He Banished Me But Sheltered His Mistress

I woke before dawn, my hands still trembling from last night's confrontation. The timer. The clinical efficiency. The way Atticus had looked at me like I was just another pack resource to be managed.

My wolf paced restlessly within me. *We deserve better than this.*

"You're right," I whispered, pushing myself out of bed.

I moved to the kitchen, pulling out ingredients for Atticus's favorite blueberry scones. Maybe if I showed him I was willing to try, he would meet me halfway. Maybe we could salvage what remained of our relationship.

The kitchen filled with the scent of butter and fresh berries as I worked. For a moment, I felt hopeful. These small gestures had worked in the beginning of our relationship, before pack duties and hierarchies had consumed us.

"They're just like the ones from that little café in Portland," I murmured, remembering how Atticus had smiled when I'd surprised him with scones during our first year together.

I arranged the freshly baked pastries in a basket and headed toward his office. The pack house was quiet this early, most wolves still sleeping after morning runs or night patrols.

As I approached Atticus's office, I heard voices inside. One was unmistakably his—clipped and authoritative. The other was softer, feminine.

"I'm telling you, it hurts more than you think," Leila's voice drifted through the partially open door.

I froze, the basket clutched against my chest.

"Let me see," Atticus replied, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

I pushed the door open wider, stepping into the doorway.

The scene before me stopped my breath. Atticus had Leila's hand in his, his fingers tenderly examining what appeared to be a minor paper cut on her index finger. His expression was one I'd never seen directed at me—pure concern mingled with protective fury.

"It's nothing," Leila said, but she made no move to pull away.

"It's not nothing," Atticus countered, reaching for a tissue. "You should be more careful."

The tenderness in his voice was like a knife twisting in my chest. In three years of marriage, he had never once spoken to me with such warmth.

Neither of them had noticed me yet. I watched as Atticus carefully wrapped the tissue around Leila's finger, his touch lingering.

"I brought..." My voice cracked as I stepped forward. "I made your favorite scones."

Atticus looked up, his expression instantly hardening into the mask of indifference I knew so well. No trace of the concerned mate remained.

"Jane," he acknowledged coldly. "What are you doing here?"

Leila's eyes flickered between us, a hint of satisfaction crossing her features before she composed herself into a picture of innocence.

"I wanted to talk," I said, setting the basket down. "About last night."

"There's nothing to discuss," Atticus replied, returning to his desk. "You were emotional."

"I want to sever the mate bond," I blurted out, the words tumbling from my lips before I could stop them.

The silence that followed was deafening.

"I see," Atticus said finally, reaching for a folder in his desk drawer. His movements were unhurried, as if I'd just requested a routine pack transfer rather than the dissolution of our sacred bond.

He pulled out several documents and placed them on the desk between us.

"These are the standard separation papers," he explained, his tone businesslike. "You'll need to gather all your personal financial records by tomorrow. The pack council will review everything before approving the separation."

I stared at the papers, unable to process his clinical response.

"And this," he continued, sliding a key across the desk, "is for your personal belongings in the pack house. But I'll need you to leave the safe alone. We can't risk any tampering with pack funds during this process."

"Tampering?" I repeated, incredulous. "You think I'd steal from the pack?"

"It's procedure," he replied flatly.

Something snapped inside me. Three years of suppression, of playing the perfect Luna while being treated like a servant, crystallized into pure rage.

"Where is the safe?" I asked quietly.

"Jane," he warned, "that's not necessary."

I turned away from him, my vision suddenly sharper, colors more vivid. A strange warmth flooded my veins as I stalked past a stunned Beta Marcus and into the adjoining room where the pack's financial records were kept.

The heavy steel safe loomed before me. Without hesitation, I placed my hands on the reinforced door and pushed.

The metal groaned, then gave way with a sickening crack.

"Jane!" Atticus shouted behind me. "Stop this instant!"

But I was beyond his commands now. With strength I never knew I possessed, I ripped the door from its hinges.

"Your precious safe," I said, turning to face him, "and everything else you value more than me."

I reached inside and retrieved my passport, birth certificate, and the few personal documents that were rightfully mine.

Atticus stood frozen, his mouth slightly open as he stared at the destroyed safe—and at me.

For the first time since our mating, I walked away from him with my head held high.