When I first joined the Silver Moon Pack, I struggled to adjust to the strict hierarchy and the constant scrutiny that came with being an Omega. My introverted nature made it hard to fit in, and soon, the other pack members started to avoid me. Some even had the audacity to call me "Frog Princess" behind my back, mocking my shyness and lack of confidence.

One day, during a pack gathering in the grand hall, a particularly nasty warrior—a Delta—shouted "Frog Princess" across the room, drawing the attention of everyone present. My face burned with embarrassment as the pack members turned to stare, their judgmental gazes cutting through me like knives. I stood frozen, unsure of how to respond, feeling the weight of my lowly status pressing down on me.

But then, Dean Simmons, the pack’s Beta, stepped forward. His commanding presence silenced the room immediately. He fixed the Delta with a sharp glare and spoke in a firm alpha tone, “Enough. Show respect to your packmate, or you’ll answer to me.” The Delta quickly backed down, his eyes darting away in submission. Dean turned to me, his expression softening as he offered me a small nod of reassurance.

A rush of gratitude filled me instantly. From that moment, Dean became my guiding light in the pack, the one person who made me feel like I belonged. Though I was just one of the many Omegas he occasionally interacted with, his kindness stood out in the otherwise rigid and often harsh pack dynamics. I found myself drawn to him, seeking his company whenever I could.

Later, I discovered that Dean had his own guiding light, Lucia Weaver, a high-ranking Gamma in the Crimson Fang Pack. She was everything I wasn’t—tall, poised, and elegant, with a commanding presence that made her the envy of many. I heard whispers among the pack that Dean had once confessed his feelings to her, but she turned him down, citing their difference in rank as a barrier. It wasn’t uncommon for high-ranking wolves to avoid forming bonds with those of lower status, as it could complicate pack dynamics.

During that time, Dean seemed distant, his usual confident demeanor replaced by a quiet melancholy. I reached out to him, sending comforting messages through the pack’s mind link when I sensed his mood was low. Slowly, we grew closer. He’d ask me to join him during pack training sessions, and afterward, we’d share meals in the pack hall. Sometimes, he’d invite me to watch him spar with the other warriors, his strength and agility a testament to his role as Beta.

The years passed quickly within the pack. In our final year together, while Dean was helping me with a particularly challenging training exercise, he suddenly paused and looked at me with a thoughtful expression. “Jessica Martin,” he said, his voice steady but warm, “you’ve really come into your own.”

I was stunned, unsure of how to respond. It wasn’t until later, when I caught my reflection in the polished surface of a pack artifact, that I realized what he meant. My features had matured, and the timid, awkward girl I once was had faded into the background. I even noticed my name being mentioned more often among the pack, usually in connection with Dean. It felt like everything was changing, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on how.

Just before Dean was set to leave for the Crimson Fang Pack, he invited me to a quiet corner of the pack territory, where we shared a meal under the moonlight. The warmth of the fire and the scent of roasted meat filled the air, but it was Dean’s presence that truly comforted me. Between bites, I jokingly complained about feeling unsure of my place in the pack. Through the flickering light of the flames, I heard Dean say, “Jessica Martin, be my mate. Then, we’ll go to the Crimson Fang Pack together.”

My heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. The idea of leaving the Silver Moon Pack was daunting, but the thought of standing beside Dean as his mate filled me with a sense of hope I hadn’t felt in years.

As my mind wanders back, I set my phone aside.

Looking back at the six years with Dean Simmons in the Crimson Fang Pack, I realize true happiness was elusive. Dean, as a Beta, loved to stay up late sparring with the warriors or reviewing pack security, while I, a lowly Omega, needed my rest to be ready for the next day’s duties. I protested, but in the end, I was always the one who gave in. Each night, I lay awake, listening to the faint growls and the clashing of claws from the training grounds where he worked, staring at the ceiling until the early morning.

Dean had an insatiable love for raw, spiced venison, which I just couldn’t handle. Still, he refused to accommodate my tastes. In the end, I found myself choking down the fiery meat by his side for six years, my wolf whimpering in discomfort as I forced myself to keep up with his preferences.

I couldn’t stand Dean maintaining his close relationship with Lucia Weaver, the high-ranking Gamma who seemed to outshine me in every way. Lucia’s presence felt like a thorn, constantly pricking at my heart. Dean never took my feelings into account, always putting Lucia first. Every disagreement ended with his dismissive remark, “Jessica, can’t you be more understanding? She’s a Gamma, and her duties are important to the pack.”

...

In every conflict, it was always me who backed down, who tolerated, who suffered. I clung desperately to the fleeting moments of kindness he offered, trying to mend things as best as I could. Time and again, I brushed away my tears and continued loving him unwaveringly. But the truth is, my love never tied him down—it only trapped me in my obstinacy. My wolf, though silent, often stirred within me, a quiet reminder that I deserved more than this.

Thankfully, that meal, the one that caused me unbearable stomach pain, was the wake-up call I needed. Breaking up over a meal may sound ridiculous, but it truly was the last straw that broke the camel’s back. Our story began with a shared fondue at the Silver Moon Pack’s gathering, where he first asked me to be his mate with the solemn vow, “I, Dean Simmons, Beta of the Silver Moon Pack, accept you, Jessica Martin, as my mate.” And it ended the same way, with me finally speaking the words I should have said long ago: “I, Jessica Martin, reject you, Dean Simmons, as my mate.”

The bond shattered, and though the pain was searing, it was also freeing. I realized I had been living in the shadow of someone who could never truly see me—not as an Omega, not as his mate, but as Jessica. And now, I am finally ready to step into the light that belongs to me alone.