I Ended Our Mate Bond on Our Anniversary

When Sylvara finally blinked her eyes open, she found herself in the sterile glow of the healer’s den. The scent of herbs and antiseptics filled the air, mingling with the faint tang of blood still clinging to her clothes.

The lead healer looked down at her with a mixture of regret and sorrow. “Mistress,” he said softly, “you haven’t taken sustenance in several days. Your body could not carry the pup any longer. I’m afraid… the little life inside you has left us. I am truly sorry.”

Instinctively, Sylvara’s hand went to her lower belly. The tiny heartbeat, the fragile spark of life she had carried—gone.

Tears fell quietly down her cheeks, a silent tribute to the soul that had fled. Perhaps the child had sensed the fractures in their parents’ bond, the growing distance in the pack, and decided to leave the world early.

“Your body,” the healer continued gently, “needs time to heal. Where is your mate? He should be here, caring for you.”

Sylvara steadied herself, the edges of her emotions tightening like claws around her chest. “I have no mate,” she replied softly. Then, forcing her voice into a calm mask, she asked, “Healer… how soon can I leave this place?”

She wanted freedom, and the sooner she could escape, the better.

“Three days,” the healer replied without hesitation.

Sylvara nodded. Three moons’ worth of days—just enough for Red to come and take her away. That would be sufficient.

As their conversation continued, the door to the ward suddenly creaked open. Lucien stormed in, chest heaving, fur damp with the chill of the night.

“Why are you here?” he demanded, his amber eyes sharp.

The driver at his side opened his mouth, but Sylvara intervened first, her voice calm and measured. “I hadn’t eaten in days. My body gave out, and I collapsed.”

Tahlia’s voice slipped through the doorway, honeyed with malice. “Avy, it’s not like you grew up in a life of luxury. How did you end up so fragile?”

Lucien’s gaze fell on Sylvara’s pale, trembling form. The anger that had burned in him over the past moons seemed to ebb slightly, replaced by a strange, reluctant concern.

“When did you become so obstinate? Admitting a mistake would not have killed you.

“And if you’ve been unwell, why didn’t you summon me?” His words carried an edge of blame, though tempered by worry.

Sylvara stared at him silently, a frigid smile curling in her heart.

Summon you?

In the past moons, he had devoted himself to Tahlia, keeping her close and lavishing attention on her. He had even withheld nourishment from Sylvara to “teach her a lesson.” To summon him would have been to invite humiliation. What point would there have been?

She let the thought slide, knowing her departure was imminent. A simple, casual answer would suffice.

“You were busy,” she said, voice light as the autumn wind. “I didn’t want to trouble you.”

For the briefest moment, guilt flickered across his features. Perhaps he realized he had pushed too far. Over the next moons, he visited the healer’s den daily, offering ministrations and observing her recovery.

The morning she was cleared to leave, Sylvara spent the hours texting Red under the guise of idle distraction. Lucien noticed her attention fixed on the comm-amulet.

“Avy, who occupies your thoughts so?” he asked, reaching for the device.

Sylvara yanked it back deftly. “Do you truly need to pry into private conversations between women of the pack?”

Her words, sharp and measured, caused him to withdraw. “Enough with that. We depart soon.”

“Mm,” she murmured, her tone noncommittal.

Though he treated her with gentleness during those days, Sylvara knew the kindness was born only of guilt, not love.

Once the healer released her, Lucien escorted her home, then vanished into the night, leaving her alone.

Sylvara entered the study, her fingers shaking slightly as she opened the reinforced safe. She placed the healer’s report—the record of the lost pup—inside with quiet precision.

Then she opened her personal chronicle, scribbling one final entry.

[100th disappointment: The pup is gone.]

She closed the notebook gently, sealing the sorrow within its leather-bound pages.

Divorce papers. A resignation letter. The record of the miscarriage. A hundred heart-wrenching memories. This, she decided, would be her final gift to Lucien on their anniversary.

After gathering her belongings, she packed her suitcase, placed the villa’s keys neatly on the dining table, and erased her paw print from the enchanted lock.

Every trace of her presence in the Thorne den—every echo of her life there—she wiped away completely.