Ella's POV
'Thanks for the milkshakes, Carson! Why’d you bring a dozen, trying to turn me into a piggy? I’m freezing over here!' with a cute frozen emoji attached.
“Honey, you’re so quiet. I’ve noticed you’ve been distant. Is this about the lacy bra?” he asked, a note of worry in his voice. “Miss Wesley—”
I cut him off before ending the call. “I’m tired. Bye.”
My phone buzzed again, but I ignored his calls. Once I got home, I went straight to our bedroom and started packing my clothes. Not long after, the door swung open, and Alpha Carson walked in. “I know you’re upset. Here’s your milkshake.”
He handed it to me, and I took it with a polite smile. “Thanks,” I said, placing it on the nightstand.
He looked around, noticing how bare the vanity looked. His brow furrowed. “Did you throw some of your stuff out?”
“Yeah.”
“I see… Anyway, I’ll be away for a week. My parents need me to handle some business up north with one of the packs. Want me to bring anything back for you?” He started unbuttoning his shirt, getting ready for a shower.
“Nah, I don’t need anything,” I replied, straightening the bedsheets. “But thanks for asking.”
What was the point of it, anyway, when I’d be gone in a few days?
Suddenly, he grabbed my arm. His shirt was halfway unbuttoned, revealing his muscled chest—the same chest that once felt so comforting. Now, though, his touch just made me feel uneasy.
“Is this still about the lacy bra? Is that what all of this is about?” His tone grew stern as he pulled me closer. “Why won’t you listen to my explanation? You’re acting so immature. Do you really think I’m cheating on you?”
I kept quiet.
"So, this is what it's all about? I’m not cheating on you. Stop being dramatic, Ella. You know I can’t stand a woman who’s overly dramatic. You’re getting out of line,” he said, his tone dripping with disgust and dismay.
With that, he stormed out, slamming the door hard.
In our seven years together, he was the one who’d give me the silent treatment whenever I was upset. Every time, I’d end up apologizing, trying to make it right.
But this time, I didn’t say a word. I ate dinner alone at the dining table; he didn’t come out of his study, still stewing. When I went to bed, I didn’t knock on his study door to apologize like he expected.
The next morning, he was grumpy, not speaking to me until his phone pinged. He looked at it instantly, then barked at me, “Take the afternoon off. I need you to make me a fondant cake.”
His tone made it sound like it was urgent.
A cake—so, it’s someone’s birthday. Since meeting my mate, I was always the one baking for him.
My gaze drifted to his phone. I knew exactly who it was for. The little avatar on the screen was none other than his Miss Secretary.
Seconds of silence passed, an unnervingly quiet moment.
He looked at me, clueless to how unreasonable and unfair his request was, just waiting for me to say yes.
Keeping my expression neutral, I nodded and continued eating. “Send me a picture of the cake you want,” I said, standing up. “I’ll go out and buy the ingredients before work.”
This would be the last cake I’d ever make for him. I was done.
As I walked out the dining room door, my steps felt heavy. My wolf’s sadness gnawed at me, still hoping for a second chance with my mate.
“Ella,” Alpha Carson called, his voice unsure.
