Do You Want a Divorce? I’ll Help You**

Seven's POV

“Enough, Seven. Stop this.”

Harris’s voice softened in a way I had almost never heard. He reached for my hand again. I pulled away.

Anger still burned under my skin, and something else, like a low, warning—twisted in my lower abdomen. I dragged in a slow breath and forced my wolf to settle.

“Whatever existed between Isolde and me ended years ago,” he said. “We’re mated. You’re my Luna.”

He stepped behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, chin resting near my temple. The gesture was almost tender. In all our time together I had been the one reaching. This was the first time he had coaxed.

Any other day the small mercy would have sustained me for weeks.

Today it felt empty.

I stared straight ahead. “Isolde is free. She posted the rejection token this morning.”

“Don’t invent stories.”

I unlocked my phone and held up the post. He glanced at it once, then dismissed it with a quiet sound and pulled me closer.

“She lives her life. We live ours.”

I didn’t know whether to believe him.

He reached for the intercom and called his Beta. When the door opened I stepped out of his arms at once. Harris didn’t comment. He simply gave orders.

“Clear my afternoon. And contact Healer Thorne at the Central Healing Hall. Tell him I’m calling in the appointment I reserved last month.”

I turned. Director Thorne was one of the highest-ranked healers in the region. Appointments were nearly impossible. I had tried for months to get my mother on his list and failed.

Harris met my eyes. “You said we were visiting your mother today.”

“You… arranged healer Thorne for her?”

He nodded once.

A painful yet overflowing warmth moved through my chest. In two years of quiet marriage Harris  had kept me mostly out of the public pack eye, yet he had never been careless with the people I loved. After ten years of one-sided longing, simply being claimed by him had felt like more than I deserved. Maybe I *was* overreacting. Isolde’s return was old history. Both of them had moved on. My mother still waited for the formal ceremony. And I was carrying his child—the child his damaged wolf was never supposed to be able to give.

I opened my mouth.

“Harris , there’s something I need to tell you…”

His phone lit up.

**Isolde Dennis .**

The words died in my throat. I stepped back. “Answer it.”

“Ignore her.” He ended the call without looking. “What were you going to say?”

“I…”

The phone rang again. Same name.

Harris’s jaw tightened. He answered this time, voice already edged with impatience. “What is it now?”

I turned away and looked down at my stomach. The small life I had wanted so fiercely suddenly felt like a secret I might have to protect from its own father.

I rested my palm there and tried to breathe.

Harris’s tone changed. It became sharp. Urgent. “Where are you? Don’t move. I’m coming.”

He cut the call, grabbed his keys, and was already moving.

“Harris…”

At the doorway he paused, conflict flickering across his face for the first time. “I’ll have a car take you home. We’ll see your mother another day.”

Then he was gone.

I stood alone in the sudden silence and felt the last of the warmth drain out of me.

So that was the choice.

Between his Luna and Isolde, he still ran to her.

I left the oxford tower without waiting for a car. Outside, Isolde’s face still turned on the giant screen, smiling like she owned the light. I walked carefully, hiding behind. A short distance down the street I saw the “accident.”

A black Maybach sat with its hazards on. A delivery van behind it. The contact was barely a kiss of metal. No real damage. No scent of blood or fear strong enough to justify an Alpha’s presence.

Harris’s car was already there. He stepped out, already frowning. Darien met him with rapid words. Isolde emerged from the Maybach, one hand pressed to her forehead, and immediately stepped into Harris’s space, tilting her face up, speaking in the soft complaining tone that had always drawn his attention.

They looked like they belonged in the same frame.

My vision blurred. I wiped my face with the back of my wrist and tasted salt.

A car stopped beside me. The door opened. Black military-style boots hit the pavement. Long legs followed. The man who rose into the afternoon light carried the kind of presence that made ranking wolves step aside without thinking.

Demarco Oxford.

Harris’s younger brother. The one the pack still called the sharper blade. He had spent the last years on the border dealing with rogue incursions and external threats. I hadn’t seen him since Alpha Oxford died.

His eyes found mine, dark and unreadable, a hint of old amusement at the corners.

“Little Moon,” he said. “It really is you. Why are you crying on the sidewalk?”

“I’m not.”

He smiled like he didn’t believe me for a second. His gaze flicked toward the minor collision and the two figures standing too close, then returned to me.

“Need a ride home? I’m headed that way.”

“No. I…”

“Or I can call my brother over right now and let him take you.”

“No.” The word came out too fast.

Demarco’s smile widened a fraction. He opened the passenger door and rested his forearm on the frame, waiting.

I gave in. “I’m not going home. I’m going to the Central Healing Hall.”

“Even better. I’m passing it.”

I slid into the seat. As the car rolled forward we passed Harris and Isolde. She saw the vehicle, recognized it, and in one smooth motion grabbed Harris’s lapel and pressed herself against his chest as if startled. I looked away.

Demarco drove the way he did everything—precise, unhurried, dangerous. His hands on the wheel were steady. The same hands that had once been legendary in the pack's ranking challenges alongside Harris’s.

“How have the years treated you, little moon?”

“Fine.”

He gave a quiet huff of laughter. “You still can’t lie.”

I glanced at him.

“I overheard you earlier,” he said mildly. “Outside my brother’s office. The two of you weren’t exactly quiet.”

My eyes dropped to his boots—the same black military style that had passed the frosted glass when Harris and I were arguing.

He had been the shadow in the hallway.

Demarco turned his head just enough to meet my gaze. The amusement was still there, but underneath it a colder and far more serious look was on his face.

“So, little moon,” he said. “Do you want a severance? I’ll help you.”