STORMBOUND: Claimed by the rival alphas.

“We’re getting divorced.”

I froze, my spoon suspended halfway to my mouth, as the chocolate cereal I was eating slowly dissolved into beige mush. 

Dad’s newspaper crinkled as he folded it with sharp, precise movements—the same way he’d been folding his life away from us for months.

Mom’s coffee mug trembled against the granite countertop. “I thought we agreed I would tell her, Richard.”

“There’s no need to keep putting it off, Margaret.” Dad’s voice carried that flat, corporate tone I’ve seen him use in business meetings. 

The same tone that had slowly replaced any warmth in this house over the past year. “Aria’s seventeen. She can handle the truth.”

“Handle it?” Mom’s voice cracked “Our daughter shouldn’t have to handle her parents’ failure. She should be worried about college applications and prom dates, not—”

“Not what? Would you rather she keep living under a fake illusion that we are happy, when her mother has been sleeping in the guest room for six months? 

Or you think she’s not noticed how we can’t have a conversation without yelling at each other these days?” Dad’s newspaper hit the table with a sharp slap. “She’s not blind, Margaret.”

“Don’t you dare try to twist this on me,” Mom snapped, “You’re the one who comes home at midnight every night. You’re the one who forgot our anniversary. You’re the one who treats this family like a business merger that didn’t work out.”

“I’ve provided for this family for nineteen years,” Dad shot back. “I’ve worked sixty-hour weeks so you could have your little art studio, so Aria could have her private school—”

“Little art studio?” Mom’s voice rose to a pitch I’d never heard before. “That ‘little studio’ paid for Aria’s orthodontist when your company cut bonuses. That ‘little studio’ covered groceries when you were between jobs for three months.”

“Here we go again,” Dad muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Saint Margaret, the martyr who sacrificed everything for her ungrateful family.”

“I never said I was ungrateful,” Mom whispered, and suddenly she sounded small and broken. “I just… I used to matter to you, Richard. We used to talk about things other than bills and schedules.”

“People change, Margaret. Dreams change. I thought you understood that.”

“Well what I do understand is that you stopped trying.”

I just sat there frozen, staring at them as they exchanged words like I wasn’t sitting three feet away…just like they always did.

The past few months have been like this - almost every breakfast or dinner turning into an argument between them with zero care or regards to how I would feel.

I spooned another bite of cereal, but tasted nothing as I felt the familiar numbness settle over me like a protective blanket.

“So what happens now?” I asked quietly.

Both of them froze, as if suddenly remembering I existed.

“Well,” Dad cleared his throat, shifting into damage control mode. “We’ll need to discuss living arrangements. You’ll stay in the same school district, of course. Nothing major will change.”

I almost laughed. “Nothing major will change. Really? Everything is changing..at least don’t lie to me about it.”

Mom’s eyes filled with tears. “Sweetheart, we both love you so much. This isn’t about you. This is about—”

“About you, yeah I get it. Somehow I’m caught in the middle of the crossfire you both created. Is it too much to ask that you both just STOP bickering and act like a family?”

“Aria—” Dad started.

“No, it’s fine.” I stood, grabbing my backpack from the counter. “I get it. Sometimes things don’t work out. Sometimes people get tired of pretending to be happy.”

“We’re not pretending,” Mom said desperately. “We’re just… we’re trying to figure out how to be better for you.”

“You sure have a very funny way of doing that…because you are destroying the only stable thing in my life.” The words came out sharper than I’d intended. “Next I’ll have to choose between you too, right?”

Dad’s face went pale. “We would never make you choose—”

“Wouldn’t you?” I looked between them, these two people who’d created me and were now systematically destroying the world we’d built together. “Because that’s what custody means, doesn’t it? Weekends with Dad, weekdays with Mom? Or maybe we’ll flip a coin.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Dad said, his voice cooling again. “We’re adults. We can handle this maturely.”

“Right. Because you’ve been so mature about everything else.” I slung my backpack over my shoulder. “I’m going to school.”

“Aria, wait,” Mom called after me. “We should talk about this as a family—”

“What family?” I paused at the kitchen doorway, looking back at them. Mom’s mascara had smudged beneath her eyes, and Dad’s perfectly knotted tie seemed to mock the chaos of everything else. “Because it looks like that’s over.”

The October air bit at my skin as I walked the familiar route to Millbrook Prep. 

My phone buzzed with a text from Emma: Coffee after school? I have drama to spill about Derek’s party last night.

I stared at the message. Who was dating whom, who wore what, who said something embarrassing. Problems that felt manageable, fixable. Normal.

I typed back: Can’t. Family stuff.

Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Then it appeared again. 

Finally: Everything okay? You sound weird.

Define okay, I wanted to write. Instead, I sent: Fine. Talk later.

Fine sometimes, is girl code for disaster. Call me if you need anything. Love you.

The casual endearment made my chest tighten. I tried calling Jake, but it went straight to voicemail.

“You’ve reached the Jake-meister. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you when I’m not being awesome.”

“Hey, it’s me,” I said after the beep. “I know it’s early, but I really need to talk to you. Something happened at home and I… I could use my boyfriend right now. Call me when you get this.”

The message felt too vulnerable, too needy. 

But Jake was steady. Reliable. He’d been my anchor for eight months, the one person who seemed to actually like my quiet intensity, who said it balanced out his energy. 

He’d know what to say about my parents, how to make the sharp edges of this morning feel less jagged.

I was heading toward his locker when I heard his laugh echoing from the senior alcove. The sound always made me smile—loud and unguarded, the opposite of the careful sounds my family made. But as I rounded the corner, the smile died on my lips.

Jake sat on the stone ledge beneath the windows, his arm around Emma. Not the casual, friendly embrace I’d seen them share before, but something intimate. Possessive. Her head was tilted back, laughing at something he’d whispered in her ear, and his hand was tangled in her blonde hair.

“Oh my God, you’re so bad,” Emma giggled, swatting at his chest playfully.