I Ended Our Mate Bond on Our Anniversary

“Alpha… I want to sever my bond with Lucien and renounce my place in his pack. Draft the agreements for me.”

The attorney—a seasoned pack mediator—tilted his head, eyes wary.

“Sylvara… breaking from a mate is never simple. Your bond didn’t form overnight. Think carefully before signing anything irreversible.”

Sylvara Thorne had served as Lucien’s second-in-command in the Thorne Pack for three years. Hidden from the world, she had also been his mate for the same amount of time.

A month ago, everything had shattered. She had been captured by rogue hunters—humans who preyed on supernatural beings—and trapped in a cursed forest. The hunters contacted Lucien repeatedly, demanding the pack’s treasure in exchange for her life. He hadn’t responded once.

When they finally cast her into the icy river, she nearly drowned, but a wandering shifter—a river wolf—rescued her before death claimed her.

Meanwhile, that same night, Lucien was elsewhere. Not hunting, not searching.

He was in the heat of the moonlit lodge… with Tahlia, Sylvara’s younger sister and fellow pack member.

Years of devotion, the bond of their matehood, three years of shared life—all of it shattered under the moon’s pale gaze.

Sylvara finally awoke from her illusions. She had loved a ghost. Now, she was ready to sever the ties that bound her for good.

“I’ve decided,” Sylvara said, voice steady but cold. “And Lucien won’t oppose me.”

For three long years, she had known—he had never truly cared for her.

But she had loved him since their youth. When he accepted the mate bond three years ago, she had wept tears of joy, believing she was finally home.

Soon, their third lunar anniversary would arrive.

She had prepared one final offering—a gift of release: the dissolution of their bond.

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That evening, Sylvara returned to the pack’s ancestral villa and found Lucien in the kitchen of the main lodge.

Even as an alpha, he had always been meticulous, especially about keeping the lodge immaculate. She remembered the first year of their bond—he had barged in while she prepared a meal, wrinkled his nose, and growled, “Does this lodge double as a den for scavengers?”

But when Tahlia admitted she enjoyed his cooking, he had joined a human culinary course for her sake, blending his wolfish instincts with delicate human techniques.

Tonight, the aroma of the feast filled the air.

“You said the council meeting ended early. Why are you home so late?” he asked, tall frame looming even in an apron.

Sylvara forced a casual smile. “New initiates joined the pack. I’ve been preparing their orientation rituals.”

He didn’t press—he rarely noticed her outside her duties.

“Alright. Dinner’s ready. Sit.”

She did, watching as he placed a slice of bitter melon onto her plate.

“I remembered you liked this. Made it just for you.”

A dull ache flared in her chest.

Tahlia loved bitter melon. Sylvara’s allergies had always flared with it.

Three years together, and he still couldn’t tell the difference.

If he had ever truly paid attention, he would have remembered.

“Avy?” Lucien’s frown deepened when she didn’t touch her plate. “Why aren’t you eating?”

Gently, Sylvara pushed the dish aside and retrieved two documents from her pack satchel.

“Dinner can wait. You need to sign these agreements.”

He growled softly—a low, disapproving rumble. “Contracts at the table? Do they burn with urgency?”

Before he could take them, his comms device buzzed.

He turned, hand shielding the screen, but Sylvara glimpsed the caller ID: Tahlia.

Lucien’s claws scraped the balcony railing as he stalked outside, still speaking low tones into the device. In his haste, he knocked over a plate; shards of enchanted glass exploded across the floor. One slice slashed Sylvara’s fingertip, blood pooling darkly against the tiles.

He didn’t notice.

Fifteen minutes later, he returned, grabbing his cloak.

“I have urgent matters tonight. I won’t be dining here.”

“You haven’t signed yet,” Sylvara called after him.

He sighed, irritation flashing in his eyes, but finally flipped to the last page and marked his clawed signature.

“Done. Can I leave now?”

She stared at the inked marks that ended their mate bond and her role in his pack. Nodding, she whispered, “Yes… go.”

Lucien departed without a backward glance.

If he had cared, he would have realized the first document severed her ties to his pack—the second ended their mate bond.

He would have seen the blood on her hand.

But his heart had always followed Tahlia—her sister, the “true” daughter of the Winslet clan.

Twenty-five years ago, the nanny and Vionna, Sylvara’s mother, gave birth in the same hospital under a blood moon. A mix-up swapped the infants. Sylvara, the rightful heiress, was raised by the nanny in secret, while Tahlia grew as the adored child of the Winslets.

The truth surfaced only five years later, after the nanny’s death. The Winslets welcomed Sylvara but refused to relinquish Tahlia. Vionna’s words had lingered:

“Avy, hearts are flesh and blood. We’ve raised Yannie. Now that her mother is gone, she only has us. If we expose the truth, the world will scorn her.”

To society, Tahlia remained the heiress. Only the families knew Sylvara’s true bloodline.

Lucien and Tahlia had been childhood mates, destined for an engagement. When Tahlia fell for a French alpha overseas and left, Sylvara was offered in her place. Lucien, loyal to pack protocol, complied.

Then, a month ago, Tahlia returned, and Lucien betrayed her completely.

He even released a recording of their intimate moments online, a public curse to force Sylvara out of the Thorne lineage.

Sylvara had watched. She heard him whisper to Tahlia:

“Sylvara never wronged me, but if I simply dissolve the bond, the clans will protest. We must ruin her reputation.”

Tahlia’s voice had been soft. “After three years… did you ever love her?”

“She was only a placeholder. I married her to appease the families.”

Sylvara had once believed her patience and sincerity could awaken his heart. Now, she realized she had been foolish.

Tears stung her eyes as she pulled out a small leather notebook.

Three years prior, she had sworn: If he disappoints me ninety-nine times, I will leave.

The video marked the ninety-ninth betrayal.

That night, Sylvara placed three keepsakes into a ceremonial box, locked it in the secure vault—her final anniversary gift.

It was her release, his freedom, and the closure she had long awaited.

With everything ready, Sylvara dialed a number she hadn’t used in three years.

Her voice, hushed but firm, trembled with resolve:

“Red… my divorce cooling-off period ends next moon. Come and take me away then.”