When My Mate Chose Her Over Me

In the fifth year of my mate bond with Donovan Sullivan, Alpha of the Sullivan Pack, I discovered his feelings for another she-wolf—an Omega in his own pack. On that fateful night, I confronted him in the grand hall of the Sullivan estate, my voice steady despite the storm brewing in my chest. I laid out his choices: sever his ties with her or send her to a distant territory. Donovan paced the room, his Alpha aura heavy with conflict, until he finally stepped out into the cold night, leaving me to wait in silence. By dawn, he had chosen me.

Yet, at our marking ceremony, the bond that was meant to solidify our union was shattered in an instant. A young girl—his daughter with her—appeared, her voice trembling as she called out to him. “Daddy, if you’re leaving Mommy, what about me? Are you leaving me too?” Donovan froze, the ceremonial dagger slipping from his hand. I stepped forward, my Luna’s authority filling the space as I addressed him. “If you take another step, this bond is broken.” He hesitated, his dark eyes meeting mine for a fleeting moment, but then he turned and walked away.

When I first learned of Donovan’s feelings for Winter White, I spent the night in the quiet of my chambers, my wolf restless and whimpering in the back of my mind. I wrestled with the reality of our bond, the mate pairing that had once felt unshakable. In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to let him go. At my insistence, Donovan sent Winter to a remote territory, far from the heart of the Sullivan Pack. For a time, it seemed as though we had returned to the way things were, but the cracks in our bond were undeniable.

Over the past three years, Donovan had grown distant, his presence in our shared home becoming as rare as a full moon. He buried himself in pack affairs, his office a fortress where he spent his nights rather than returning to me. The sight of reheated meals and the glow of lights left burning through the night became painful reminders of his absence. They whispered that he was no longer mine to hold.

That evening, when Donovan finally returned home, his steps faltered as he found me waiting in the living room. It was unusual for me to be awake at such a late hour, and his gaze betrayed his surprise. I rose from the couch, taking his coat and fumbling with the tie around his neck. Since Winter’s departure, Donovan had rarely allowed me this closeness.

“Go take a shower,” he said, his voice weary. “I have something to tell you.”

For years, Donovan’s words had become scarce, his once vibrant presence reduced to shadows. In that moment, his eyes, heavy with exhaustion, met mine with a flicker of urgency. I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow in the silence. “Donovan, let’s have the marking ceremony.” If not for Winter, we would have been bound years ago. He hesitated, and my heart threatened to shatter. I feared he might refuse, but he simply nodded and ascended the stairs.

The ceremony was planned within a month, and Donovan’s involvement was minimal. He appeared only twice: once for the formal portraits, where he left after the first shot, and once when we visited the pack records keeper to formalize our bond. On the day of the records visit, I sat in the car, staring at the man who hadn’t spoken a word to me all morning. His silence was unreadable, a mixture of frustration and weariness. Finally, I broke the silence. “Donovan, let’s have the ceremony first, then we can finalize the records.” He replied with a curt “okay.”

Now, at the ceremony, watching him walk away without a backward glance, I felt a strange sense of relief. That day, I had given myself an out, a way to reclaim what little of myself remained. The bond that had once defined me was now a memory, and though it pained me, I knew it was time to let go.