Divorced on Live TV, Claimed by the Rival Alpha

I stood backstage in the white dress Damien chose for me, waiting to ring the bell for our company's IPO.

Seven years of marriage, pulling his Pack from bankruptcy to a billion-dollar empire.

I even had a small box in my purse with a six-week ultrasound, ready for tonight.

Then the host announced his name.

But Damien stopped him.

"Before we ring the bell, I have one more announcement."

Celeste Ashford stepped onto the stage.

She was his newest investor.

"To solidify our Packs," Damien told a million live viewers, "I am dissolving my bond with Mara and taking Celeste as my Luna."

My lungs stopped working.

I walked out, staring at the ancestral Luna ring on Celeste's finger—the ring Damien swore was lost forever.

He tried to pull me aside, offering me a job.

Instead, I dropped the ultrasound box into the trash bin.

***

The small velvet box in my clutch felt heavier than it had any right to be.

Inside lay a glossy black-and-white printout from three weeks earlier—a six-week ultrasound showing a tiny, flickering heartbeat. My heart. Damien’s child.

I smoothed the silk of my ivory gown, standing just offstage at the Grand Bellagio ballroom. Tonight was supposed to be our crowning achievement. After five years of bleeding for Blackwood Group, turning an underdog pack business into a multibillion-dollar empire, we were officially going public.

On the center stage, Damien stood at the podium beneath blinding studio spotlights. Tall, broad-shouldered, and striking, his dark eyes scanned the crowd of three hundred elite investors while red tally lights on the broadcast cameras beamed the event to over two million live viewers.

"Five years ago, Blackwood Group was just an idea," Damien’s baritone echoed through the hall, resonant and commanding. "Tonight, we ring the bell on Wall Street."

Applause erupted through the room. I adjusted my dress, waiting for the teleprompter to cue my entrance as Chief Operating Officer. We were supposed to take the stage together, ring the ceremonial bell, and open the floor to press questions. Later tonight, in our penthouse overlooking the skyline, I planned to place the tiny velvet box in his hands.

Then, Damien raised a hand. The applause died down.

"Before we proceed to the listing ceremony," Damien said, his voice measured and deliberate, "there is a vital corporate update that takes precedence."

Off to the side of the stage, the teleprompter suddenly went black.

My stomach tightened. I hadn’t approved any deviations from the schedule. As COO, every second of this broadcast had been mapped under my supervision.

"To secure long-term stability and dominate the northern sector, Blackwood Group must evolve beyond traditional borders," Damien continued into the microphone. "Effective tonight, we are executing a total strategic integration with the Vance Syndicate."

A low murmur rippled through the front rows. Six months ago, the Vance Pack had bought in as our primary institutional investor, injecting hundreds of millions into our expansion.

The velvet curtain beside me rustled.

Celeste Vance walked past me onto the platform. Her floor-length crimson gown hugged every curve, shimmering under the overhead lights. She didn't spare me a glance as she glided toward Damien with absolute poise.

Damien didn't flinch. He reached out, caught her hand, and drew her directly to his side at the podium.

"To cement this alliance," Damien announced, his voice carrying clearly to the back of the room and straight into the cameras, "I am officially dissolving my mate bond with Mara Blackwood. In her place, Celeste Vance will stand as my Luna and the future co-chair of Blackwood Group."

The ballroom went dead silent.

For three seconds, my mind refused to translate the English words into reality. Dissolving our bond. Marrying Celeste.

A collective gasp broke the silence, followed instantly by the rapid-fire clicking of dozens of camera shutters. Reporters scrambled in their seats, whispering furiously into headsets. The live comments on the floor monitors began scrolling at an impossible speed.

The stage manager looked at me with wide, horrified eyes. "Mara... don't go out there—"

I didn't hear him.

My heels clicked against the polished oak flooring, cutting through the heavy hum of the speakers. I walked straight past the velvet curtains and onto the illuminated stage.

The bright lights stung my eyes, but my gaze locked onto Damien.

Celeste saw me first. Her painted red lips curved into a subtle, triumphant smirk.

Damien’s jaw tightened. He covered the head of the microphone with his palm, his Alpha presence flaring just enough to warn the nearest cameramen to stay back.

"Mara," he said quietly, stepping half a pace toward me, his voice low enough to avoid the mic's pickup. "Go backstage. We’ll discuss this later."

"Discuss it?" My voice trembled, but I forced every syllable to come out cold and clear. "You just severed our lives in front of millions of people without a word to me."

"It’s business, Mara," he muttered, eyes darting toward the media pit. His tone was dismissive, treating our seven years together like a minor contractual clause. "The Vance Pack demanded a formal union before finalizing the merger capital. You know the numbers. Blackwood needs this valuation."

"So you sold our bond."

"I did what an Alpha does for his company," Damien hissed, leaning slightly closer. "Stop making a scene. You’re still the COO. You built the logistics, you manage the revenue streams, and I expect you to keep running operations tomorrow morning. Your compensation will double. Nothing changes on the floor."

I stared at him, my breath catching in my throat. "You want me to keep running your company while you parade her as your Luna?"

"You're the best operator in the state," he said, completely unapologetic. "Be rational. You make us money. Don't throw away your career over sentiment."

A flash of gold caught the overhead light.

Celeste lifted her left hand, ostensibly brushing a loose curl behind her ear.

Resting on her ring finger was an antique platinum band set with an uncut obsidian tear.

The Blackwood Luna ring.

My blood turned to ice.

Two months ago, Damien had taken the heirloom from me, claiming its setting had been damaged during a security audit. He told me the pack jeweler was still repairing it.

It hadn't been damaged. He had handed it to Celeste weeks ago.

This wasn't a sudden corporate compromise. It had been calculated down to the minute.

Before I could speak, a sharp, searing heat ripped through the center of my chest.

It felt like thick iron cables tearing out of my soul by the roots. My wolf whimpered in the back of my mind, curling into darkness as the ethereal link between Damien and me snapped under his sheer Alpha force. He was severing the mating bond right here, forcing it through sheer will to seal his declaration.

The agony hit me in waves, threatening to buckle my knees. Cold sweat broke out across my temples.

Damien watched me, his eyes dark, expecting me to collapse. He expected me to cry, to beg, or to be escorted off by security like a hysterical discarded mate.

I took a slow, agonizing breath, dug my heels into the stage, and stood straight.

I didn't drop. I didn't shed a single tear.

Celeste tilted her head, her gaze drifting down to the small velvet box clutched tightly in my fingers. "What's that, darling? A parting gift?"

Damien glanced down at the box, his brow furrowing slightly. "Mara—"

I didn't look at him.

Right beside the podium stood a stainless-steel trash can meant for the speakers' discarded water bottles.

I loosened my grip.

The velvet box dropped. It hit the bottom of the bin with a sharp, hollow thud.

"Nothing you need anymore," I said.

Before Damien could process the words, I took two paces forward and stepped directly in front of the central microphone.

The press pit erupted into another frenzy of flashing bulbs, every lens aimed directly at my face.

"For the past five years, I have served as Chief Operating Officer of Blackwood Group," I spoke into the microphone, my voice ringing steady through every speaker in the hall. "Effective immediately, I resign from all corporate duties and surrender all operational authority."

A sharp intake of breath echoed across the front row of board members.

"Effective tonight," I added, looking straight into the primary broadcast camera, "Damien Blackwood and I are officially strangers."

I stepped away from the podium.

Damien reached out to grab my wrist, his composure finally cracking. "Mara, wait! You can't just walk out on the IPO—"

I pulled my arm back before his fingers could graze my skin.

"Don't touch me," I said quietly.

Without looking back, I walked off the stage.

Behind me, the sound of furious shouting from investors and the relentless roar of shutter clicks filled the ballroom, leaving Damien frozen in the center of the lights, his face pale and rigid beneath the glare of the cameras.