Bella’s POV
The messages lit up my phone one after another, cold, clipped, sharp. Each one stabbed harder than the last.
“Sophia’s at the clinic. Blood binding required. You know your duty. Hagen. Now.”
“Bella? Fifteen minutes late. Don’t test my patience.”
“Compensation increased to $100,000. Check your account. Don’t delay.”
“Twenty minutes. That’s all you get. A pact is a pact.”
I stared at the screen, my fingers trembling as I scrolled through each line, my knuckles turning white from the grip. Not a single word of concern. No warmth. No softness. Just orders.
That was always how it went. He was Alpha. I was just the girl who gave blood.
Even when we shared a room, Asher never touched me. Never let our scents linger. Never looked at me like I was his. He reminded me of the difference every chance he got—loudly, publicly, like it was a badge of honor to keep me beneath him.
This moon cycle alone, I’d been called into the healing den three times. Each time, I left weaker—shaky on my feet, heart heavy, limbs drained. And each time, Asher’s answer was the same.
“Suck it up. A pact is a pact.”
To Alpha Asher Cavanaugh,I was not his luna - just an accessory asset to the woman he deeply loved, a resource kept to sustain that relationship. I was not worthy of any of his needs beyond money.When he wasn’t busy ruling over the pack’s affairs, he was at Sophia’s side.
Sophia Cavanaugh, Asher's partner, was also the reason I entered their relationship due to her accident.
Three years ago, Sophia needed an emergency transfusion, and the wolf elders saw an opportunity: preserve the blood, secure the power, strike a pact.
And here I was.
I still remember standing in that sterile clinic, the cold bite of antiseptic burning in my nose, staring into Asher’s unreadable eyes when he laid it out like a business proposal.
“You’ll be my chosen mate,” he said, voice low, decisive. “But your role is clear. Sophia comes first. If she needs you, you go to her. No questions. I’ll make sure you’re... taken care of. Financially.”
And like a fool, I agreed. I thought I could handle it. I thought that if I stayed long enough, proved myself enough, gave enough—he’d look at me like I was worth something more than just a blood bag.
But three years later, here I was. Still invisible.
Still bleeding for someone else’s happiness.
This wasn’t a bond.
It was a sentence.
I grabbed my bag and stormed out of the house. I couldn’t breathe in that space anymore. Not without feeling like the walls were closing in around me.
As I slid into the car, another message dropped onto my screen—but this time, it wasn’t from Asher.
It was a photo.
No sender name. No caption.
But it didn’t need one.
Asher sat in an old chair, legs wide, arms crossed, head tilted back like royalty. His eyes were closed, his mouth relaxed. Even in rest, he looked like something carved from power—all clean lines and cold perfection. That was the image the world saw. Their perfect Alpha.
But the part that made my blood run cold?
Sophia. Lying against him, cheek pressed to his shoulder, her hand on his chest like she belonged there. Her lips curved in a smile that wasn’t sweet—it was smug.
Beneath it, a message followed moments later:
“We’re perfectly matched. Step aside. A true Alpha deserves his fated mate. Not a placeholder.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t cry. I just stared at the screen until my own reflection blinked back at me—pale skin, dry lips, hollows under my eyes like bruises from exhaustion. I looked like a ghost haunting my own life.
Was this why he never looked at me? Why he never touched me, never called me by name unless it was a command?
Maybe.
I used to think I could become his real mate if I was patient. If I endured long enough. But the truth was ugly.
Sophia had heat. Curve. Power.
I had... silence.
Let them have each other.
When the car pulled up to the clinic, I didn’t wait for the engine to shut off. I opened the door, stepped out, and walked toward the building without looking back.
But in my chest, something shifted.
Something cracked open.
And I knew this time… I wouldn’t be bleeding for Sophia ever again.
The front door of the clinic slammed open, wind trailing in behind the dominant scent that hit me—pine, earth, and that deep Alpha musk my wolf used to recognize with pride. But this time, she curled back in silence. Asher strode in like he owned the world, and maybe he did, here. His tailored charcoal suit clung to him like it was born on his body, every line highlighting the strength carved beneath. Sharp cheekbones. Unforgiving eyes. That lethal grace of someone used to being obeyed.
When his gaze landed on me, standing alone in the hall, the irritation that sparked in his eyes was instant. But when he noticed the iPhone in my hand—the one I’d ignored every call on—his expression darkened into something closer to fury.
“Your phone works,” he said, voice low and cutting. “Why the hell didn’t you answer my messages or return my calls? The healers are waiting.”
The weight of his presence pushed against my ribs, but I stood still. Calm on the outside, chaos within. My fingers curled tighter around the phone. I looked at him, really looked—committed him to memory. The square jawline, the full mouth that never smiled for me, the eyes that commanded submission with a single flicker. His broad shoulders were drawn tight, muscles locked like a wolf on edge.
He crossed the space in three strides and reached for my wrist. His hand closed around it—firm, controlled, cold.
“You’re needed at the clinic. Now.”
“I know.” My voice came out thin, but not broken. My other hand grabbed the edge of the door anchoring me. My legs wanted to move, to run—to obey. But I held ground.
Asher’s jaw ticked. “Then why are you still standing here?”
My heart pounded. Old pack stories came rushing back—the ones about the Omegas who bit back, who didn’t just bow. The ones who dared, even when it cost them everything.
Maybe I could be one of them.
Just once.
"I'll go to the clinic,” I said, leveling my gaze at him. “I'll give the blood. Just like always."
He stared, waiting.
“But,” I continued, voice sharpening, “there’s something I want from you first.”
He scoffed, tossing both hands into his pockets like I was wasting his time. “Money? It’s already in your account. Check it.”
“It’s not about money.” My chest ached, but I didn’t let it show. Not anymore. My tone was dry, flat, and deliberate.
“Then what?” he snapped. “You’re wasting everybody’s time, Bella. Say what you want.”
I didn’t flinch.
“I want to break our unwanted bond,” I said, each word cold and clean. “I want a divorce, Alpha Asher Cavanaugh.”
