Divorcing My Arrogant And Controlling Alpha

Ciara Ford POV:

Five days. One hundred and twenty hours. To Darius, this was the time I was supposed to spend repenting, breaking down, and ultimately surrendering in the freezing darkness.

He had no idea that these five days were my perfect staging ground.

On my very first night in that isolation cell, Vance—the pack doctor secretly bought off by Geneva—walked in with a syringe full of high-dose hallucinogens, exactly as he had in my previous life. I had been forcefully injected while caught off guard and completely heartbroken.

That single needle marked the beginning of my descent into madness, chaining me to a bed until I was burned alive.

But this time, the moment Vance stepped close, relying on my dormant werewolf strength, I lunged at him, twisted his arm violently behind his back, and snatched the syringe.

Before he could even scream, I had him pinned against the concrete wall, the lethal needle pressed dangerously against his throbbing jugular.

Using the dark secrets I knew from my previous life—his massive embezzlement of the pack's medical funds—I easily turned him into my obedient dog.

For five days, Vance dutifully reported my "severe mental breakdown" to Darius and Geneva, feeding their smug egos.

Meanwhile, in that supposedly inescapable prison, I comfortably used Vance's encrypted burner phone to contact the pack's legal notary, drafting the ultimate parting gift for my so-called mate.

When the heavy iron door finally opened, the harsh light flooded in.

I stepped out, completely unscathed, my eyes calm.

Darius stood in the corridor.

Seeing me so eerily quiet, a flicker of unease flashed across his face, but he quickly suppressed it.

His face settled into that familiar, condescending mask of a patient, misunderstood husband.

"See, Ciara? Putting you in the ward was just to give you time to cool down," he said, adjusting his expensive cuffs. "Where was your grace and tolerance as a Luna? Geneva has been through enough. I'm merely helping a childhood friend, yet you had to make a scene. Why do you have to be so paranoid?"

"Helping a friend?" I couldn't help but mock him, my voice dripping with venom. "So turning your fated mate into a certified lunatic and throwing her into a freezing cell is your way of 'helping'?"

Darius let out a heavy, exasperated sigh, looking at me as if I was the one breaking his heart. "I was protecting you from your own temper! I've already had the doctor seal the records. No one outside will know you were in the psych ward. As long as you drop this baseless jealousy and apologize to Geneva, we can put this ugly mess behind us. Why can't you understand my good intentions?"

Even hearing those exact words a second time, his sheer, unadulterated hypocrisy made my stomach churn.

I didn't bother arguing.

I just walked past him toward the exit.

A flicker of smug satisfaction crossed Darius's handsome face.

He actually thought the five days of isolation had "cured" my jealousy.

He thought he had successfully tamed his temperamental wife.

I followed him to his SUV.

Opening the door, I immediately noticed the passenger seat had been pushed far forward—adjusted perfectly for a petite woman.

Tucked in the cup holder was a tube of Geneva's cheap pink lipstick.

Without a single word, I picked up the lipstick, tossed it out the window into the dirt, and climbed into the back seat.

Darius's jaw tightened at my defiance, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, but he forced himself to play the magnanimous Alpha.

"I had Maria prepare your favorite lasagna," he said, starting the engine. "Geneva and her pup just need my protection. If you just accept her, our lives can go back to being perfect."

I closed my eyes, treating his words like the buzzing of a repulsive fly.

Returning to the massive Pack House—the place I once poured my soul into—Darius pushed open the heavy oak door.

The foyer was a total disaster.

Geneva's designer shoes were kicked off carelessly on my custom rug, and her son's toys were scattered across the marble floor.

"Ciara," he declared, looking down at me. "Now that you're back, we need to talk about the new rules of the house regarding Geneva. She will be staying in the bridal suite permanently, and you will—"

"Save your breath," I interrupted, my voice devoid of any emotion.

I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out a thick stack of documents I had Vance smuggle in for me, and slammed them hard against Darius's chest.

He instinctively caught the papers, frowning in confusion. "What is this?"

"Five days ago, you said my request for a divorce was just me 'playing hard to get'," I sneered, my voice dripping with icy absolute certainty. "These are the Formal Rejection papers, already signed by me. Along with the termination notice you so cowardly had delivered to me in the psych ward."

Darius's golden eyes widened in sheer disbelief as he stared at the bold letters on the first page.

"You thought I came back to fight over a room or a piece of lingerie?" I let out a mocking laugh, stepping back as if his very presence infected the air.

"Keep the house. And keep this pathetic parasite," I declared, looking at him like a piece of irredeemable trash. "We are completely over, Darius."