Chapter 8

I didn't turn around.

I didn't even grant him a single glance.

"Our ending," I said, my voice completely flat.

His footsteps got closer. And then he saw me.

The moment his eyes landed on my injuries, all the color drained from his face.

He rushed toward me, reaching for my leg, but his hand trembled violently in mid-air.

"Your leg... your injuries... Who?! Who did this?! I told them to protect you!" His voice was a raw, strangled sound, a mix of pure fury and agony. A wildfire ignited in his golden eyes.

I watched him, my own eyes cold and empty.

What a brilliant performance. The perfect picture of a devastated mate, finding out too late.

He probably thought he could fool me.

But he didn't know. I'd heard the order from his own lips. The one that threw me into hell.

Playing the part of the devoted mate now? It just made me sick.

"You don't know?" I asked, my voice calm.

"Know what?" he roared, losing every ounce of his Alpha composure. "Who hurt you? Tell me! I swear I'll make them pay—"

"You did," I cut him off. "You hurt me."

Byron froze, his face a mask of confusion and disbelief.

"Me? Sandra, what are you talking about? How could I..."

"Three days ago, you handed me over to those rogues." My voice was a dead, emotionless thing, like I was reciting facts about a stranger. "You told them to 'watch' me."

"I told them to keep you safe! To stop you from doing something stupid!" He shook his head in agony, and a terrible realization seemed to dawn on him. His face turned to stone, his features contorting with a rage born of betrayal. "It was Ariana..."

"The marks from the silver whip." I ignored his excuse, gesturing to my back. "The broken leg. Three days with no food, no water."

I forced myself to stand, pain shooting through my shattered bone.

"And everything Ariana told me herself. About our pup. About my mother's curse. And about how you knew. How you were in on it from the start."

Every word was a hammer blow, striking him over and over.

He just stood there, stunned into silence. Any excuse he had died in his throat.

He looked at me, his eyes pleading. "Sandra, I was wrong... I was so wrong... But please, just give me one more chance. Tomorrow... after the ceremony, it will all be over. I'll fix everything. I'll heal you, I'll get Liam out. We can start over. Please?"

Start over.

As if none of this had ever happened.

I sat back down and pushed the papers across the table toward him.

"Sign this."

Byron frowned, picking up the document.

When he read the words—Mate Bond Dissolution Agreement—a violent tremor ran through his body, as if a silver knife had just been plunged into his chest.

The blood drained from his handsome face.

He looked up, his eyes shattered and begging.

"No... Sandra, you can't," his voice was a raw, broken whisper. "We're mates... a gift from the Goddess... You can't just give up on us."

"You gave up first," I said calmly. "Sign it. It's my only condition for playing my part in your ceremony."

"It's just a piece of paper!" he snarled, his voice thick with pain as he waved the agreement. "It can't change our bond! Nothing can!"

"Then sign it and prove how confident you are," I said, my voice like ice. "If it's so meaningless, what are you afraid of?"

My words shattered his last defense.

Afraid.

Yes, he was afraid.

Byron stared at me for a long moment, the light in his eyes dying out, leaving nothing but ash.

"Fine," he bit out, the word torn from his throat. "If... if this makes you feel better... if this is what you want... I'll sign."

He pulled a pen from his jacket, but his hand was shaking so badly he fumbled with the cap.

He didn't even read the terms. His eyes were locked on the signature line.

He signed his name, every letter looking like it was carved from his own flesh.

"Happy now?" He pushed the agreement back to me, his movements stiff, his voice hollow and dead. "Can you prepare for the ceremony now?"

Just then, his communicator buzzed.

He flinched as if startled from a nightmare and answered it quickly. "What? Now? Fine, I'm on my way."

He ended the call and gave me one last, deep look, his expression impossible to read.

"The ceremony is at eight tomorrow morning. I'll be waiting for you, Sandra."

Then he strode out of the room, his back carrying a new kind of weight. The weight of defeat.

I waited until his footsteps were completely gone before I moved.

First, I made three copies of the agreement. I left one on the table and put two in my suitcase.

Then, I started packing.

Not much. Just a few changes of clothes and some important documents.

And the silver necklace my mother gave me, the only memento I couldn't bear to throw away.

Twenty minutes later, a black car pulled up to the back door of the house.

My father's men.

I dragged my suitcase out the door, taking one last look at the place I once called home.

Three years of mating. Three years of trust. Three years of love.

All of it was a lie.

"Ma'am, we should go," the driver said softly.

I nodded and got into the car.

The engine started, and the car pulled away from the Blackwood territory.

Sitting in the back seat, I closed my eyes. I reached for the toxic, frayed thread of our bond... and with one final act of will, I severed it myself.

For the first time in three years, I was truly free.

The cold, sharp freedom of revenge.

At the Blood Moon ceremony tomorrow, Byron and Ariana were about to receive the first of many "gifts" I had prepared for them.