Chapter 4

[Sera]

The lawyer's words bounce around my skull for forty-seven hours straight.

Forty-eight hours. That's how long I have to decide whether to participate in my own public humiliation. To stand before a pack Elder and be formally declared unworthy of the man whose wolf called me mate like it was a prayer.

I don't sleep. I don't eat. I make coffee for strangers and smile until my face aches and pretend I'm not slowly unraveling behind the counter.

By hour forty-six, I've made my decision.

Not because of the money—some obscene number that could pay off every debt I've ever had and then some. Not even because of the threats the lawyer so elegantly wove into our conversation—Mr. Voss has considerable influence in this city. Landlords talk. Employers listen. A difficult woman might find life becoming… inconvenient.

No. I agree because I refuse to beg.

I've spent my whole life being unwanted. By parents who died and left me alone. By a wolf that never woke up. By a society that looks at a wolfless Omega and sees nothing worth keeping.

I will not add Killian Voss to that list.

He looked at me like I was a bug on his shoe. Fine. Let him crush me properly. Let him make it official. At least then I can scrape myself off the ground and move on.

I call the lawyer on hour forty-seven.

"Miss Winters." He sounds surprised, like he expected me to make him wait until the last second. "Have you made a decision?"

"Yes."

A pause. "And?"

"I'll do it."

Another pause, longer this time. When he speaks again, there's something almost like respect in his voice. Or maybe I'm imagining it.

"A car will pick you up next Tuesday at six PM. The ceremony will take place at Pack Voss headquarters. Formal attire is recommended but not required."

Formal attire. Like I'm attending a cocktail party instead of the ritual destruction of my soul.

"Fine."

"Miss Winters." He hesitates. "The compensation—"

"I don't want his money."

"—will be deposited regardless. Mr. Voss insists."

Of course he does. Because to him, this is just another business transaction. Acquire problem. Pay to eliminate problem. Move on to the next quarterly report.

"Whatever."

I hang up before he can say anything else.

---

Tuesday arrives with the subtlety of a funeral procession.

The car is black and sleek and so expensive-looking that my neighbors actually stop to stare as I climb in. Mrs. Chen from 4B watches through her window like I'm being arrested. Maybe I am, in a way.

The driver doesn't speak to me. Doesn't even look at me. I'm cargo. Precious cargo that needs to be delivered to a specific location so a billionaire Alpha can officially declare me disposable.

The drive takes forty minutes, and I spend every second of it staring out the window and trying not to throw up.

Pack Voss headquarters isn't just a building. It's a compound. Acres of manicured grounds, elegant architecture that probably cost more than I'll earn in ten lifetimes, and everywhere—everywhere—wolves in designer suits and expensive perfume, moving through the space like they own it.

The car pulls up to a side entrance. Away from the main doors. Away from where anyone important might see me and wonder why the cleaning staff is using the nice entrance.

A woman in a crisp blazer meets me at the door. She has the kind of smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

"Miss Winters? This way, please."

I follow her through hallways that smell like old money and fresh judgment. Every wolf we pass looks at me. Some with curiosity. Some with pity. Most with that particular expression of distaste that says they know exactly what I am and exactly why I'm here.

The wolfless Omega who somehow tricked Killian Voss into marking her. The mistake that needs correcting.

I keep my head up. My shoulders back. I might be walking to my own execution, but I'll be damned if I do it looking defeated.

The woman leads me to a room at the end of a long hallway. It's smaller than I expected—intimate, almost. Dark wood paneling. Soft lighting. Two chairs facing each other across a small table.

And there, standing by the window like he owns the sunset itself, is Killian.

My heart lurches. The bond in my chest flares to life, reaching for him with pathetic desperation.

He doesn't turn around.

"Miss Winters has arrived, sir," the woman announces, then disappears like she can't get away fast enough.

The door clicks shut.

We're alone.

The silence stretches between us like a living thing. I want to speak—want to ask him why, want to demand an explanation, want to scream at him for reducing three years of hopeless devotion to a legal proceeding.

But when he finally turns around, the words die in my throat.

His eyes are cold. So cold. Like someone reached inside him and turned off every source of warmth. He looks at me the same way he did that morning in the hotel room—like I'm something unpleasant he needs to deal with before moving on with his day.

I had things I wanted to say. A whole speech prepared in my head during the car ride over. Am I really that bad? Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you except exist?

But looking at him now, I can't. The words curdle in my throat, sour and useless.

What's the point? He's already decided I'm nothing. Asking him to explain won't change anything. It'll just make me look even more pathetic than I already am.

So I swallow my questions. My hurt. My three years of stupid, hopeless longing.

And I say nothing.

A door opens, and an elderly woman enters. She's small, white-haired, with kind eyes that seem completely out of place in this cold, beautiful room. She moves slowly, deliberately, like someone who has seen enough of the world to no longer be in a hurry.

"I am Eva," she says, her voice gentle. "Elder of Pack Voss. I will be witnessing today's ceremony."

Eva looks between us—at Killian's rigid posture, at my carefully blank expression—and something like sadness flickers across her face.

"Before we begin," she says quietly, "I must confirm that this is truly what you both want. The dissolution of a mate bond is not a small thing. It cannot be undone."

She turns to me first. "Child. Are you here of your own free will? Do you accept this rejection voluntarily?"

The bond screams at me to say no. To fight. To throw myself at Killian's feet and beg him to reconsider.

But I say,"Yes." My voice doesn't shake. "It's voluntary."

Eva nods slowly, then turns to Killian. "And you, Alpha. Are you certain this is what you want? The bond your wolf has formed—"

"I'm certain."

"Such bonds are rare and sacred, Killian. To reject one—"

"I said I'm certain." His voice is flat, final. "I will never regret this."

Something cracks in my chest. A hairline fracture that spreads outward, branching through every hope I've ever held.

Eva sighs. The sound is heavy with something I don't have the energy to name.

"Very well," she says. "Let us begin."

She guides us to stand facing each other. Three feet of space between us. It might as well be a canyon.

Eva speaks words I barely hear—something about the sanctity of bonds, the weight of rejection, the permanence of what we're about to do. I'm too focused on Killian's face to listen. On the way his jaw is set. On the way his hands hang loose at his sides like this is easy for him.

It probably is.

"Killian Voss," Eva intones, "speak your rejection."

His eyes meet mine for the first time since I entered the room. Gray as storm clouds. Cold as winter.

"I, Killian Voss, Alpha of Pack Voss, reject you—" His voice is steady. Mechanical. Like he's reciting a contract clause. "—Sera Winters, as my mate. I sever the bond between us. I release you from any claim I hold."

The pain hits before he finishes speaking.

It starts in my chest—right where the bond lives, right where his wolf's voice used to echo with mine, mate, home. A sharp, tearing agony that rips through my ribcage and spreads outward like fire through dry grass.

I gasp. Can't help it. Can't stop it. The pain is everywhere now—my arms, my legs, my throat. Like something is being pulled out of me by force. Like half my soul is being amputated without anesthesia.

My knees buckle. I catch myself on the edge of the table, fingers white-knuckled against the wood.

"Child," Eva says softly, and I hear the concern in her voice. "You must speak your acceptance."

I try to speak. Try to force the words past the agony that's turning my vision white at the edges. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out except a choked sound that might be a sob.

Killian is watching me. His expression hasn't changed. Hasn't softened. He's watching me fall apart, and he feels nothing.

I pull myself upright through sheer force of will. Plant my feet. Meet his eyes.

If he wants to destroy me, fine. But I won't give him the satisfaction of watching me crawl.

"I—" The word scrapes out like broken glass. I grit my teeth so hard I taste blood. "—accept your rejection."