Bradley’s face twisted with anger at my words. His wolf, ever simmering beneath the surface, pushed through his expression, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
“Yasmine,” he snarled, his voice laced with dominance. “What right do you have to speak to me like that? You’re only here because my father allowed it. Don’t forget, everything you have is because of me.”
I stood my ground, even though my wolf whimpered at the sharp edge of his authority. My human side, though, was long past caring about his posturing.
“Funny,” I said, crossing my arms. “Because last I checked, I’ve been supporting myself just fine. Or did you think splitting expenses meant you were doing me some grand favor?”
The oven’s beep interrupted us. I turned away without waiting for his response, grabbing my gloves to pull the cake from the oven. The scent of vanilla and warm sugar filled the air, but it did little to sweeten the bitterness between us.
Bradley stared at the cake for a long moment, his brows furrowed. Then, as if realizing something for the first time, he softened his tone.
“Is today . . . your birthday?” he asked.
I didn’t answer immediately. What was the point? It was my 30th birthday—a milestone. It was also the seventh anniversary of our bond. I’d spent the day baking this cake by hand, hoping we could celebrate together. But Bradley had barely remembered.
“It is,” I said finally, setting the cake down on the counter.
Guilt flickered in his eyes, but only for a moment. He straightened, smoothing his shirt as if brushing the guilt away.
“I’ve been busy with pack matters,” he said. “I’ll make it up to you. How about we go pick out a new engagement ring this afternoon?”
A new ring. As if that would fix anything.
He took a seat at the table, his usual air of entitlement fully restored.
“And about Veronica,” he added, his tone almost condescendingly gentle. “You’ve got to stop being jealous. Yes, we had something once, but that was years ago. I’ve moved on.”
Moved on? The memory of his careless words from years ago resurfaced like a wound that refused to heal. He’d once told his friends he’d rather be with anyone than Veronica—and yet, here we were.
I swallowed the bitterness threatening to choke me.
“No need,” I replied coldly. “You go ahead. I’ll handle myself.”
Bradley’s wolf flared briefly in his eyes, stunned by my defiance. But he quickly masked it, assuming—as always—that I would cave eventually. He smiled, lighting the candles on the cake with an almost performative gentleness.
“Make a wish,” he said, the Alpha in him always expecting compliance.
For years, my wishes had revolved around him. For us to find happiness together. For him to see me as more than a convenient placeholder. But tonight, my wish was different.
I wish to be free from Bradley Kane forever.
I opened my eyes, ready to blow out the candles, but stopped short. Bradley was gone.
I stared at the empty spot where he’d sat. The cake I’d spent hours making was knocked to the floor, frosting smeared across the rug like a slap in the face. The front door swung open, left ajar in his haste.
Cleaning up the mess, I heard my phone buzz. It was a post from Veronica:
I’m such a clumsy little girl! Bumped my foot so hard. Luckily, my Prince Charming was there to catch me. Love you, B!
In the comments, Bradley had replied:
Whenever you need me, I’ll be there.
The audacity of it all made my wolf snarl in my chest.
Another buzz. A message from Bradley.
Veronica hurt her foot. I’m taking her to the infirmary. Clean up her place and make some bone broth to bring over. No cilantro.
I stared at the message, the pieces finally clicking. Bradley’s supposed hatred of cilantro? It wasn’t his. It was hers. Everything he’d berated me for over the years—the little things that made me feel inadequate—had all been about her preferences.
Nausea clawed at my stomach. Still, after a moment of hesitation, I headed downstairs to Veronica’s apartment.
The door was already open. Bradley’s scent mingled with hers, sharp and unmistakable. He was cradling her in his arms, murmuring soft reassurances. When he saw me, his face hardened.
“What took you so long?” he barked. “Veronica could have been seriously injured.”
Veronica tugged at his sleeve, her voice syrupy sweet.
“Bradley, don’t be mad. It’s not Yasmine’s fault. I know she . . . doesn’t like me.”
I clenched my fists, my wolf pacing angrily inside me. Bradley turned to me, his tone dripping with disdain.
“Enough. Clean this place up. I’m not marrying a jealous woman who can’t even handle basic chores.”
With that, he swept Veronica into his arms and left. The moment the door closed behind them, the scent of betrayal thickened. My wolf howled in my mind, demanding justice.
‘Why are we even living like this, Yasmine?’ My wolf whimpered.
I don't know . . . I absolutely don’t know.
I swallow back the tears trying to fall. This is the fucking last time I'll be like this.
The bathroom was soaked, and the trash can was overflowing with evidence of their deceit—including two used condoms. My stomach churned. So much for his “busy” schedule.
I'm not even shocked anymore.
I glanced around the apartment, filled with luxury items—gifts from him. The stark contrast to my own sparse belongings upstairs hit me like a punch to the gut.
I took out my phone, snapping pictures of everything. If he wanted a fight, I’d be ready.
Back in my apartment, I packed my things. The few gifts Bradley had given me—kitchenware, a vacuum, a fucking knife—I left behind. One would argue it would simply be justifiable to use the last one to stab him.
They weren’t worth the baggage they carried.
When I finished, I called my best friend, Merryl, who was working overseas as a rogue---she was never fond of being under packs and bowing down to people simply because of their ranks.
After three missed calls, she finally answered.
“Merryl,” I said, my voice breaking. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have stayed this long. I need to leave.”
Merryl didn’t hold back. “You’re a fool,” she said, her tone ice-cold. “You deserved every bit of this.” The line went dead before I could respond.
I stared at the phone in my hand, the silence in the room pressed down on me. Uninvited and painful memories rushed in. . Merryl was the only friend I had, and she had always been the voice of reason,. She tried countless of times to get me to leave. The image of her walking out of my life, disappointment etched across her face, replayed in my mind like a broken record.
I should have listened . . .
Tears threatened to spill, but I bit them back, forcing myself to keep it together. Then my phone buzzed. A new message. It’s Merryl again.
I got you the earliest ticket out of there. Three days from now, noon.
That was it. No apology, no comfort. Just the cold, hard truth I’d refused to face for years. And yet, the sight of that ticket broke me in a way her words hadn’t. The dam finally gave way, and the tears I’d been holding back for what felt like forever spilled over—hot, messy, unstoppable.
They weren’t just for the years I’d wasted. They were for the version of me who had stayed far too long, hoping for something—someone that was never coming back.
