The Luna Who Walked Away From Her Alpha

Mael was out, and I settled for a bowl of pasta, the simplicity of the meal a stark contrast to the chaos in my life.

Back when we had a pack cook, I never had to prepare meals. Since becoming Luna of the Silver Pack, I’ve learned to cook, though my hands bear the scars of my efforts. Mael’s favorite is the spiced honey cake I make, and he’d often boast to the pack that my baking could rival the finest patisseries in the city. I used to take pride in that, in the way his eyes would light up when he tasted something I made. But now, the burns and cuts feel like reminders of a time when I still believed in us.

That evening, while scrolling through my phone, I noticed Mael had updated his profile on the pack’s private network. The photo showed a cozy scene, with half of Presley’s face visible in the frame, and the table laden with dishes that looked far more elaborate than anything I’d made in months. His caption read, *"A blissful evening."*

My chest tightened, and I quickly closed the app, my fingers trembling as I scrolled through my contacts. I found the number buried in my blocked list—my father’s. Taking a deep breath, I pressed call, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill.

"Dad," I choked out, my voice barely above a whisper. "I’m sorry… I want to come home."

There was a pause on the other end, and then his voice, firm but gentler than I remembered, replied, "Alright, in a few days, Philip will fly over and bring you back."

His next words brought a fresh wave of tears. "My daughter, Sapphire, doesn’t deserve to suffer."

Around midnight, Mael returned, slipping into bed beside me. His arms wrapped around me in the darkness, but my mind was still fixated on that photo, on the way he’d looked at Presley in it. I turned away from him, unable to stomach the closeness.

Annoyed by my rejection, he pulled me up, his voice sharp with irritation. "What’s with the attitude? Why are you throwing a fit now?"

I looked at him, my vision blurred by tears. It was only then I realized I was crying.

"I’m done with this charade," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Tears every day, such a performance."

The bedroom door slammed shut, and the noise woke Emmie. I wiped my tears away, no longer pleading for Mael to stay like I once did. The sound of his footsteps retreating down the hall felt final, like the closing of a chapter I’d been clinging to.

The next morning, I was awakened by voices in the kitchen. Walking out, I found Presley seated at the table, using *my* mug, sipping coffee as if she belonged there. Mael stood by the stove, apron on, frying eggs, his gaze fixed on her every move.

Presley saw me and feigned concern, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Oh dear, Luna, you look absolutely exhausted. Could give someone outside a fright."

She gestured to the table. "Alpha made breakfast; you should join us."

Her audacity was infuriating. As I reached for my mug, Presley suddenly let go, and the glass shattered on the floor. A small cut appeared on her hand, and she whimpered dramatically.

Mael immediately turned, his face contorted with rage. Before I could react, he slapped me hard enough to make my ears ring. His voice was venomous.

"Curse of a woman! Marking you as my mate was the worst decision of my life."

I stood frozen, watching Mael lift Presley up, his movements frantic as he applied alcohol to her wound. He glanced back at me, his eyes blazing with anger. It was a care I hadn’t seen from him in ages. I couldn’t even recall the last time he smiled at me.

I watched their close-knit frame as Presley leaned against Mael’s shoulder. He blew on her wound, his voice gentle, "I’ll blow it away, let the pain fly away."

My cheek throbbed, and I turned away from them to finish the eggs, my hands trembling as I stirred the pan.

Mael ignored me the entire time, attending to Presley, feeding her breakfast. Presley coyly mentioned wanting cupcakes, and Mael ordered me to go buy them. When I refused, his demeanor shifted instantly. He dragged Presley out, slamming the door behind them, leaving me alone in the kitchen with the remnants of a meal I no longer had the appetite to eat.