrapped around me instantly. Sunlight poured through the windows, casting golden light across polished wooden tables and shelves lined with delicate pastries.

For once, no one looked at me like I did not belong there.

I sat near the window and ordered the most expensive dessert on the menu—a delicate layered cake decorated with sugared berries and tiny flakes of edible gold.

When the first bite melted against my tongue, my eyes stung unexpectedly with tears.

It was sweet.

Light.

Beautiful.

And for the first time in a very long while, something belonged entirely to me.

As I ate slowly, I absentmindedly opened the crystal viewing tablet resting in my bag, intending only to distract myself for a few moments.

That was when I saw Celia’s public memory post glowing across the screen.

Celia.

One of my closest friends.

Or at least, I thought she had been.

My chest tightened as I opened the memory projection.

The moment the images appeared, the entire world seemed to stop around me.

There they were.

The Moon Tide Voyage.

The ceremony.

Theron stood dressed in formal black ceremonial robes while Marisella glowed beside him in white silk beneath strings of moon lanterns. Around them, guests laughed and applauded as music echoed across the enormous ship deck.

My son stood near the front smiling proudly.

My father raised a silver goblet in celebration.

Even Celia herself laughed beside the other guests as though this were the happiest occasion imaginable.

Every single one of them knew.

The realization hollowed me out completely.

I watched silently as Theron brushed a kiss against Marisella’s forehead while guests cheered around them. My father stood beside the couple looking proud, not ashamed. Not conflicted. Proud.

As though replacing me was the most natural thing in the world.

My fingers trembled violently.

The silver fork slipped from my hand and clattered against the plate loud enough to draw glances from nearby tables.

But I barely noticed.

Because suddenly, everything became painfully clear.

My marriage had never been sacred to any of them.

Not the bond.

Not the vows spoken beneath the Moon Goddess.

Not the years I spent sacrificing pieces of myself for this family.

To them, I had only ever been convenient.

A placeholder.

The quiet woman who remained loyal while waiting for the true bride to finally arrive.

Tears blurred my vision, but this time, something inside me did not break.

Instead, something hardened.

Slowly, I wiped my face with the back of my hand and stood from the table.

No one in that ceremony had chosen me.

Not Theron.

Not my father.

Not even my own son.

So perhaps it was finally time I chose myself instead.

Directly across the street stood a boutique I had admired silently for years without ever entering. Elegant gowns filled the display windows, shimmering beneath enchanted lantern light like something meant for another kind of woman.

Not someone like me.

At least, that was what I used to believe.

Today, I crossed the street and walked inside.

A young saleswoman greeted me warmly the moment I entered.

“Are you searching for something special, my lady?” she asked kindly.

I met her gaze steadily.

“Yes,” I answered. “I would like to try on a ceremonial gown.”

Her brows lifted slightly in surprise.

“For your union ceremony?”

For a moment, I thought about saying no.

Instead, I straightened my shoulders.

“Yes,” I said softly. “For mine.”

She smiled then and guided me through rows of gowns made from silk, lace, and moon-thread embroidery. I tried several on, allowing myself to truly look at my reflection each time instead of immediately searching for flaws the way I always had before.

Then I found it.

The gown was simple compared to the others—elegant without trying too hard, soft ivory fabric draping gracefully over my figure without unnecessary jewels or elaborate designs.

When I stepped before the mirror wearing it, my breath caught.

For the first time in years, I did not see a forgotten wife staring back at me.

I did not see a woman abandoned.

I saw someone still standing despite everything.

Someone still whole.

My eyes burned as I asked the saleswoman to capture a memory portrait of me wearing the dress. When she handed me the printed image moments later, I stared at it for a long time before smiling softly.

Not for Theron.

Not for anyone else.

For me.

I purchased the gown with my own saved moonstones, then stepped back outside into the evening air clutching the parcel against my chest.

After a long moment, I reached into my bag and pulled out the small communication crystal tucked inside.

There was one final thing I needed to do.

The line connected after only two pulses.

I inDarkveild shakily before speaking.

“Hello,” I said quietly, though this time my voice did not tremble. “I would like to begin the dissolution of my mating contract.”

And just like that, for the very first time in twenty-five years—

I chose myself.

The call to the legal elder was far easier than I imagined it would be.

For years, I thought the words would destroy me once they finally left my mouth. I thought speaking them aloud would feel like tearing apart the last remains of my life. But when the elderly she-wolf on the other end of the communication crystal asked quietly, “State the nature of your request,” my voice did not tremble at all.

“I would like to dissolve my mating contract,” I said clearly.

The silence that followed lasted only a heartbeat, yet something inside me shifted during that brief moment.

Like a lock quietly snapping open after years of rust.

Like chains loosening around my ribs one by one.

For so long, I had lived inside a cage I built myself, convincing my heart that sacrifice was love and endurance was loyalty. The moment I finally spoke those words aloud, I realized the cage door had never truly been locked.

I had simply been too afraid to walk out of it.

When I returned to the packhouse afterward, the halls were empty and still. Usually, the silence inside that place felt heavy enough to suffocate me, but today it felt different somehow. It no longer felt like a prison filled with ghosts of everything I had lost.

Instead, it felt unfinished.

Like a space waiting to become mine again, even if only temporarily.

Without hesitation, I made my way toward the small storage room near the back corridor of the packhouse—the dusty little chamber Theron always mocked as my “junk closet.”

The memory almost made me laugh bitterly now.

“Why do you keep useless things like this?” he used to complain whenever he saw me organizing the boxes inside. “The room smells like paint and old cloth. Throw them away already.”

But those boxes had never contained junk.

They contained pieces of me.

I knelt slowly before the first wooden chest and lifted the lid carefully. Dust swirled into the air as I peeled back the protective cloth covering the canvases beneath.

My breath caught instantly.

Painting after painting rested inside the box, preserved carefully despite the years that had passed. Landscapes bathed in moonlight. Forests glowing beneath silver skies. Portraits of wolves standing proudly beneath the full moon. Every brushstroke carried fragments of the woman I used to be before life taught me to make myself smaller.

Back then, I used to paint beside the bedroom window for hours while sunlight spilled across my hands. I remembered how happy I felt mixing colors together, humming softly to myself without worrying whether anyone approved of it.

Then Theron came into my life.

“It is pointless,” he told me one evening after watching me paint for nearly an hour in silence. “Art does not feed a family, Elyria. Stop wasting your time on childish things and focus on becoming a proper wife.”

And because I loved him, I listened.

Little by little, I folded away my dreams just like I folded away every other part of myself that he found inconvenient.

But even then, I never stopped completely.

In the quiet hours before dawn, while everyone else slept, I still painted secretly. Sometimes I painted with tears running down my face. Other times, I painted with anger burning quietly inside my chest. I sold a few pieces anonymously during traveling markets and seasonal festivals between packs, saving every moonstone coin I earned without Theron ever realizing where the money came from.

Enough to survive.

Enough to hope.

Slowly, I unwrapped each canvas and spread them across the floor around me.

And for the first time in years, I allowed myself to truly look at them again.

They were beautiful.

Not perfect.

But alive.

The woman who painted them had been lonely, exhausted, and aching for freedom long before she admitted it to herself.

That afternoon, after staring at my work for nearly an hour, I finally reached for the communication crystal resting on the shelf beside me and called Alaric.

He answered almost immediately.

“Elyria?” His voice carried surprise, then concern. “Is everything alright?”

I swallowed hard before answering.

“I am ready.”

There was a stunned pause.

Then his laughter burst through the crystal, warm and genuine.

“Moon Goddess above,” he breathed. “You are serious?”

I smiled faintly despite myself.

“Yes.”

“Elyria, this is incredible.” Excitement filled his voice now. “I have been waiting years for you to say that. The gallery has an empty wing prepared for the autumn exhibition, and I swear to you, your work belongs there more than half the artists already displayed.”

My chest tightened painfully at the sincerity in his voice.

No mockery.

No dismissal.

Only belief.

“I want it,” I whispered. “I am tired of hiding.”

“And you never should have hidden in the first place.”

Those words stayed with me long after the call ended.

By evening, I had carefully packed my best canvases into protective cloth and delivered them personally to Alaric’s gallery near the central district. By the time I returned to the packhouse, faint streaks of paint stained my fingers, and exhaustion settled into my shoulders, but for the first time in years, my heart felt strangely full.

I had done something for myself.

Not for Theron.

Not for the pack.

Not for anyone else.

Just me.

That night, I sat alone on the edge of the bed scrolling absentmindedly through the public memory feed displayed inside the crystal tablet resting in my hands. I only wanted distraction, something mindless to quiet my thoughts before sleep.

Then I saw my son’s newest post.

My breath caught instantly.

There he stood smiling beside Marisella beneath strings of silver lanterns aboard the Moon Tide Voyage. His arm rested comfortably around her shoulders while Father stood proudly behind them with Theron at his side.

They looked like a family.

Whole.

Happy.

And I was nowhere in the image.

A sharp wave of anger surged through me so suddenly that it startled me.

Not sadness.

Not grief.

Anger.

My gaze dropped toward the caption beneath the memory image.

Grateful for the people who have always been my strongest support system.

I stared at the words for a long time.

Support system.

The same people who watched me disappear piece by piece without ever reaching out to stop it.

The same people celebrating a sacred union built from betrayal while pretending I had never existed.

Then what had I been to them all these years?

A servant?

A placeholder?

A ghost wandering through their lives unnoticed?

I tightened my grip around the crystal tablet before whispering softly to myself, “Just a little longer.”

The words sounded steadier than I expected.

“In a few more weeks, I will be gone from all of your lives.”

And for the first time, the thought did not terrify me.

That night, I did something Theron would have absolutely hated.

I opened my wardrobe and reached for the deep red dress he once criticized relentlessly.

“It is too tight,” he told me the first time I wore it. “Too loud. Women your age should not dress like they are seeking attention.”

So I hid it away afterward despite secretly loving the way it made me feel beautiful.

Tonight, I wore it anyway.

Then I carefully applied the new cosmetics I purchased for myself earlier that day, the same kind Theron claimed I no longer suited. When I finished, I stared at my reflection for several long moments.

I looked alive.

Not young.

Not perfect.

Alive.

And somehow, that mattered far more.

An hour later, I found myself standing inside a tavern near the lower market district.

It was not grand or elegant like the exclusive lounges Theron preferred visiting during alliance gatherings, but the place pulsed with warmth and life. Music drifted softly through the crowded room while wolves laughed together beneath glowing lanterns. The scent of wine, cedarwood, and freedom filled the air around me.

For once, no one there knew me as Alpha Theron’s neglected mate.

I was simply another woman enjoying her evening.

I settled onto one of the stools near the bar and ordered a glass of deep crimson wine.

Then I drank it slowly without worrying whether someone would criticize me for it.

Halfway through my second sip, the communication crystal tucked inside my purse suddenly began glowing insistently.

Unknown transmission.

Then another.

And another.

I sighed softly before ignoring them all.

Moments later, messages began flooding through instead.

Elyria, what is going on? Why am I blocked?

Another one followed immediately after.

This is childish. Answer me.

Then another.

I already apologized. I even gave you freedom to enjoy yourself for the week. What more do you want?

The final message arrived seconds later.

Where are you right now?

I stared at the glowing words calmly.

There it was again.

Not concern.

Not regret.

Control.

Theron could not stand the idea of losing access to me. He could not tolerate the thought of me stepping outside the role he created for me all these years.

The obedient wife.

The quiet woman waiting patiently for his attention.

But I was done waiting.

Slowly, I lifted my wine glass and took another sip before opening the camera function on the crystal tablet.

Behind me, lantern lights glowed warmly against the tavern walls while music and laughter blurred into a beautiful haze of noise. I raised my glass slightly, letting a small smile touch my lips as I captured the image.

Then, without hesitation, I posted it publicly onto the memory feed.

No explanations.

No tags.

Only a single caption beneath the photo.

What a beautiful evening for dancing, wine, and freedom.