Aurora's POV:
I didn't turn on the lights when I got back to the manor.
The house was a cavern of shadows, silent and empty. I walked into the living room and sat on the sofa. The gift-wrapped box with the Patek Philippe watch—which I’d snatched from the dining table in a daze before heading out—slid from my lap and landed silently on the plush rug. I glanced at it, a six-figure asset, now just a piece of evidence.
I just sat there. Waiting.
The grandfather clock chimed midnight. Headlights swept across the front windows.
He was home.
The front door opened, and Conrad stepped inside, bringing the scent of expensive wine and Jasmine's cloying perfume with him. He flicked on the lights, and his eyes narrowed when he saw me.
"Why are you sitting in the dark? You look like a ghost." His voice was rough with impatience.
I didn't look at him. My voice was terrifyingly calm. "Happy anniversary, Conrad."
He froze for a second. A flicker of something—annoyance? guilt?—crossed his face before his usual arrogance settled back in. "There was an emergency at the Pack. It's just an anniversary, Aurora. Do you have to be so dramatic?"
A laugh, brittle and sharp, escaped my lips. "Yes. Just an anniversary. Not nearly as important as Jasmine's birthday."
His face hardened. "Did you follow me?" he snarled.
Before I could answer, a small voice called from the top of the stairs. "Daddy, you're finally home!"
Delma came running down, clutching a new, elaborately dressed doll. Conrad had sent her home with a driver an hour ago, presumably to steal more private time with Jasmine. She stopped when she sensed the tension, her eyes darting between us.
"Look!" she said, holding the doll up for Conrad. "Aunt Jasmine said this one's way prettier than the one you got me!"
Her innocent words were a calculated strike, a testament to Jasmine's insidious influence.
She turned to me, her lower lip pushing out in a pout. "Mommy, why did you call Daddy? You ruined Aunt Jasmine's birthday party!"
A triumphant smirk touched Conrad's lips. He looked at me as if to say, See? Even our child chooses her.
Just then, my assistant, Paige Sullivan, hurried in through the side entrance, a folder in her hand. She stopped dead, her gaze taking in the scene: Conrad's smugness, Delma's accusatory stance, and my frozen posture. Her face tightened.
"Ma'am," Paige said, stepping forward and handing me the folder. "The background check you ordered last month. I finally secured the medical records."
Her eyes flickered to the father and daughter, and she leaned in close, her voice a fierce whisper only I could hear. "It confirms your suspicions, ma'am. Jasmine lost the ability to have children after an accident years ago."
My head snapped up. I stared at her, my mind reeling.
Paige's voice was relentless. "That's why the Harris family needs you. To them, you're nothing more than a tool. A womb to produce a pure-blood heir for the Blackwood Pack."
Tool.
The word didn't shatter anything. It simply confirmed the cold calculus I had begun to suspect. The marriage wasn't a failure; it was a transaction.
"What are you two whispering about?" Conrad's voice cut through my shock, laced with irritation. "I'm tired, Aurora. Stop this nonsense."
"Yeah, Mommy, you're so mean!" Delma chimed in. "Aunt Jasmine is sick, but she still played with me. All you do is stay home!"
The contempt from my husband. The accusation from my daughter. This alliance solidified my next move.
I stood up. For the first time since he'd walked in, I looked directly at him. The love that had lived in my eyes for so long was gone. In its place was the cold, detached assessment of a stranger.
Without a word, I walked past him and up the stairs.
I heard him take a sharp breath. For a fleeting moment, I felt a strange tremor through our bond-a flicker of unease from his inner wolf. It was too little, too late.
I entered our bedroom and locked the door behind me.
I walked to the antique writing desk, pulled out a sheet of heavy cream paper, and uncapped a fountain pen.
The nib hovered over the fibers. In the silence, a memory surfaced—our wedding night. Conrad’s hand, warm and rough, cupping my face. ‘I’ll protect you, Aurora. Always.’ The mate bond had hummed bright and gold between us then. Now, it was a severed wire, sparking uselessly in the void. I couldn’t believe how stupid I had been to cling to that promise for so long. Now my heart was utterly dead. What was left of me was nothing but a creditor come to collect.
At the top of the page, I wrote two words.
Divorce Agreement.
Outside, the full moon rose. It illuminated the path I would now have to walk alone.
