You’ll Regret Breaking Me, Alpha

Kaela’s POV

I couldn’t find sleep that night. No matter how I twisted, how tightly I shut my eyes, darkness only magnified the ache inside me. My heart thumped erratically, heavy and restless, as if it wanted to claw its way free from my chest. The main bedroom, once a sanctuary, now felt suffocating—too quiet, too orderly for the chaos raging within.

Alpha Evander’s steady breathing beside me used to soothe me. Now it mocked me, a constant reminder of the bond we once shared—warm, sacred, now reduced to a slender thread choking my heart.

When he shifted in the bed, I feigned sleep. His weight lifted, the faint creak of the door followed, then silence. I waited until his footsteps faded into the hall before I finally sat up. My wolf stirred uneasily inside me.

He’s not just stepping out for air, she murmured.

I already knew.

Pressing a trembling hand to my lips, I fought back the sobs threatening to erupt. Moonlight spilled across the room, cold and silver, painting the walls with a cruel reflection of the goddess I had once worshiped—the same goddess who let my daughter die, who let my mate betray me.

My throat was dry, so I rose to fetch water. The hallway outside was dim, the lanterns casting pale, wavering light. And then I heard it—a sound faint at first, almost insignificant, then unmistakable.

A moan. Another followed.

I froze, every nerve on edge, heart hammering in my chest. Drawn forward against my will, like a wounded wolf following the scent of blood, I crept toward the source. It came from the guest room. Her room. Maribel’s.

The door was ajar. Shadows moved within, bodies entangled, soft murmurs filling the space. My breath caught, and my knees threatened to buckle. I didn’t need to see more. I already knew the truth.

I bit my lip hard, tasting iron, as my body shook violently. I turned away before the scream tore from my throat.

Down the hall, my hands instinctively pressed against my stomach. Life pulsed there—fragile, tiny, pure. My baby. Our baby. And yet, even as I touched the small swell beneath my shirt, all I could think was how cruel the Moon Goddess must be, allowing a monster like Evander to father another life.

Tears traced paths down my cheeks as I whispered, voice breaking, “You’ll be safe, little one. I swear it… you will never live under his shadow.”

When the first rays of dawn spilled through the windows, I was still awake. My body ached from exhaustion, but I refused to rest—not while I still had to face him.

Evander entered the room, fully dressed, carrying the faint scent of soap and pinewood. Beneath it lingered her—the sickening trace of Maribel clinging to him. My stomach twisted.

“Kaela,” he said, clearing his throat as if trying to sound casual. “We need to talk.”

I met his gaze, keeping my voice calm despite the storm inside me. “About what?”

He hesitated, then spoke cautiously. “Maribel… needs the master’s bedroom.”

For a moment, comprehension eluded me. Then I blinked, staring at him. “Excuse me?”

“She’s pregnant,” he added, as if this were news to me, as if this explained everything. “She needs comfort. The master’s room… best view, softest bed…”

“And I’m supposed to move out?” My voice cut sharp, disbelief coloring every word.

He sighed impatiently, as if I were being unreasonable. “It’s temporary. Just until she gives birth. You should understand.”

“I understand perfectly,” I said, voice icy. “You want to make her comfortable while your Luna sleeps in the guest room.”

“Kaela, don’t make this harder than it is,” he said, rubbing his temples. “It’s for her health. I’m not a monster.”

I laughed hollowly. Not a monster. If only he knew how grotesque that sounded to me now.

I bit back the torrent of words I wanted to hurl at him. Not yet. Not until everything was in place.

So I forced a trembling smile and whispered, “Fine. Do what you want.”

He seemed satisfied, muttering something about calling the omegas to move furniture.

The moment the door clicked behind him, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “You already did what you wanted, Alpha,” I murmured to the empty room. “You just don’t know I’m done letting you.”

After breakfast, I noticed how rushed he was, glancing at the clock and pacing toward the door. Maribel called him from outside. My stomach twisted in anger.

I seized the moment. Approaching him with a stack of papers, I said, “Before you go, can you sign these?”

He barely looked at them. “What’s this?”

“Pack paperwork,” I lied smoothly. “Financial approvals for the upcoming quarter.”

He frowned. “Can’t this wait?”

“No,” I said firmly. “You’re the Alpha. The council won’t process anything without your signature.”

He groaned, irritation sharp. Snatching a pen, he muttered, “Fine. Make it quick.”

I held the papers steady as he signed the final one: the divorce decree—the document that would finally release me from him.

I smiled faintly when he handed it back. “Thank you.”

He didn’t notice the steel beneath my words as Maribel called again. He left, door closing behind him.

I grabbed my phone, dialing my lawyer immediately. “It’s done,” I said flatly. “He signed it.”

A pause, then a cautious voice. “Are you certain, Luna?”

“Yes,” I replied. “It’s over. File it now.”

For the first time in ages, I laughed—dark, broken, almost unrecognizable.

I sat at the edge of the bed, staring around a room that had once held love and loyalty. Now, it was a tomb of memories.

I resumed packing, each fold of fabric stripping away the remnants of a life I no longer wanted.

Then the door opened.

“Kaela?”

Her voice. Slowly, I turned. Maribel stood in the doorway, hand resting on the very stomach that carried my husband’s child—and my daughter’s heart.

“I wanted to help,” she said softly, stepping in.

I said nothing. She wandered toward the corner where Mira’s drawings and toys were kept, her little shrine intact.

“Don’t touch that,” I warned, voice low.

She ignored me, opening the cabinet doors. Her eyes caught the moonstone jar on the bottom shelf.

“What’s this?” she asked, reaching for it.

My chest tightened. “Maribel,” I snapped, sharper this time, “don’t touch that.”

But she lifted it anyway. “It’s so pretty…”

“That’s Mira’s ashes,” I hissed. “Put it down.”

Her eyes widened. For a fleeting second, I thought she might obey.

Then she gasped, faking a slip. “Oh—”

The jar slipped, hitting the floor with a dull crack before shattering, pale ash spilling across the carpet.

Time froze. The air left my lungs in a single, sharp rush.