The Secret Identity of His Unwanted Wolfless Mate

Harmony POV:

"Harmony, our engagement ends here."

The words sliced through the low hum of The Pinnacle's dinner service.

I lazily swirled the silver spoon in my coffee, watching the cream cloud into the black.Across the table was my fiancé, Conor Massey, his jaw tight and a small muscle twitching near his ear.

He slid a black credit card to the center of the white tablecloth. A severance package. How quaint.

A few heads at a nearby table turned. Conor noticed. He liked an audience. He raised his voice just enough to carry.

"This is for your troubles."

My foster sister, Krissy Welch, sat beside him. Her hand, delicate and pale, rested on his forearm. A picture of gentle support. "Conor, don't be so harsh," she whispered, her voice trembling just so. "My sister will be heartbroken."

Tears welled in her green eyes. One perfect, glistening drop clung to her lashes, highlighting the tiny beauty mark at the corner of her right eye. It was a masterful performance. Her touch, however, was pure possession.

I finally lifted my gaze from my coffee. My eyes, a pale violet that always unsettled people, flickered to their joined hands. A small, humorless smile touched my lips.

Conor shook her hand off. Not out of annoyance, but for dramatic effect. To show everyone he was his own man, making his own hard decisions.

"I can't marry a wolfless," he declared, his voice ringing with manufactured conviction. "It would be an insult to the Massey Pack."

He leaned forward, savoring the public humiliation he was dealing out. "Everyone in New Haven knows you're a disgrace. An outcast from your own family, running around with Rogues."

Krissy jumped in, playing her part. "No, that's not true! My sister... she just has her own way of doing things." Her defense was a beautifully crafted accusation.

My phone vibrated against the table. I glanced at the screen. Mom. Corine Welch. I silenced the call without a second thought.

Conor saw the move and smirked, misinterpreting it as shame. "See? You can't even face your own family. The Welches have given up on you."

I took a slow sip of my now-lukewarm coffee. I placed the cup back in its saucer with a soft click.

"Are you finished?" My voice was quiet, devoid of the emotion he so desperately wanted to see.

Conor blinked. My calmness threw him off script.

I turned my attention to Krissy. Her worried expression was starting to look strained. "You must have practiced for days," I said, my tone conversational. "The angle of the tear, the timing... it's all perfect."

The color drained from her face. Her body gave a slight, involuntary tremble.

"Harmony!" Conor's voice boomed, a protective roar for his new prize. "That's enough! Krissy is just worried about you!"

A genuine laugh, soft and dry, escaped my lips. I pushed my chair back and stood. At five-foot-seven, I wasn't towering, but right now, I felt taller than both of them.

I ignored the black card. It was an insult, and I didn't acknowledge insults. I smoothed a non-existent wrinkle on my simple black dress.

"The engagement," I said, my voice still level. "I agree to end it."

I let that hang in the air for a beat, watching the triumph bloom on Conor's face. Then I delivered the final line.

"But let's be clear. You're not dumping me, Conor." I met his gaze directly. "I'm discarding you."

His face went from smug to a blotchy, furious red. The hunter had just been informed he was merely the discarded prey.

My phone vibrated again. Not a call this time. A text message.

I pulled it out, my movements unhurried. The screen lit up with a message from an encrypted number.

The Eagle is waiting.

I deleted the message and slid the phone back into my pocket.

As if on cue, Corine's call came through again. I declined it and, for good measure, blocked her number. It was time.

I turned my back on them. I didn't need to see the shock on their faces. I could feel it. I could feel the whispers from the surrounding tables, a wave of gossip and speculation.

My silver-white hair, long enough to reach my waist, swung behind me in a silent, dismissive arc.

At the restaurant's entrance, I gave a polite nod to the doorman. He pulled open the heavy brass door, his expression professionally blank.

I stepped out into the cool New Haven night without a single look back. The drama in that room was a cage, and I had just walked out of it. It was small and insignificant.

Behind me, I knew Conor was fuming, feeling like he'd punched a pillow. And Krissy, I was certain, was biting her lip, her feigned sweetness curdling into the venom I knew so well.

They could have their little victory.

I had work to do.

A black, nondescript SUV was idling at the curb, its engine a low, powerful rumble. It was waiting for me.