Chapter 3 3

Gemma POV

The heavy oak doors of the Alpha's office loomed before me, a physical barrier to my freedom. I pushed them open, stepping into the sprawling, glass-walled sanctuary that overlooked the entire Blackwood Pack territory. The air inside was suffocating, thick with Dallas's overwhelming scent-cedarwood, cold steel, and the biting chill of a snowstorm.

Dallas sat behind his massive black walnut desk, his attention fixed on a glowing monitor. He didn't even look up.

My hands trembled, but my resolve was forged in the fires of the Bond-Rejection Sickness tearing through my abdomen. I walked forward and placed the folded piece of heavy parchment directly over his keyboard.

He finally paused, his ice-blue eyes dropping to the paper. "What is this, Gemma? I don't have time for your tantrums."

"Read it," I said, my voice surprisingly steady.

With an irritated sigh, he flicked the paper open. I watched his eyes scan the handwritten words, following the ancient Pack laws of severance. *I, Gemma Hart, reject you, Dallas Blackwood, as my mate...*

A cruel, humorless laugh erupted from his chest. He leaned back, tossing the paper onto the desk as if it were a child's drawing. "A rejection?" He sneered, his gaze raking over me with absolute disdain. "You are a wolfless Omega from a fallen Pack. Without the Blackwood name, you are nothing. Where exactly do you think you're going to go?"

"I don't want anything," I replied, my nails digging into my palms. "No money, no title. I just want to leave."

Dallas's amusement vanished, replaced by a dark, possessive fury. He stood up, his massive frame casting a shadow over me. "You don't get to leave. You are my Mate. It is a lifelong contract, and we have the Northern Alliance summit next month. I will not have my Pack look weak because my wife decided to play the victim."

He snatched the parchment from the desk and walked over to the corner of the room. The low, mechanical hum of the modern shredder purred to life.

"Dallas, no-"

He fed the sacred document into the machine. The sharp blades chewed through the paper, the violent sound shredding the last fragile thread of hope I had clung to.

"It's done," Dallas said coldly, turning back to me. His eyes flashed a dangerous, glowing gold. The air in the room grew impossibly heavy, pressing down on my shoulders, forcing the breath from my lungs. He was using his Alpha's Command.

"Go back to the estate," his voice vibrated with an unnatural, compelling power that my wolfless body couldn't fight. "Prepare your dress for Friday's gala. And do not ever try a stupid stunt like this again."

My knees shook under the weight of his aura. He had just destroyed a sacred rite to protect his PR image. He didn't see a mate; he saw a piece of furniture he owned.

I turned toward the door, my body moving on autopilot under his Command. But just before I crossed the threshold, I paused.

"You can shred the paper, Dallas," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the hum of the AC, "but you can't shred the words spoken to the Moon Goddess."

He didn't answer. He was already back at his computer, dismissing me entirely.

The heavy doors clicked shut behind me. I made it ten steps down the wide, dead-silent corridor before my legs gave out. I slid down the freezing black marble wall, gasping for air. Above me, the painted portraits of past Blackwood Alphas stared down, their painted eyes mocking my pathetic existence.

A fresh wave of Bond-Rejection Sickness ripped through my chest, so violent I tasted copper. But beneath the agonizing pain, something else ignited. A spark. A burning, consuming rage.

Dallas thought he had won. He thought his Command and his shredder made him a god.

My hands shook violently as I pulled my phone from my pocket. I couldn't fight an Alpha alone. I needed a weapon. I needed an ally.

I opened my contacts. My thumb hovered over Eleanor Blackwood's name-the Luna Mother who only cared about the Pack's pristine image. I swiped past her without hesitation.

I stopped at the only name left. The only Blackwood who hated Dallas's tyranny as much as I did.

I pressed dial and brought the phone to my ear. It rang twice before a cautious voice answered.

"Gemma?"

I closed my eyes, letting the cold marble ground me. "Clark... I need a favor. A real one."