Bitter Truth

“Victor Quinn, look into my eyes and tell me truthfully, do you still love me, and think of me as your mate?"

The room fell into a heavy silence. Victor went still. His jaw tightened, his fingers curling at his sides, yet no words came. 

Her demand hit him like a blade across the chest, sharper than claws. It had been so long since she’d asked him anything from the heart, so long since she had dared to demand more than scraps.

When they first married, he’d thought he loved her. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. Clara had been radiant back then, the girl from nothing whom he had claimed like a prize. He had thought their bond was enough to carry them forever. A home, children, the promise of loyalty.

But Victor was not just a man. He was an Alpha, and his blood burned hot with instinct. Patience was not his strength. When Clara became pregnant, her scent shifted, and her body changed. The wait—the abstinence forced by her fragility—was more than his hunger would allow. 

So he went outside their bond. Just once, he told himself. Just to quiet the restless wolf inside him. But one betrayal became two, and then countless more. He sought relief elsewhere until the relief became a craving, and craving became a habit.

The ecstasy of cheating consumed him, an addiction that pulled him further and further from the pack he was supposed to protect: his mate, his child.

Now her question dragged him back into the wreckage he’d made.

If he lied and said yes, Clara would see through it. Wolves could always smell lies, and even if her wolf was unawakened, her instincts as his true mate were still sharp. If he admitted the truth—that his desire for her had died long ago—then he risked losing everything.

Clara bit her lip so hard it nearly bled. The tears that brimmed in her eyes were not weak anymore; they were flames. She refused to cower. 

“Fine,” she hissed, voice breaking as her wolf pressed harder against the surface of her skin. “I’ll make it simpler for you.”

Her throat felt raw as she forced the words out: “Are you willing to touch me the way you did before I carried your child? Are you willing to claim me again, Victor? To want me as your mate?”

Another silence. Another refusal.

Victor’s mind recoiled at the image. The years had hardened his heart. Clara had grown softer, rounder after Amelia’s birth, and though she had worked herself thin trying to return to her old form, he could never see past the years of motherhood etched into her body. Her scent no longer thrilled him; her skin no longer drew his hands. The fire that once tied him to her as his fated mate had been smothered by his own weakness.

But he couldn’t confess that. He couldn’t bring himself to speak it aloud.

Victor swallowed hard, but his tongue stayed paralyzed. He was absolutely silent, as if voicing either answer would collapse the fragile house of cards he’d built.

Clara’s heart fractured in that silence. She tasted the truth in the air and it was bitter. His inability to answer was the answer itself. She was no longer his, not in desire, not in bond.

Her wolf keened inside her chest, a low growl echoing against her ribs, mourning the betrayal of her mate. Her face twisted with pain, fury, and humiliation.

“I’ll take your silence as a no, then,” Clara spat, her cheeks burning. 

 “That’s reason enough for me. A damn good reason for divorce.” She shoved the papers closer to him, her hand shaking but steady in will. “Sign them. I’ll handle the rest—”

“No.”

The word cut through the room like thunder.

Clara froze, staring at him as if he had lost his mind.

“What do you want, Victor?” she demanded, her voice cracking under the weight of exhaustion and disbelief. 

“What the hell do you want from this… this loveless marriage? If it’s about Amelia, we can co-parent. We can make her feel nothing is broken between us. But I can’t do this anymore. You don’t want me. You don’t desire me. You leave me here to play housewife while you sleep with whoever catches your eye. Do you think I’m a furniture in your home? I will not be the woman you parade as respectable while you sleep with others. I will not be invisible. ”

Her voice rose to a snarl at the end, her wolf breaking into the words. Her eyes flashed gold for the first time, though Victor was too blind, too arrogant to recognize it.

Victor’s grip on her wrists tightened painfully, but she pulled against it until he finally released her. Her skin throbbed where his hands had held her, but she refused to look weak.

She glared at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Victor inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself. His pride as an Alpha couldn’t allow him to be cornered. He turned his face away, masking his unease with cruelty.

 “Do you think I’m stupid? I know exactly what this is. You want a divorce so you can take my money. Then what? Find some other man to warm your bed? Isn’t that it, Clara? Don’t pretend otherwise.” 

“You’re nothing but a leech.”

Clara’s body shook, her wolf snapping inside her at the insult. 

“How dare you!” she screamed, her voice hoarse but blazing. “I don’t need your fucking money. Not after everything. I will only take what’s mine—my belongings, and my daughter. Nothing else!”

She spun away from him, the strength of her wolf lending her defiance. Her feet carried her toward their bedroom, her shoulders stiff and unyielding.

Inside, her luggage she had packed long ago waited—  a few carefully folded outfits, a pair of shoes she loved, the small stack of photo albums where Amelia’s first tooth and first steps were captured in crooked, tender snapshots. Nothing that tied her to him. Just her life, pared down to what mattered.

She returned, dragging the luggage with her. Victor stood rooted in the living room, his eyes narrowing like a predator watching prey.

“Sign the divorce papers,” Clara said, voice firm, though her chest rose and fell in trembling waves. “I can’t wait for us to end our bond.”

She turned toward the front door, her luggage wheels clicking softly against the floorboards.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Victor’s voice dropped low, dangerous, laced with the command of an Alpha.

Clara froze but did not turn.

“Anywhere but here,” she replied coldly. “I’ll bring Amelia’s things after I’ve found a place. It won’t take me long.”

Victor’s lip curled, his pride cutting deeper than reason. 

“You won’t survive, Clara. You’ve been under my roof too long. You can’t work, not after being nothing but a housewife. You’re thirty. Nobody wants an old woman like you.” 

Clara halted. For a moment, her throat burned with the urge to sob. She was so hurt that she wanted to cry again. But there were no more tears to be shed.

 She was done with him.

Clara dragged her luggage outside the gate. She wiped off the tears in her eyes with her handkerchief before she  flagged down a taxi.

However, what she failed to notice was the cold, calculating gaze that had been watching her from a car parked opposite her. 

“Amusing,” the voice rasped.