ELEANOR'S POV:
I sat in my cold car, the engine off, and stared at the glowing neon sign of The Onyx Lounge until the letters blurred. My eyes burned, but no tears came. I was too empty for tears.
Finally, I turned the key. The engine sputtered to life, and the radio came on with it, playing some sad, slow song about lost love. I jabbed the power button, plunging the car back into silence.
The drive home was a blur of streetlights and shadows. At a red light, a sleek black sports car pulled up beside me. Donavan's car. He glanced over, his face an unreadable silhouette in the dark, and then the light turned green. He was gone in a roar of engine and a flash of red taillights, leaving me behind in his wake.
He always left me behind.
Back at the manor, the lights in the dining room were still on. The feast I had prepared sat on the table, untouched. The white roses seemed to mock me from their vase, their perfect petals already starting to wilt. The food was cold. Everything was cold.
Mr. Kowalski, the head butler, appeared at my side, his kind face etched with concern. "Shall I have the kitchen heat something for you, Luna?"
I shook my head, the movement feeling heavy. "No, thank you, Kowalski. Just... have it all cleared away."
I dragged my body up the grand staircase. Each step was an effort. The door to the master suite was closed, no light seeping from underneath. He hadn't come back to the room we were supposed to share. Of course he hadn't.
I went to my own room, the small secondary bedroom I had occupied for the last two years. I closed the door behind me and slid down against it, the floorboards cold against my back.
From the very back of my nightstand drawer, hidden beneath a stack of old journals, I pulled out a small velvet box. Inside, nestled on faded satin, was a small, carved wooden wolf-a blessing token from the Pack elders, given to us at our mating ceremony three years ago.
A lifetime ago.
Next to the token lay a folded document. The paper was crisp, official.
Mate Bond Rejection Acceptance Agreement.
Donavan had thrown it at me a year ago, during one of our colder, more vicious arguments. "If you're so miserable, sign it," he'd snarled. "End this farce."
I'd never had the courage.
My fingertip traced the line where I was supposed to sign. The word Acceptor stared up at me. Tonight, for the first time, a fierce, desperate urge rose up inside me.
Sign it. Just sign it and end this. End the humiliation. End the pain.
The next morning, I came downstairs to the sound of hushed whispers. A group of young she-wolves, daughters of prominent Pack members, were gathered in the living room. When they saw me, they fell silent.
But not before I saw the looks on their faces. The pity. The scorn. The poorly concealed amusement.
One of them, a girl named Maya, deliberately raised her voice as I walked past. "I heard the Alpha was with Christie Stone at Onyx until late last night. So romantic."
Another one giggled. "Well, everyone knows Miss Stone is his true love. Not like some people, just occupying the Luna's position..."
Their words were like tiny, sharp needles against my skin. I kept my face a blank mask, my spine straight, and walked past them as if I hadn't heard a thing. I went into the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee, but my hand was shaking so badly I almost spilled it.
Just then, Donavan came down the stairs.
He was dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, his hair still damp from a shower. He must have just gotten back and changed for work.
The girls in the living room immediately straightened up, their chatter ceasing. "Alpha," they murmured in respectful unison.
Donavan gave them a curt, dismissive nod. He didn't acknowledge their gossip. He didn't defend my honor. His silence was its own form of approval. It told them, and me, that what they were saying was perfectly acceptable. Normal, even.
He walked past me to grab his car keys from the bowl on the counter. We were less than an arm's length apart, but a glacier of ice might as well have been between us.
I watched his back, the perfect cut of his suit, the powerful set of his shoulders. And something inside me finally snapped.
"The rumors," I said, my voice quiet but clear in the silent kitchen. "Don't you care?"
He turned slowly. His ice-blue eyes held a familiar, impatient mockery. "What rumors? They're just facts."
My breath hitched.
He paused, his gaze sweeping over me with cold disdain. "If you find the position of Luna so unbearable, Eleanor, why didn't you reject it in the first place?"
That was it. That was the final blow. The last, flickering ember of hope inside me was extinguished, leaving nothing but cold, dead ash.
He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and strode out of the house without a backward glance.
The porcelain coffee cup slipped from my numb fingers.
It hit the marble floor with a sickeningly loud crash, shattering into a dozen pieces. Hot, black coffee splashed across my bare ankles, but I didn't feel the burn.
I just stared at the mess on the floor. The dark stain. The jagged white shards. It looked exactly like my marriage. Like my self-respect.
