Chapter 1
My chest tightened, and my breath catching as the air seemed to shift. I watched my mate, Lucien Harris, Alpha of the Silver Fang Pack, swaying on the dance floor with Juniper, his Beta—the she-wolf he'd desired for years—just days before our marking ceremony.
And now, it was clear: she wanted him just as much.
I watched in disbelief as his broad hand slid around her waist, while she leaned in, pressing her lips to his jaw. He lowered his head, his chin resting gently on top of her hair. Her hand slid teasingly across his back. Through the crowd, I caught her smirk, a look of provocation aimed directly at me. When she saw I noticed, she tilted her head back and kissed him full on the lips.
The sting of betrayal coursed through the mate bond, tearing through me, and my breath became even more ragged. A few years ago, I’d suffered an asthma attack while protecting Lucien from a rogue assault. The familiar, suffocating feeling crept back over me, a predator lurking in the shadows.
My chest tightened with every breath, each heartbeat deafening against the thumping music. I gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady myself.
By the time I reached the car, I was gasping for air, my lungs on fire. Lucien joined me moments later, his face unreadable, and we drove in silence.
In the dim light of the car’s interior, something caught my eye—diamonds glinting from the glove compartment. My fingers brushed the cool metal of a ring, and for a brief moment, a spark of hope flickered inside me. But before I could speak, Lucien’s hand shot out, snatching it away. “It’s not for you,” he said, his voice cold, final.
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat, and gestured toward a bridal shop up ahead. “Pull over,” I whispered.
....
The shop’s chime rang softly as I stepped inside, the weight of the custom wedding dress I’d ordered pressing down on me. Lucien followed, his presence like a storm cloud. He tossed a woman’s coat in my direction, his voice sharp. “Emilia, could you stop leaving your things everywhere?”
Lucien’s obsession with order meant nothing of mine was ever allowed to linger in his car. I glanced at the coat on the floor and said plainly, “It’s not mine.”
His expression shifted almost imperceptibly, and he picked up the coat with a care I’d never seen him show toward anything of mine, folding it neatly. I knew the coat belonged to Juniper. Every time she left something behind, it was a calculated move, a reminder of her place in his life. But this time, I didn’t argue. I simply turned to the shop assistant and gave my phone number for the return of the dress.
The assistant smiled warmly. “Perfect timing! Your custom wedding dress and tuxedo are ready for fitting.”
Before I could refuse, Lucien had already disappeared into the fitting room, his earlier irritation replaced by an air of detachment. Ten minutes later, I stood before him in the dress, the layers of silk and lace feeling more like a prison than a symbol of love. He gave me a half-hearted smirk. “It’s a bit much, isn’t it?”
I didn’t bother to respond. Instead, I asked the assistant to take a picture of me in the dress. As I posed, Lucien, visibly impatient, was about to join me when his phone rang. It was Juniper’s ringtone—a melody I’d come to dread. Her voice carried through the speaker, lamenting the loss of her favorite coat and promising eternal gratitude to whoever returned it.
After the call, Lucien left without a word, still wearing his tuxedo, his departure as abrupt as his arrival. As the sound of his car faded, I picked up a pair of scissors and, without hesitation, began to cut the wedding dress into pieces.
At 1:30 a.m., as I packed my belongings, a message buzzed in from Lucien on WhatsApp: “Out for drinks.” In eight years of being his mate, he rarely updated me on his whereabouts without prompting. Glancing at my cleaning gloves, I felt no need to reply. Once I finished tidying, I took a hot shower and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
The next morning, Lucien returned home, his presence filling the space as it always did. He found me about to take out the trash and frowned. “Did your phone break?”
I shook my head, and his brows furrowed deeper. I knew why he asked. In the past, whenever he stayed out late, I would bombard him with texts and calls. But last night, his phone remained unusually silent.
As I headed to the door, he asked again, “Emilia, what happened to the photo we had on the wall?”
I glanced at the trash bag, about to answer honestly, when his phone rang once more. Pushing past me, he spoke into the voice message, his tone softening. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll bring it to you as soon as it’s ready.”
I continued downstairs to dispose of the trash, my steps steady despite the storm brewing inside me. On my way back up, my blood sugar plummeted, leaving me light-headed and drenched in sweat. When I got home, I grabbed a ham and cheese sandwich from the table, taking a bite, only to hear Lucien’s voice, full of disdain. “Emilia, are you that desperate for food?”
I watched as he threw the sandwich I’d bitten into, along with the plate, into the trash. Staring at him blankly, I asked, “I’ve cooked for you for eight years. Do I not deserve a bite of the breakfast you made, even when my blood sugar drops?”
His gaze turned icy. “It’s stealing to take without asking.”
He donned his suit and slammed the door as he left.
Faced with his latest show of indifference, I instinctively picked up my phone and checked his WhatsApp profile. He had changed the background image to a playful picture of Juniper with cat ears. I gave it a like and casually removed him from my favorites.