The Alpha I Once Belonged To, I Let Go Forever

Night had already settled across the territory by the time I stepped back into the Blackwood Packhouse—and there he was, Alpha Moises himself, standing in the kitchen like it was the most normal thing in the world… cooking.

The aroma hit first—roasted venison mingled with sage, smoke from the hearth, the faint sweetness of caramelized onions. He wielded the knife with the same lethal precision he used on enemies, every slice smooth and ruthless, as if he were butchering rogues rather than preparing dinner.

Of course he was spotless. Moises treated disorder like a personal affront. He despised clutter, hated even the suggestion of chaos. Mess was his mortal enemy.

I think back to our first year together. I’d attempted to make stew, proud of myself for even trying, and he walked in, took one look around the kitchen, and muttered, “Did a trash truck explode in here?”

But when my younger sister, Veronica, once mentioned she adored how he cooked? He immediately enrolled in a prestigious culinary class taught by a top-tier Packlands chef. Not for the pack. Not for me. For her. Always for her.

“Patrols weren’t hectic today, right?” he asked as he set a steaming bowl in front of me. “So what kept you out so late?”

Even wearing nothing but a soft cotton shirt and an apron, Moises Blackwood—Alpha of one of the strongest packs in the East—still carried the air of a king who could conquer nations with a single command. That chiseled jaw, the cold, storm-gray eyes, the aura of barely contained violence swirling around him—he was a walking warning to anyone with half a sense.

The Goddess save me. He was beautiful. He always had been. But beauty doesn’t mask truth, and I’d long since stopped letting it do so.

I forced my expression into something neutral. “The new trainees arrived earlier than expected. I stayed to finalize their lunar transition files.”

He didn’t probe further. He never did. To him, I was a pair of hands, a mind to utilize—useful, dependable… but not a partner. Never a mate. Certainly never the Luna he should’ve cherished.

“Fine,” he said simply. “Dinner’s done. Sit.”

I obeyed, and he placed a slice of moonroot on my plate—its bitter scent unmistakable. “You always liked this,” he said, offering a rare, almost gentle smile. “I added extra. Figured you’d appreciate it.”

My throat burned. A familiar, sharp ache spread in my chest.

Veronica loved moonroot.

I was allergic to it.

Three years together. Three long, humiliating years. And he still didn’t know—or worse, never cared enough to learn. If he’d ever taken a real look at me, past the title, past the arrangement, past the bond he refused to mark, he would’ve known this herb made my wolf ill for days.

But Moises never looked at me.

Only through me.

“Lyriana? You’re not eating.” His brow creased.

I nudged the plate aside and reached quietly into my bag. “Food can wait. There are two agreements that need your signature.”

His eyes hardened. “And you know how I feel about bringing work to the table.”

“I’m aware… but this isn’t about pack matters.” I swallowed. “It’s personal.”

He reached for the documents—right as his phone vibrated.

He tried to hide the screen, but I’d already seen the name flash across it.

Veronica Blackthorn.

He shot to his feet so fast his wine glass toppled. It shattered against the floor, shards flying. One thin piece sliced open my finger. Blood welled and dripped onto the stone tiles—silent, ignored.

He didn’t even spare me a glance. He strode onto the balcony and answered the call in a voice I hadn’t heard directed at me in years—gentle, warm, reserved only for her.

I remained seated, bleeding, listening to the soft murmur of their conversation. The same woman who abandoned him for a foreign Alpha. The same woman he welcomed back the moment she returned.

Fifteen minutes passed before he walked back inside, snatched his coat, and headed toward the door.

“I’ve got plans tonight. Don’t wait up.”

“You haven’t signed them,” I said, my tone steady despite the way my fingers trembled.

He exhaled sharply, annoyed.

Like I was being unreasonable.

With a careless flick of his wrist, he scrawled his name across both pages—one rejecting and severing our mate bond before the elders, the other relinquishing me as Luna of the Blackwood Pack.

“There. Satisfied? Can I leave now?”

I stared at his signature. Sharp strokes. Detached. Final.

“Yes,” I whispered. “You can.”

And he did.

He didn’t see the blood drying on my hand. Didn’t ask what the documents meant. Didn’t even pause.

The door clicked shut behind him. A low, humorless laugh escaped me.

He truly didn’t know what he’d just signed.

Divorce. Rejection. Liberation.

I watched the crimson smear on my fingertip turn dark and flake away as silence seeped into the room.

Veronica—golden, perfect Veronica—had always been his choice. She was the favored one, the cherished one, the daughter my parents adored.

Twenty-five years ago, my mother, Myra Blackthorn, and a Beta nanny delivered their babies in the same hospital. Somewhere along the line, the infants were switched. I—Lyriana—was the true-born Blackthorn heir, but I grew up among servants, while Veronica was loved, primped, and paraded like royalty.

The truth surfaced when I was five. But my parents didn’t send her back.

“Lyriana,” my mother once said, “hearts don’t work like titles. We raised Veronica as our child. Let everyone believe she’s the heiress. Don’t rip that away from her.”

So I became the hidden one. The inconvenient truth. The secret Luna.

While Veronica basked in the spotlight, I learned to live in the shadows.

When she ran away to Paris chasing a pretty-faced omega noble, the Blackthorn Pack begged me to marry Moises in her place. A strategic alliance. A temporary bride.

Moises agreed because he was heartbroken. I agreed because I was foolish enough to think I could win him.

Then she returned.

And what followed was humiliation crafted with intent—Moises leaked intimate videos and photos of them to the High Council. A scandal designed to destroy me publicly.

I saw the footage. Heard every word.

“Lyriana’s done nothing, but if we just ask for a divorce, both families will explode. We need to make it look like she’s at fault.”

And Veronica asked, her voice dripping with sweetness, “Did you ever love her?”

His reply?

“She was a placeholder. A name on paper. I only married her to shut everyone up.”

In that moment, my wolf should’ve snapped. I should’ve razed the entire Blackwood territory to the ground. But instead—

I pulled out the leather notebook I’d hidden since the night of our wedding.

Ninety-nine chances, I’d written. If he fails me ninety-nine times, I walk away.

Tonight was the ninety-ninth.

I went to the safe and placed three items into a carved obsidian box:

my wedding ring,

my Luna pendant,

and the sealed rejection rune—etched in my own blood.

My final anniversary gift.

He would open it someday.

And when he did, he would finally understand what he sacrificed.

With hands that wouldn’t stop shaking, I picked up my phone. I hadn’t called him in years, but I knew he’d answer.

“Corvin,” I breathed.

His growl rolled through the line—deep, furious, familiar. My mate. The one fate had offered me long before Moises.

“My divorce cooling period ends in one month,” I said. “Come for me. Then.”

Outside, the wind roared through the trees.

Inside, my wolf slowly lifted her head, her eyes burning gold in the darkened windowpane.