By the time the packhouse finally fell silent, I felt as though all the warmth had been drained from its walls along with them. The halls that had once echoed with voices and footsteps now seemed painfully empty, yet the silence brought me no peace. Everywhere I looked, I still saw traces of them—Theron’s abandoned goblet resting near the hearth, Marisella’s forgotten silk gloves draped over the arm of the couch, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air like a cruel reminder that she had already begun taking my place long before I realized it.
I was gathering the torn white gown from where I had left it on the table when the moonstone communication mirror resting near the staircase flickered softly.
A message.
For a moment, I simply stared at the glowing stone without moving. Then, slowly, I walked toward it and brushed my fingers across the surface.
Marisella’s voice filled the room first, soft and gentle in the way everyone always admired.
“Elyria, I’m sorry. The seamstress already admitted the mistake with the dress. You should not have been blamed for it. Please do not dwell on what happened too much.”
I listened to the message once.
Then again.
And somehow, the second time hurt even more than the first.
Did she truly mean it? Or was this merely another attempt to soothe her own conscience? A soft apology meant to erase the memory of Theron humiliating me in front of everyone while she stood there looking kind and understanding. Even now, she still appeared graceful. Merciful. The reasonable woman stepping in to calm the cruel Alpha and comfort the pathetic wife he no longer wanted.
Before I could decide what to feel, the moonstone glowed again.
Theron’s voice replaced hers.
“I left the obsidian credit seal on the kitchen counter,” he said casually. “Buy yourself something while we’re gone. You will have the packhouse to yourself for the next week anyway.”
A hollow laugh nearly escaped me.
Of course.
This was always how Theron operated.
First came the anger.
Then the humiliation.
Then, once his temper cooled, he tossed gifts at me as though material things could erase the damage left behind.
A jeweled necklace after harsh words.
Fine fabrics after nights he ignored me.
Perfumes after betrayal.
As if allowing me to spend his money somehow balanced the cruelty of everything else.
I could practically hear his voice inside my head already.
Here. Buy yourself something nice. Stop sulking now and smile for me like a good Luna should.
My fingers tightened around the edge of the mirror.
Without another thought, I erased both messages from the stone completely before severing the mindlink access tied to their communication signatures.
The silence afterward felt strangely satisfying.
For the first time in years, neither Theron nor Marisella would be able to reach me whenever they pleased.
Later that afternoon, I stood inside my room staring at my reflection longer than I had in years.
Then, slowly, I opened my wardrobe and reached for the crimson dress Theron once claimed was “far too loud” for a woman my age. After that, I picked up the deep berry lip pigment he once mocked for making me “look older instead of prettier.”
I wore both anyway.
Proudly.
The woman staring back at me from the mirror looked unfamiliar, but not in a bad way. There was still sadness in her eyes, still exhaustion carved into the corners of her face, but beneath it, something else had begun stirring quietly.
Something awake.
I retrieved the small pouch of moonstone coins hidden beneath the loose floorboard under my cabinet—the savings Theron never knew existed—and left the packhouse alone.
The city bordering the Darkmoor territory bustled with life beneath the afternoon sun. Merchants shouted from market stalls while wolves moved through the crowded streets draped in rich cloaks and silver jewelry. Normally, I would have felt out of place walking there alone, but today I simply kept moving forward, clutching my bag tightly as though I truly had somewhere important to be.
Perhaps I did.
There was a café near the center square I had passed countless times throughout the years. Every time I mentioned wanting to try their desserts, Theron always dismissed the idea immediately.
“More sweets?” he would scoff. “Elyria, have you looked at yourself lately?”
He always said it with that amused half-smile, as though insulting me was harmless teasing I should laugh along with.
Yet I still remembered the way he once fed the exact same pastries to Marisella during a winter gathering, smiling at her with a softness I had not seen directed toward me in years.
I never said anything back then.
I simply swallowed the hurt quietly like I always did.
But today, I pushed open the café doors and walked inside without hesitation.
The scent of warm vanilla and fresh berries wrapped around me instantly. Sunlight poured through the windows, casting golden light across polished wooden tables and shelves lined with delicate pastries.
For once, no one looked at me like I did not belong there.
I sat near the window and ordered the most expensive dessert on the menu—a delicate layered cake decorated with sugared berries and tiny flakes of edible gold.
When the first bite melted against my tongue, my eyes stung unexpectedly with tears.
It was sweet.
Light.
Beautiful.
And for the first time in a very long while, something belonged entirely to me.
As I ate slowly, I absentmindedly opened the crystal viewing tablet resting in my bag, intending only to distract myself for a few moments.
That was when I saw Celia’s public memory post glowing across the screen.
Celia.
One of my closest friends.
Or at least, I thought she had been.
My chest tightened as I opened the memory projection.
The moment the images appeared, the entire world seemed to stop around me.
There they were.
The Moon Tide Voyage.
The ceremony.
Theron stood dressed in formal black ceremonial robes while Marisella glowed beside him in white silk beneath strings of moon lanterns. Around them, guests laughed and applauded as music echoed across the enormous ship deck.
My son stood near the front smiling proudly.
My father raised a silver goblet in celebration.
Even Celia herself laughed beside the other guests as though this were the happiest occasion imaginable.
Every single one of them knew.
The realization hollowed me out completely.
I watched silently as Theron brushed a kiss against Marisella’s forehead while guests cheered around them. My father stood beside the couple looking proud, not ashamed. Not conflicted. Proud.
As though replacing me was the most natural thing in the world.
My fingers trembled violently.
The silver fork slipped from my hand and clattered against the plate loud enough to draw glances from nearby tables.
But I barely noticed.
Because suddenly, everything became painfully clear.
My marriage had never been sacred to any of them.
Not the bond.
Not the vows spoken beneath the Moon Goddess.
Not the years I spent sacrificing pieces of myself for this family.
To them, I had only ever been convenient.
A placeholder.
The quiet woman who remained loyal while waiting for the true bride to finally arrive.
Tears blurred my vision, but this time, something inside me did not break.
Instead, something hardened.
Slowly, I wiped my face with the back of my hand and stood from the table.
No one in that ceremony had chosen me.
Not Theron.
Not my father.
Not even my own son.
So perhaps it was finally time I chose myself instead.
Directly across the street stood a boutique I had admired silently for years without ever entering. Elegant gowns filled the display windows, shimmering beneath enchanted lantern light like something meant for another kind of woman.
Not someone like me.
At least, that was what I used to believe.
Today, I crossed the street and walked inside.
A young saleswoman greeted me warmly the moment I entered.
“Are you searching for something special, my lady?” she asked kindly.
I met her gaze steadily.
“Yes,” I answered. “I would like to try on a ceremonial gown.”
Her brows lifted slightly in surprise.
“For your union ceremony?”
For a moment, I thought about saying no.
Instead, I straightened my shoulders.
“Yes,” I said softly. “For mine.”
She smiled then and guided me through rows of gowns made from silk, lace, and moon-thread embroidery. I tried several on, allowing myself to truly look at my reflection each time instead of immediately searching for flaws the way I always had before.
Then I found it.
The gown was simple compared to the others—elegant without trying too hard, soft ivory fabric draping gracefully over my figure without unnecessary jewels or elaborate designs.
When I stepped before the mirror wearing it, my breath caught.
For the first time in years, I did not see a forgotten wife staring back at me.
I did not see a woman abandoned.
I saw someone still standing despite everything.
Someone still whole.
My eyes burned as I asked the saleswoman to capture a memory portrait of me wearing the dress. When she handed me the printed image moments later, I stared at it for a long time before smiling softly.
Not for Theron.
Not for anyone else.
For me.
I purchased the gown with my own saved moonstones, then stepped back outside into the evening air clutching the parcel against my chest.
After a long moment, I reached into my bag and pulled out the small communication crystal tucked inside.
There was one final thing I needed to do.
The line connected after only two pulses.
I inDarkveild shakily before speaking.
“Hello,” I said quietly, though this time my voice did not tremble. “I would like to begin the dissolution of my mating contract.”
And just like that, for the very first time in twenty-five years—
I chose myself.
