Chapter 2 I Want A Divorce

SOPHIA'S POV

THREE DAYS LATER

I stood before the bathroom sink, staring at three pregnancy tests.

Two lines. Two lines. Two lines.

Each one clearly displayed the same result.

Pregnant.

I was actually pregnant.

My trembling fingers picked up the first stick, then the second, then the third. I checked them over and over, hoping I was mistaken, but reality offered no escape.

How could this be? I had just resolved to leave, hadn't even begun to make arrangements, and fate played this cruel joke.

What was I supposed to do?

This child shouldn't exist. Not now. Not at the very moment I decided to escape.

My hand drifted to my lower abdomen. It was still flat, but I knew a new life was quietly taking root. If it was a son, I'd be forced to stay, only to die in some "unfortunate accident" after childbirth, clearing the way for Tiffany to take over.

If it was a daughter, I'd become a laughingstock once more-the failure who "produced two useless girls in a row."

Either way, this child would be my cage.

"Sophia!"

Helen's shrill voice cut through the door.

I snapped back to the present, frantically shoving all three tests into my coat pocket. My heart hammered against my ribs, my palms were slick with cold sweat.

Bang!

The door was thrown open violently.

Helen stormed in like a hurricane, the head housekeeper and two maids trailing behind her. Her face was alight with impatience, her eyes gleaming with a sick excitement.

"Well?"

Everyone knew this was the time of the month for the test.

The housekeeper knew. The maids knew. The cook probably knew. Even the pack's young pups likely knew.

My cycle, my ovulation, my fertile window-these intimate details were public knowledge within the pack. No one had ever considered my privacy. Not even my past self.

I took a deep breath, steadying my voice. "I-"

Before my prepared excuse could leave my lips, she shoved me aside and marched straight to the sink, snatching up the test strip I'd left there. She held it close to her eyes.

The next second-

Smack!

"Nothing again?!" She hurled the stick onto the marble floor, where it shattered into pieces.

"What good are you?!"

I watched her rage in silence.

"Do you think silence is enough? Ten years! A full decade!" Helen's voice climbed higher, sharper. "What have you brought this family besides one useless girl? Do you know what the pack says about you?"

"No, but I'm sure you're eager to tell me," I replied calmly.

Helen faltered, clearly taken aback by my response.

"They say you're barren," she spat venomously. "That you're a curse. That because of you, Damian's authority is undermined! He should have rejected you from the start! He should have married Tiffany!"

"Then perhaps they're right," I said, lifting my head to meet her gaze.

The air in the room froze.

"What?" Helen's voice became a shriek.

"I said, perhaps they're right. Perhaps I am a curse," I repeated, each word deliberate. I took two steps forward, my face shadowed. "So, it's best you don't provoke me. Or you'll learn the consequences."

The two maids gasped in horror. The housekeeper's face paled. Helen's face flushed crimson. She pointed a trembling finger at me, speechless with rage.

"You... you..."

Ignoring her stammering, I continued, "And I know you prefer Tiffany. Damian loves her more. I'll be leaving soon. Let her bear your heir."

"That is your duty! Not hers!" Helen roared. "The Moon Goddess matched you with Damian! It is your obligation to bear his children! You will keep bearing them until you produce a son!"

"The Moon Goddess?" I laughed, the sound dripping with bitterness. "The Moon Goddess commands me to breed but grants me no real marriage? Makes me Luna but denies me basic respect? What kind of deity is that?"

"Silence! How dare you blaspheme!"

Crack!

A sharp slap landed across my face.

Pain exploded from my cheek. My head snapped to the side, ears ringing. I could even taste blood in the corner of my mouth.

"You ungrateful wretch!" Helen's voice shook. "It was my son who gave you the title of Luna! Who gave you status and wealth! And you dare complain!"

Slowly, I turned my head back, running my tongue over the cut on my lip.

Ten years. How many times had I been struck in these ten years? I'd lost count.

Every single time, I'd bowed my head, apologized, endured, told myself everything would be fine once I produced an heir. But not this time. I wouldn't endure it anymore.

I raised my hand.

This time, I would fight back.

"Sophia!"

A hand shot out and clamped around my wrist, the grip so tight it hurt.

Damian stood there, having appeared out of nowhere. His Alpha presence instantly dominated the room.

Everyone bowed their heads, holding their breath.

If this were the old me, I would have done the same. But the me now no longer cared.

"Let go of me," I said coldly.

"Have you lost your mind?" Damian stared at me, his gaze icy. "Raising a hand against Mother?"

"She hit me first!" I pointed to my swollen cheek. "Are you blind?"

Damian's eyes flickered over my face, lingering on the vivid handprint for less than a second before moving away.

"You disrespected her first," he stated flatly.

I froze.

That sentence proved it. He had seen Helen strike me. And he didn't care.

"Apologize to Mother," he commanded.

"Why should I?"

"Because she is an elder. The former Luna," Damian's tone was one of simple fact. "You will show respect."

"And what about me?" I heard my voice tremble. "I am the current Luna. Who respects me?"

Damian frowned, as if the question were absurd.

"Sophia, don't be difficult."

He released my wrist. His gaze dropped to the shattered pregnancy test on the floor.

A flicker of disappointment and disgust passed through his eyes. The look one gives a defective product, a failed investment. But he said nothing.

He stepped past me toward the housekeeper standing by the door. He took an insulated food carrier from him.

"Is it ready?"

"Yes, Alpha," the housekeeper replied respectfully. "All Miss Tiffany's favorite French dishes."

So that was it. That was why he'd come back.

Not for the test results. Not even for pack business.

He'd returned to fetch Tiffany's favorite meal.

If Helen didn't also favor this chef's cooking, and a replacement couldn't be found, I had no doubt Damian would have taken our personal chef with him, just so Tiffany could have the finest food every day.

I stood there, watching him carefully cradle the carrier, a trace of softness even touching his lips.

How long had it been since I'd seen that softness?

Five years? Ten?

I couldn't even remember.

"Damian..." Helen began.

"Mother, I must go. Tiffany is waiting," Damian cut her off, turning to leave.

"Damian," I called out.

He turned back impatiently. "What now?"

"We should sever the bond. I want a divorce."

When I said it, everything felt calmer than I'd imagined.

The air in the room solidified.

The housekeeper stood rigid. The two maids gasped into their hands. Helen's face drained of color.

Damian turned fully, his eyes fixed on me. There was no shock in his gaze, only annoyance.

"A new game? I don't have time for this," he said, as if dealing with a minor nuisance. "Tiffany is hungry. She's waiting for me."

And with that, he actually left.

His footsteps faded down the hall, followed by the sound of the door opening, closing, and a car engine starting.

He was gone.

I asked for a divorce, and he said, "Tiffany is hungry."

Our ten-year marriage weighed less than one of Tiffany's meals.

I stood rooted to the spot, and suddenly, I began to laugh.

The sound echoed in the silent room, bordering on hysterical.

"Have you gone mad?" Helen stared at me. "What are you laughing at?"

"I'm laughing at my own stupidity," I said, wiping nonexistent tears from the corner of my eye. "Ten years' worth of stupidity."

I turned and walked toward the door.

"You stop right there!" Helen shouted after me. "I did not dismiss you!"

But I didn't stop.

I couldn't stand another second in that room. I couldn't bear to see Helen's contorted face, or breathe that suffocating air any longer.

I was leaving.

No longer waiting for Damian's permission. No longer heeding Helen's commands. No longer bound by pack law.

I would take Ashley. I would take the child in my womb. And I would leave this place forever.

I pushed open the door to the study.

This was where Damian handled pack affairs, typically heavily guarded, but now it stood empty. He'd been in such a hurry to reach Tiffany that he hadn't even locked it.

I walked straight to his desk and pulled open a drawer.

Our marriage certificate, asset portfolios, pack accounting ledgers-all meticulously filed and organized. Damian was always thorough, precise.

I took out the documents I needed and spread them on the desk. Then I turned on the computer and began drafting the divorce petition.

Assets. Custody. Terms.

I listed them one by one, each clause born from a decade of humiliation and quiet fury.

Finally, at the end, I added one more line:

[This agreement shall take effect immediately upon signing. No revocation permitted.]

With the final word typed, I took a deep breath and hit print.

The printer hummed softly, spitting out page after page. I gathered them, collated the documents, and slid them into a folder.

Now, I needed to find Ashley.

My daughter. The daughter I hadn't seen for so long.

It had been three months since Damian moved her to his private residence. He said the environment there was better for nurturing a future Alpha female, that my quarters were too oppressive, that I would hinder her growth.But I knew the real reason. He wanted to keep Ashley away from me. To give Tiffany more chances to get close, to replace me in my daughter's heart.

I tucked the folder under my arm, stood up, and took one last look around the room.

This room I was never permitted to enter. This room that symbolized Damian's power and status. This room that once filled me with awe.

Now, I only felt the urgent need to leave.

I was going to see my daughter. To tell her we were leaving.

We were starting a new life.