Twenty-Five Years as His Mate, Until She Arrived

I blinked slowly, my fingers tightening around the wooden ladle until my knuckles turned pale. “I-I’ll make another pot,” I whispered, already reaching for his bowl. Alpha Theron slammed the spoon against the table hard enough to make the dishes rattle. “Oh, come now, Elyria.” His voice dripped with irritation. “If you’re still sulking over what I said earlier, this is a pathetic way to show it.” I froze. He leaned back in his chair with a scoff. “What is this? Punishment? You expect me to eat swamp water because your feelings got hurt?” His sharp amber eyes narrowed at me. “You did not even try. Preparing meals is the only responsibility you have in this packhouse.” The only responsibility you have. The words echoed louder than the sound of the spoon striking wood. To them, that was all my existence amounted to. Cooking meals. Washing clothes. Keeping the hearth warm. Making sure their beds were prepared before nightfall. I was the shadow moving silently through the halls of the packhouse while everyone else lived important lives. It did not matter that I woke before sunrise every morning to prepare food for the warriors returning from patrol. It did not matter that I stayed awake waiting for Theron whenever he returned late from alliance meetings in neighboring territories. It did not matter that I raised our son mostly alone while Theron traveled between packs handling trade agreements and disputes. None of it mattered because I was only a Luna in title. Not in respect. Not in value. A real Luna stood beside her Alpha and advised him before the council fire. A real Luna was admired. I was simply useful. Once, long ago, I believed this life meant something. I thought caring for my mate and tending to our home was honorable. The Moon Goddess herself blessed family bonds, did she not? But what had all those years truly given me? A son who rarely visited the packhouse anymore unless duty required it. A mate who looked at me as though I were another burden strapped to his shoulders. A father who spent half my life wishing another woman had been born in my place. And perhaps the cruelest truth of all was this— I allowed it. I let myself fade quietly into the background until no one remembered there had once been more to me than this. Tears blurred my vision as I lowered my head. “I’ll prepare a fresh stew,” I said weakly. Before anyone could answer, the heavy packhouse doors opened. The sharp click of heels echoed across the stone floors. “Well,” a smooth familiar voice said lightly, “this feels tense.” My chest tightened instantly. Marisella. Of course it was her. Even her presence carried elegance. Her dark silver cloak draped perfectly over her shoulders, embroidered with the crescent emblem gifted to high-ranking pack envoys. Moonstones glittered at her throat and wrists, reflecting the firelight with every graceful movement. Marisella always looked untouchable. Confident. Admired. The kind of woman people naturally turned toward. The daughter my father had always wanted. “I came to deliver the trade ledgers from the Northern Ridge Pack,” she said warmly, lifting a leather satchel. “I thought Theron might want to review them tonight so the council can finalize everything before the next full moon.” My father immediately straightened in his seat. “Marisella!” His entire expression brightened. “Come sit with us.” Her eyes moved toward the table. “Oh?” she said pleasantly. “You’re all dining already? Then perhaps I can join. I have been traveling since dawn, and the stew smells wonderful.” She smiled toward me. “Elyria always cooks well.” Theron snorted. “Not tonight.” He pushed the bowl away with obvious disgust. “It tastes terrible.” Marisella blinked. “I think she forgot seasoning exists altogether,” Theron continued dryly. “Honestly, the warriors would reject this.” Heat flooded my face. “How about we just head into town instead?” Theron suddenly said, standing from his seat. “The Silver Fang Tavern reopened after renovations. We might as well eat something decent.” “Oh, that sounds lovely,” Marisella replied with an easy smile. Father nodded immediately. “I heard they brought chefs from the western territories.” Then Marisella looked at me. “Elyria, come with us.” For one brief, foolish moment, hope flickered inside me. But Theron answered before I could even open my mouth. “She can’t,” he said dismissively with a wave of his hand. “There’s still work to do around the packhouse.” His eyes barely glanced at me. “She can eat the stew herself so it doesn’t go to waste. Besides, we’ll mostly be discussing pack matters and trade routes. You know Elyria has no interest in those things.” No interest. As if anyone had ever allowed me to have one. As if I did not dream of leaving these walls even for a single evening. As if I did not want, just once, to sit at a table where someone served me instead. Marisella hesitated slightly. Then her smile returned. “I’ll bring you something back from town then, cousin,” she said kindly. “Maybe honey cakes from the market.” I forced myself to nod. “Thank you.” A few moments later, they were gone. Their laughter echoed through the packhouse halls as servants opened the doors for them. I heard Theron’s deep voice, my father’s booming laugh, Marisella’s soft amusement blending together before fading into the distance. No one said goodbye to me. Silence settled heavily after they left. I stood alone in the dining hall, surrounded by the smell of burnt herbs and disappointment. Slowly, I sat down in Theron’s abandoned chair. Then I lifted the same bowl he had spat into. I tasted the stew. Bland. Too much water. Too little salt. He was right. I had ruined it. But not because I wanted revenge. Not because I wished to hurt him. I simply… Could not taste anything anymore. Numbness had settled so deeply inside me that even flavors seemed distant now. My gaze drifted slowly around the packhouse dining hall. The walls I had scrubbed myself after winter storms stained them with soot. The curtains I stitched by hand during the famine years because the pack could not afford luxuries. The wooden floors I knelt on countless times to polish before gatherings. The winters I spent decorating the halls beneath moon lanterns so the pack would feel warmth during the cold season. The birthdays. The harvest feasts. The full moon ceremonies. Twenty-five years of devotion lived inside these walls. And still… I was not treated like a mate. Not treated like a Luna. I was treated like hired help that had overstayed her usefulness. And somehow, that realization hurt more than every cruel word spoken tonight. Quietly, I finished the bowl of stew myself. Then I cleaned the table. Washed every dish. Wiped every counter. Folded every cloth neatly like I always did. When everything was finished, I climbed the staircase slowly and entered the bedroom Theron and I once shared as newly bonded mates. The room felt enormous now. Cold. Empty. The bed that once held whispered promises beneath moonlit nights now felt unfamiliar, like it belonged to strangers. I sat at the edge of it and pressed a trembling hand against my chest where the mating bond rested faintly beneath my skin. “I chose this,” I whispered brokenly. At every insult… Every dismissal… Every lonely night… I stayed. I allowed them to shape me into someone small enough to ignore. Someone silent enough to forget. Tears finally spilled freely down my cheeks. But through the ache, another thought slowly surfaced. Quiet. Fragile. Dangerous. Maybe I did not have to remain this way forever. Maybe there were still pieces of myself buried beneath all this emptiness. Pieces waiting to breathe again. Before I became invisible. And as distant laughter echoed faintly from outside the packhouse gates, I finally cried without restraint— For the young woman I used to be. And for the woman I still might become.

I slipped quietly from the bed before dawn fully settled over the pack grounds, careful not to wake Theron sleeping beside me. Pale moonlight filtered through the tall windows of the Alpha chambers, silver stretching across stone walls and thick furs. For a moment, I stood there remembering when waking beside my mate used to make me feel loved instead of painfully alone. Then I crossed the room toward the wooden cabinet tucked into the corner. That cabinet was the only thing in the packhouse that truly felt mine. Not the kitchens I spent decades tending. Not the endless duties expected of a Luna. Not the grand halls everyone praised me for maintaining. Those belonged to the pack, to Theron, to the family I had spent twenty-five years serving without complaint. But inside that cabinet were the few things I had bought for myself. The moment I opened it, my breath caught. The carved wooden box on the second shelf sat empty. I froze before frantically opening drawers with shaking hands. The moonflower powder I bought from southern traders was gone. The berry lip pigments wrapped carefully in silk cloth had disappeared too, along with the crystal perfume vial I had admired for nearly a year before finally buying it. Gone. Panic rose sharply in my chest as I searched the shelves again and again, though deep down I already knew the truth. Without thinking, I hurried downstairs. Theron sat near the hearth in the main hall, trade scrolls spread across the low table before him. Cedarwood smoke filled the air, but it did nothing to ease the ache growing inside me. “Theron,” I asked carefully, “have you seen the cosmetics I kept upstairs?” He barely looked up. “Oh, those?” he replied casually. “I gave them to Marisella.” The words struck so hard I forgot how to breathe. “You gave them to her?” My voice cracked. “Theron, those were mine. I only bought them last week.” That finally made him glance at me, amusement flickering across his face. “Elyria,” he said with a short laugh, “what exactly do you need cosmetics for?” I stared at him silently. “It is not like you attend gatherings anymore,” he continued. “And honestly, you are too old to concern yourself with things like that now.” My chest tightened painfully. “No, truly.” He leaned back in his chair, almost entertained by my expression. “Have you looked at yourself lately? Those things no longer suit you.” Then he smiled faintly. “Marisella, on the other hand, carries herself beautifully. She works hard for this pack. She deserves nice things.” Something inside me cracked. “It was mine,” I said louder, my hands trembling violently. “I bought those with my own money.” Theron rolled his eyes immediately. “Your own money?” he repeated flatly. “Elyria, everything you own comes from me.” I opened my mouth to argue, but the truth burned too deeply. Those things had not come from him. For five years, I had cared for the moonblossoms and silver roses behind the packhouse myself. I watered them before sunrise and tended them long after everyone slept. During seasonal gatherings, I quietly sold flower bundles to merchants and visiting wolves, saving every moonstone coin little by little until I could finally buy something for myself. Not once had I asked Theron for money that was not meant for the household. I already knew how he would react. Like I was selfish. Like I was a burden. So years ago, I stopped asking altogether. And now the one thing I bought with pride after years of effort had been handed to another woman without hesitation. Theron sighed heavily, as though I were the difficult one. “Stop making such a fuss over something trivial,” he muttered. “I will replace them eventually.” Eventually. The word felt hollow, dismissive. Like he was calming a servant instead of speaking to his mate. “You really do not care about me anymore,” I whispered before I could stop myself. His expression hardened instantly. “You are being dramatic again,” he snapped. “For once, think beyond your own feelings. Marisella practically saved this pack after securing those trade alliances. She deserves appreciation.” His voice turned colder. “You would not understand matters like this anyway. You know nothing about leadership or negotiations.” Then he waved dismissively toward the kitchens. “Now stop overreacting and prepare breakfast. I am starving.” His words hurt more than a slap ever could. I turned away before he saw the tears gathering in my eyes, but just as I reached the doorway, his lazy voice stopped me again. “Oh, and I will be leaving tomorrow for a week,” he said casually. “There is a diplomatic journey to the southern territories. At least you will finally get a break from taking care of me.” I said nothing. What was left to say? So I cooked. Again. Just as I always did. Later that afternoon, our son arrived with his mate. The moment they entered the great hall, I smiled automatically, though it felt strange on my face now, like an expression I no longer recognized. During dinner, they spoke excitedly about the upcoming trip south. “I heard the Moon Tide Voyage is beautiful this season,” my daughter-in-law said brightly while servants refilled goblets around the table. “The ocean reflects the moonlight so clearly at night that the water looks silver.” “There are hot springs too,” my son added with a grin. “And feasts every evening.” I paused while pouring stew into their bowls. “I thought this was supposed to be a diplomatic journey,” I murmured quietly. My son laughed awkwardly. “Well... partly official, partly recreational,” he explained quickly. “The allied Alphas are combining negotiations with festivities this year.” Then he smiled at me almost guiltily. “Do not worry, Mother. We will bring you something back from the southern markets.” “A carved moonstone ornament would look lovely in your room,” his mate added warmly. I forced a soft laugh. “A simple keepsake would already be enough.” Beside me, Father shook his head. “If only you had taken interest in pack affairs years ago, perhaps you could have attended events like this too.” I nodded quietly and smiled again because pretending no longer even hurt. Somewhere along the years, pain had settled into something dull and permanent, like an old wound that never healed properly. That night, after everyone retired, I sat alone packing Theron’s clothes into the traveling trunk prepared for his journey. Thick fur-lined cloaks. Formal tunics embroidered with the Darkmoor crest. Ceremonial garments meant for gatherings beneath the full moon. As I reached for another folded shirt, a soft glow flickered across the moonstone communication mirror resting on the desk nearby. I frowned slightly. Theron rarely allowed anyone near his correspondence mirror. The enchanted stone pulsed again, lighting the dark room with pale silver. Without thinking, I glanced toward it. Then froze. A message shimmered across the mirror’s surface. Moon Tide Voyage Reservation Confirmed. My heartbeat stumbled painfully. Slowly, I stepped closer. The glowing text shifted, revealing more details. Private ocean suite. Sacred hot spring access. Bonded couples’ retreat package. Moonlit ceremonial dinners. My fingers trembled violently. Then I noticed another document attached beneath the reservation. An invitation. I stared blankly as enchanted ink revealed the names written across the page. Alpha Theron Darkmoor and Lady Marisella Darkveil request the honor of your presence as we celebrate our sacred union beneath the blessing of the Moon Goddess aboard the Moon Tide Voyage. The world tilted around me. My knees gave out so suddenly that I collapsed into the chair behind me, one trembling hand covering my mouth as I stared at the glowing words over and over again. No. This was not simply a diplomatic journey. It was not merely an affair hidden behind excuses and late-night meetings anymore. It was a celebration. A sacred union. A public mating ceremony blessed before the Moon Goddess herself. And everyone already knew. My son knew. My father knew. The family I had spent twenty-five years loving and serving had known all along that Theron intended to replace me with Marisella. Yet every day, they still sat at my table and allowed me to cook for them, clean for them, smile for them, while they quietly prepared another woman to stand beside my mate. A broken sound escaped my throat as tears finally spilled freely down my face. Not because of the cosmetics. Not because of the journey. But because I had given these people everything I was. My youth. My loyalty. My love. My entire life. And in the end, it had meant absolutely nothing. I covered my mouth to silence the sobs threatening to escape while laughter echoed faintly through the packhouse halls outside, the people I loved already planning their future together— A future that no longer had any place for me.

“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.