Chapter 5

In the early morning, I walked all the way home from the outskirts of town.

The cut on my head from the night before throbbed constantly, and the soles of my feet were covered in bloody blisters.

As soon as I entered the foyer, I ran into Wyatt, who was heading out.

He glanced at me, his eyes sweeping over my ash-covered clothes, messy hair, and bleeding ankles.

He looked away indifferently, not pausing for even half a second.

He didn't care what I had been through; he only cared about his Stella.

The day before the Full Moon Gala.

Holding a file, I knocked on the door to Wyatt's study.

He was standing in front of a full-length mirror, having two tailors adjust his custom suit for tomorrow's banquet.

"What is it?" He glanced at me through the mirror.

"A few pack handover documents that need the Alpha's signature," I said, handing over the file, my voice completely flat.

The tailors began asking him what color fabric Stella's dress should be. Distracted, he blindly flipped through the papers, flipped straight to the last page, and scribbled his signature.

"By the way, about that cabin. I just want to say, don't make a big deal out of it. It was just a worthless wooden shack."

"Tomorrow's gala is very important. I don't want you showing up with a miserable look on your face."

He said it so casually, as if he wasn't the one who had destroyed my grandmother's legacy.

"Don't worry," I said, tasting blood in my mouth. "I know exactly what to do."

As I turned to leave, I heard Stella's voice coming down the hallway.

"Wyatt? Are you almost done? I need you to look at my dress—oh." Seeing me, she stopped. "Harper. I didn't see you there."

"I was just leaving," I said.

"Wait." Stella walked over, resting a hand on her stomach. "I want to talk to you."

I didn't want to engage, but she smiled and spoke anyway.

"I know you're sad about that burned-down shack. I totally understand. After all..." Her smile widened. "Growing up, that old hag was the only one who cared about you. Poor Harper, now you really have nothing."

"She was your grandmother too." I couldn't understand how someone could be this vicious.

Stella shrugged carelessly. "So what? I'm just disappointed she died so early and didn't get to see her precious granddaughter looking so pathetic..."

A string snapped in my head.

My hand swung out before logic could stop it.

A sharp slap echoed down the hallway.

Stella stumbled back, clutching her cheek, and immediately burst into tears. "Wyatt!" she sobbed. "She hit me! Harper hit me!"

Wyatt instantly rushed out.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he roared.

"She was provoking me," I said, my voice shaking. "She said—"

"I don't care what she said!" he bellowed, his hand swinging through the air and slapping me hard across the face.

The force of the blow made me stumble backward. I gripped the wall tightly, trying to stay upright.

"I was just trying to comfort her!" Stella wailed. "I told her I understood her pain, that she was my grandmother too, and she just attacked me!"

"You're lying—"

Wyatt grabbed my arm roughly. "Enough! I don't want to hear another word from you." He shoved me toward the door. "Get out of my sight," he said coldly. "If you ever look at Stella like that again, I'll make you regret it."

I stumbled away, clutching the folder tightly to my chest.

Behind me, I could hear Wyatt's voice, now soft and considerate. "Are you okay, sweetheart? Did she hurt you? Come here, let me see..."

I slowly walked up the stairs, my cheek still stinging from his blow.

In our eight years of marriage, Wyatt had never laid a hand on me. Now, because of Stella, I couldn't even count how many times he had hurt me.

Back in my bedroom, I locked the door.

I opened the folder, looking at the signatures Wyatt had just blindly scribbled.

I smiled again. Thank goddess this would all be over soon.

Hidden beneath that ordinary handover document were two lethal agreements.

The first: Mate Bond Severance Agreement.

The second: Confirmation of Withdrawal of 50% Shares from Crescent Corporation.

Thanks to his extreme arrogance and utter disregard for me, Wyatt had just signed his own death warrant without even knowing it.

I felt the mate bond severing within me. It felt like a massive weight had been lifted. I felt completely free.

The night of the Gala.

The entire estate was brightly lit, filled with luxury cars.

Countless elites, business partners, and pack elders gathered to witness the grand celebration.

In my bedroom, I changed into a black trench coat and pulled out the suitcase I had already packed.

I placed all the damning evidence—the embryonic blood extraction forms and the withdrawal documents he had just signed—into a thick envelope.

I had bribed a trusted maid in charge of the banquet hall's AV equipment.

"When the party hits its peak, right when Wyatt is about to announce his good news, put this up on the big screen," I said, handing her the envelope.

"Yes, Luna," the maid replied quickly and slipped away.

Grabbing my luggage, I walked out the back door of the estate without looking back.

In the darkness, a pitch-black, bulletproof Maybach idled like a phantom.

The window rolled down, revealing Dominic's imposing, cold, and devastatingly handsome face.

He looked at me, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Looks like you're ready."

I opened the door and slid in right next to him without hesitation.

"Drive." I stared through the rearview mirror at the glittering mansion.

Wyatt's grand Full Moon Gala was about to become his most desperate, agonizing nightmare. And I was waiting in the shadows, eager to watch it all burn to ash.