Not Your Luna Anymore
Every week, mt mate Alpha Bruce dragged a new side-chick into our bed.
Right in front of me.
They clawed at each other like I didn't exist.
Each time felt like silver shredding through my chest, my wolf howling from the inside out.
He did it to hurt me. On purpose. Over and over. Using their bodies to spit on what we used to be.
Then came our ten-year anniversary banquet. He waltzed in with his side-piece—Moye. Five years he'd been screwing her.
She wore my heels. My custom gown. Even the mate ring and necklace I once thought meant forever.
Bruce stood there, smirking in front of the whole pack.
"Don't like what she's wearing? Strip yours and hand it over. And don't bother coming to my bed tonight—she's a hundred times better."
The room howled with laughter.
I was the punchline.
But I stood up, met his eyes, and said, "I want to break the bond."
He snorted. "You've said that, what, a hundred times? I'm over it. You begged me to mark you, remember? Gave up your pride for that Luna crown."
More laughter.
But what none of them saw coming?
This time, I was done.
Done with him. Done with the Luna title. Done chasing something dead.
I was ready to sever the mate bond—for real.