After My Mate Abandoned Me, I Escaped

Three days. Seventy-two hours of darkness, broken only by the occasional beam of light when a guard slid a tray of food through the small opening in the metal door. The pack jail smelled of mildew and despair, the stone walls seeping cold that penetrated to my bones. I'd spent those endless hours curled on a thin mattress, my wolf pacing restlessly within me, whimpering for our mate who had thrown us away so easily.

When the door finally creaked open at dawn on the fourth day, I had to shield my eyes from the sudden brightness. A young Delta stood there, his expression carefully blank.

"Alpha says you're free to go," he muttered, not meeting my gaze.

No apology. No explanation. Just released like an afterthought.

I stumbled out into the cool morning air, my legs weak from disuse. The walk back to the pack house—my home for three years—felt like crossing a battlefield. Pack members stopped their morning activities to stare, some with pity, others with barely concealed smirks. News traveled fast in a werewolf pack, especially when it involved the public humiliation of their Luna.

Former Luna, a voice whispered in my mind. That's what Victoria had called me. Temporary.

The grand foyer of the Alpha's quarters greeted me with the scent of unfamiliar perfume. Where my carefully selected landscape paintings once hung, Victoria had placed ornate mirrors and gaudy artwork. The warm earth tones I'd chosen had been replaced with stark whites and golds. Every trace of my existence had been systematically erased.

Except for the garbage bags.

Three black plastic sacks sat in the corner like an afterthought, bulging with what I recognized as my possessions. My books. My clothes. My life, reduced to trash.

"I see you've been released."

Ethan's voice sent a jolt through me—part pain, part longing. My wolf surged forward, desperate for his touch despite everything. I turned to find him leaning against the doorframe of his office, arms crossed over his chest. He looked immaculate in his tailored suit, not a hair out of place. As if he hadn't just kept his mate in a jail cell for three days.

"Why?" The question escaped before I could stop it, raw and broken.

"Let's not make a scene in the hallway." He gestured to his office. "Inside."

I followed him like I always had, hating myself for the obedience ingrained by years of submission. His office smelled of leather and power, the large desk a barrier between us as he sat in his imposing chair. I remained standing, refusing the seat he didn't offer.

"Our arrangement has reached its conclusion, Sophia." His voice was business-like, as if discussing a contract with a supplier. "The three years we agreed upon have passed."

"Agreed upon?" I whispered, confusion clouding my thoughts. "What are you talking about?"

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck—that tell I'd noticed whenever he felt cornered. "Don't play naive. It doesn't suit you. We had a deal: I accept you as my Luna for three years, and in return, you provide stability for the pack during our alliance negotiations."

The room seemed to tilt. "There was never any deal, Ethan. We're mates. The Moon Goddess—"

"The Moon Goddess made a mistake." He echoed Victoria's words so perfectly it was clear who had originated the thought. "Victoria is my chosen Luna now. She understands pack politics and brings valuable connections."

"And what about me?" My voice trembled despite my efforts to appear strong. "What happens to your actual mate?"

His eyes hardened. "You'll remain my mate in name only. For appearances with the Western Packs. You'll move out of the pack house immediately, but you'll attend functions when required."

"And if I refuse?"

A cold smile spread across his face. "Then you'll be marked as a rogue. No pack, no protection, no future. Your choice, Sophia."

I stumbled out of his office in a daze, mechanically gathering my garbage bags. Somehow I made it to my car in the pack house parking lot, throwing the bags in the trunk. Night had fallen by the time I finished moving my belongings to the small apartment I'd kept in town for my work at the local bookstore.

Exhausted, I returned to my car for the last load, only to stop short at the sight before me. Both front tires were slashed, the rubber hanging in ribbons. Across the driver's door, someone had spray-painted in dripping red letters: "TEMPORARY LUNA."

I sent a desperate mind-link to Ethan: *Someone vandalized my car in the pack parking lot.*

His reply came immediately, indifferent and cold: *Omegas endure worse every day. Get used to it.*

As I stood there in the darkness, my wolf howled in anguish within me. For the first time, I allowed myself to acknowledge a terrible truth: my mate wasn't just rejecting me—he was orchestrating my destruction.