My Alpha's Retribution

By the end of the first day, the air between us felt like glass. Clear, fragile, and always on the edge of shattering.

That morning, Dylan came down the stairs, dressed sharp as always, smelling faintly of cedarwood and something floral. Not mine. Not us.

“Don’t wait for me tonight,” he said, fixing his cufflinks. “There’s a meeting I can’t miss.”

I smiled, the same practiced one I’d been giving him for days. “A meeting. Right.”

He didn’t even notice the way I said it. Or maybe he did, but didn’t care enough to ask.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he added, kissing the top of my head like I was some loyal pet that never questioned anything. “We’ll do dinner this weekend, promise.”

“Sure, Dylan,” I said softly.

He left, closing the door behind him. The sound echoed through the house, hollow and final.

I sat there for a long while, staring at the untouched breakfast I’d made. The eggs were cold. The coffee was too.

He used to hate cold coffee.

Hours later, I found myself behind the wheel of my car, the sky darkening with clouds that matched my thoughts. I wasn’t sure why I was driving. Maybe part of me just needed proof. Proof that I wasn’t crazy. Proof that my heart wasn’t lying to me.

I didn’t even have to go far.

His car was parked right there—outside Maya’s apartment building. His sleek black car. The same one he swore was at the office for a “late meeting.”

My hands tightened on the steering wheel. I told myself to leave, to turn around, to go home and pretend like I didn’t see it. But something inside me—the part of me that used to believe in us—snapped quietly.

I parked across the street. I didn’t move for a few minutes, just watched the windows. The lights were on in one of the upper apartments. A silhouette moved behind the curtain. Two shadows.

I didn’t need to see their faces to know.

When the laughter came, faint but sharp in the night, my heart went still.

I reached for my phone with steady hands and took a photo. Then another. And another. I zoomed in on his car, on the building number, on the window with the two shadows. Each click of the camera sounded like a nail in a coffin.

Our coffin.

By the time I got home, it was past midnight. The house was dark except for the faint glow from the kitchen. I didn’t turn on the lights. I just walked upstairs and started packing.

Not everything. Just what I needed. My important things, my clothes, some jewelry. The rest could rot here for all I cared.

I found one of the boxes from the attic and started filling it. My wedding dress. The one I used to dream about. I stared at it for a long time before folding it neatly and placing it inside. I wasn’t sure if I was burying it or saying goodbye.

Halfway through, I stopped to breathe. My hands shook, but my face stayed dry. I wasn’t going to cry over this. Not anymore.

Then I heard the door downstairs.

Dylan’s voice floated through the hall. “Celine? You awake?”

I said nothing.

The smell reached me before he did. Maya’s perfume. The same sweet, sticky scent that clung to his jacket, to his hair, to his skin. He walked into the room, loosening his tie, pretending everything was normal.

“Sorry I missed dinner,” he said casually. “Meeting went on longer than I thought.”

I turned to face him, my expression blank. “I figured.”

He smiled faintly, coming closer. “You’re not mad?”

“No.”

He leaned in, kissed my forehead out of habit. I didn’t move, didn’t flinch. His lips were warm, but they didn’t feel like his anymore. They felt borrowed. Stolen.

“You should shower,” I said quietly.

He blinked, surprised. “What?”

“You smell… tired,” I said, forcing a small smile.

He laughed. “You always notice everything.”

I did. I always did.

He walked to the bathroom, and I stood there for a while, staring at the half-packed box on the bed. The silence around me felt alive. Loud. Screaming.

When the sound of running water filled the room, I sat down at the edge of the bed and looked at the small things around me—the photos on the dresser, the framed vows on the wall, the silver bracelet he gave me on our first anniversary.

It used to mean something. It used to make me feel safe.

Now, it just made me sick.

My fingers brushed over it once, twice, before I picked it up. I turned it in my hand, the small engraving glinting faintly in the light. “Forever, Dylan & Celine.”

Forever.

I laughed softly, bitterly, before walking to the trash bin beside my vanity. I dropped it in.

The sound was small. But final.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the bracelet lying at the bottom of the bin. Three years of marriage, reduced to trash.

My hand moved to my neck without thinking—to the spot where Dylan's mark had burned into my skin on our mating night. I remembered how it used to pulse with warmth whenever he was near, how it made me feel connected to him even when we were miles apart.

Now, as my fingers brushed over it, I felt nothing.

I walked to the mirror and tilted my head, pulling my hair aside.

My breath caught.

The mark—once a deep crimson, the shape of his wolf's bite—had faded to a dull pink. The edges were blurred, like a bruise healing. Like something dying.

I touched it again, pressing harder, waiting for that familiar ache.

Nothing.

My wolf stirred inside me, her voice a quiet whisper. "The bond… it's breaking."

I stared at my reflection for a long time. The woman looking back at me wasn't the same one who had walked into this house three years ago, full of hope and love and foolish dreams.

That woman was gone.

And strangely, I didn't feel sad. I felt... free.

A smile tugged at my lips—slow, cold, unfamiliar.

Tomorrow was Luna Duties Day. The whole pack would gather. Dylan would stand beside me, pretending we were still the perfect Alpha and Luna. Maya would hover nearby, smirking. Clarissa would watch with those sharp, judging eyes.

They all thought I would keep playing my part. Keep smiling. Keep pretending.

They had no idea what was coming.

I turned off the light and climbed into bed, not bothering to wait for Dylan. When he finally came out of the shower and slid in beside me, I didn't flinch at his touch. I didn't react to the scent of her perfume still clinging to his skin.

"Celine?" he murmured, his hand brushing my shoulder. "You asleep?"

I said nothing.

He sighed, turning away.

And in the darkness, my smile widened.

Let him sleep peacefully tonight.

It would be his last.