After the Death of My Daugther, I Divorced the Tyrant Alpha

"Rather than complaining incessantly, you'd do better preparing my breakfast," he interrupted.

I clenched my jaw and tightened my fists. I desperately wanted to slap him repeatedly and make him understand that his daughter Iona was more than just 'critically wounded'. I wanted to make him realise he had lost his own daughter through his selfish prioritisation of Hazel, Yona's son.

I clenched my jaw, restraining the biting response that trembled on my lips.

He had been like this recently—distant, acerbic, perpetually absent, even when physically present. So, I turned silently and made my way to the kitchen.

Even as I stirred the spaghetti I was making, my thoughts kept drifting to Yoan and his son, Hazel. Was Yoan with Nathaniel all day? Did he sleep over at Yoan's? Did he love Hazel even more than Nathaniel should love Iona? But I tried to push those feelings aside and think more positively. After breakfast was ready, Nathaniel joined me at the table but he was always on his phone.

I stayed quiet, knowing there was no point in starting a conversation. His reply would probably be short and painful.

"We've investigated the attack from the early hours, and we suspect several packs who've long been at odds with us, primarily because our pack is more prosperous than theirs," Nathaniel continued whilst enjoying his meal. "I'll be home rather late today. Would you mind preparing my packed lunch as usual?"

"Yes," I replied with uncharacteristic indifference.

"Has Iona not awakened yet? Poor thing must be terrified and traumatised. I'll take her for a picnic next weekend," Nathaniel mused.

I sighed and stared at him in utter disbelief. Our daughter had been lying in the mortuary for two days, yet he remained completely oblivious to this devastating reality.

Drawing a deep breath, I murmured, "Actually, Iona—"

Before I could explain that our daughter would never wake again, Nathaniel's mobile rang. Upon answering, his face contorted with worry, and he sprung to his feet with alarming urgency.

"Mate, could you possibly drop off that packed lunch at the office later? Something urgent's come up. Hazel's having seizures," Nathaniel announced.

"Nathaniel!" I called out sharply.

"I'm terribly sorry, but this is paramount, Angie. Listen, you've recovered from your injuries, haven't you? So I really must look after Hazel and Yoan. Yoan's a widow now, and her husband was a high-ranking Theta who wielded considerable influence in the Pearl Harbor Pack."

"Yes, I've recovered, and your daughter hasn't awakened," I replied with biting sarcasm, "And perhaps never will."

"Oh, come now, Angie. This is hardly the time for petty jealousy," Nathaniel grumbled.

"Yes, I know."

"Thank you for understanding, Angie. I'll see you at the office later." Nathaniel patted my head before grabbing his coat and departing.

In that moment, I felt like an insignificant fragment of Nathaniel's life—as I had always been. Nathaniel prioritised Yoan and Hazel above all else, whilst I remained an outsider desperately trying to breach their world.

I watched Nathaniel's car begin to pull away from the house, feeling increasingly alienated by the reality before me. Just before his final departure, a courier had arrived with a bouquet of lilies and a box of luxury chocolates. I knew, with crushing certainty, that these were gifts for Yoan and her son.

Nathaniel could be so lavish with others, yet last month's memory stabbed at my heart—when Iona had asked for a new doll, Nathaniel had merely tossed her a packet of cheap hair bands.

I'd always known Nathaniel desperately yearned for a son, but his treatment of Iona had been beyond cruel.

To him, Hazel might as well have been his own son—born of a woman who’d stood by his side for years, after all. Meanwhile, my Iona is a child of his newfound choice, sprung from the womb of a wife he selected only recently. Nathaniel’s priorities will forever lie with Yoan and Hazel, never with me or my poor, overlooked girl.

Yoan’s husband, Carl, perished a year ago—his life claimed by grievous wounds from a night hunt. Yet even in death, Carl’s devotion to Yoan remained unshakable, flawless. And now, Yoan has my husband—Nathaniel—as her closest confidant. A man who dotes on her, who would move heaven and earth for her. A loyalty I’ve never been granted, though by every right, I should claim it.

Time and again, this bitterness towards Yoan and Hazel has gnawed at me. Even when I carried Iona—clinging to her as my body threatened to betray us both—it festered. Yet whenever I dared confront Nathaniel, he dismissed it as hysterics. Blind jealousy, he’d sneer, as though my anguish were some trifling melodrama.

But Nathaniel remains wilfully oblivious to the heart of it: his own daughter, who’s never known a father’s love. Half the pack whispers of it—this unspoken truth about Iona—yet he parades his indifference like virtue. No wrongdoing here, his silence declares.

And oh, how it stings. When he lavishes Yoan with jewels fit for a queen, I receive trinkets I could pluck from the market myself. It’s not the cost, Nathaniel. It’s the care—the absence of thought for the woman who’s sacrificed everything. For you.

Still, I dare not confront Yoan or her son. The Pearl Harbour Pack would sooner tear out my throat than see me as their Luna. Her they adore; me, they tolerate.

The microwave’s piercing beep jolts me from my misery. I busy myself packing two lunchboxes—overstuffed, as always—then gather laundry with mechanical haste. But my hands freeze mid-fold. His shirt. Nathaniel’s, worn last night. I press it to my face, and—

Scent of gladiol and musk. Her.

“Yoan’s,” Sky, my wolf, growls through the mindlink. No hesitation. No mercy.

The tears come then, ugly and suffocating.

He was with her. While I lay bleeding, mourning Iona’s eternal absence, he clung to her.

Every whispered promise, every “You’re my only”