I stared at him. This man. My husband. My mate. He had spent the night with Melanie. Held her. Kissed her. Loved her. And now he stood before me, acting like he hadn't just destroyed me.
My hands clenched at my sides. My throat burned, but I forced my voice to stay even.
"Othello." My voice was hoarse from all the crying.
His smile faltered slightly. "Have you been crying?" He stepped closer, reaching for me. "What's wrong?"
I flinched back before he could touch me.
For the first time in five years, I didn’t want his hands on me.
Then Othello’s gaze drifted past me, and the moment his eyes landed on the suitcase by the door, confusion flickered across his face. His brows furrowed, and then his eyes snapped back to me. His gaze dropped to my hand—where my wedding ring should have been.
His entire body tensed. "Where’s your ring?" His voice was low, cautious.
I didn’t answer.
His confusion quickly turned to panic. He grabbed my shoulders, his grip firm, shaking me slightly. "Amelia, where are you going? What the hell is this?"
Still, I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I was afraid that if I spoke now, my voice would break. That I would fall apart all over again.
"Amelia," he growled, his grip tightening. "Say something!"
I met his gaze, and for the first time, I felt nothing. No love. No warmth. Just a dull, empty ache.
"I’m severing the bond, Othello," I whispered. "I’m rejecting you."
His entire body froze.
Then, in the blink of an eye, his expression twisted with fury. "Take that back," he snarled, his voice laced with raw anger. "You’re not rejecting me. You can’t reject me!"
"I can," I said, my voice calm, steady. "And I will."
"NO!" His roar echoed through the room as his hands tightened on me, shaking me harder. "You don’t mean that! You’re just upset!"
I forced out a bitter laugh. "Upset?" My voice cracked, but I held my ground. "You think I’m just upset?"
His nostrils flared. "Damn right, you are! And you’re not thinking straight!"
I shook my head slowly, a mirthless smile stretching my lips. "No, Othello. For the first time in five years, I am thinking straight."
His breathing was harsh, uneven. Desperate. "You’re my wife, my mate. You can’t just throw everything away!"
"You threw it away first," I whispered.
Before I could react, he grabbed my face and crushed his lips against mine. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was raw, desperate—an attempt to control me, to make me forget, to own me.
But I wasn’t his anymore.
I shoved him back with all the strength I had, and when he staggered, I raised my hand and slapped him across the face.
The sharp crack echoed through the room.
His head snapped to the side, and for the first time, he froze.
Breathing hard, I wiped my lips with the back of my hand, my chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. "Don’t you dare touch me," I hissed.
Othello slowly turned his head back to me, his cheek already reddening from the slap. His eyes darkened, but he didn’t say a word.
I swallowed hard, my throat burning. "I know, Othello," I said quietly.
His brows furrowed. "Know what?"
My lips trembled, but I forced the words out. "I know you slept with her."
Silence.
His face paled slightly, but I didn’t give him the chance to speak.
"I know you were with Melanie last night, I know what you said about me," I continued, my voice steady despite the raw pain tearing through my chest. "The same woman who ruined my wedding. The same woman who stole my fiancé before. And now, she’s stolen you too."
Othello said nothing.
He just stood there, staring at me, his lips pressed into a thin line.
And that silence… That silence told me everything.
I grabbed my suitcase, my hands trembling as I dragged them down the stairs. My chest felt tight, my breathing uneven, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. If I stayed a second longer, I might break.
Just as I reached the front door, Othello’s phone rang.
I didn’t care. I shouldn’t care. But then I heard him answer.
"Melanie?"
I froze.
Bitter laughter threatened to spill from my lips, but I clenched my jaw. Of course. Even now, even after everything, she was still the first thing on his mind. Not me. Not his mate. Her.
I gripped my suitcase tighter and stepped outside. Othello didn’t stop me. He didn’t chase after me. He just… let me go.
That hurt more than anything.
I threw my things into the car, started the engine, and drove off. The morning sun was bright, but all I felt was cold. My wolf whimpered inside me, torn between grief and rage. She wanted to turn back, to tear Melanie apart, to force Othello to see me, to make him hurt the way he hurt us.
But I was done.
I had already lost too much to that woman. I wasn’t losing myself, too.
By the time I reached my father’s packhouse, exhaustion settled deep in my bones. The guards at the gate immediately straightened.
"Alpha Sinclair," one of them said before pressing his earpiece. "The Luna has returned."
Not for long, I wanted to say.
The front doors burst open before I could even take another step. My father, Alpha Donovan Sinclair, stood there, his expression unreadable. But the moment his eyes met mine, the tension in his shoulders loosened.
"Amelia."
I didn’t hold back.
I ran straight into his arms, my body shaking as I broke down.
