Alpha's Regret: When I Want a Divorce

Lana's POV

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In the emergency room, the automated female voice sounded like a death knell. Cold. Mechanical. Final.

"Still no answer from your Alpha?"

The nurse tapped her tablet with an irritated rhythm. She was a Beta, her scent spiked with the sharp, burnt-coffee tang of a woman who had worked a double shift and had zero patience left for "human complications."

I lowered my phone, forcing a smile. "He's in a high-level board meeting. He doesn't like to be disturbed. Can I just sign for the procedure myself?"

The nurse grumbled about "poor wife" and "absentee mate" under her breath before thrusting a digital consent form toward me.

Seven calls. I had called Silas Vane seven times.

Seven times I had reached out to my husband-the billionaire Alpha of the Silver Ridge Pack, the man whose ring was a heavy, cold weight on my finger-and all I got was a mechanical rejection.

From the first day of our marriage, I knew my husband would never be mine to call.

He ran a publicly traded company.

Even his own family had to go through his secretary just to see him.

How could I expect anything more-an unloved wife?

Still, I called him seven times.

He had to know it was an emergency.

Three years of frustration, disappointment, and heartbreak crashed into me all at once.

Was it finally time to give up?

Ding.

A text message vibrated against my thigh. My heart did a pathetic, desperate little leap. Please let it be him. Please let him ask if I'm okay.

I pulled the phone out with my uninjured hand. It wasn't Silas. It was an unknown number.. a video file.

I opened it.

The footage was grainy, filmed in the dim, amber-soaked light of The Nocturne, the city's most upscale, restricted bar that didn't cater to the likes of me.

There he was. Silas Vane. My Alpha.

He looked devastating. He'd ditched his suit jacket, and his crisp white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the jagged edge of a tattoo on his collarbone, a mark of his lineage he had never let me touch.

He was sprawled on a velvet sofa, his long legs stretched out with a raw, predatory power that made every Omega in the room instinctively tilt their necks in submission.

But his eyes-those gold, terrifyingly beautiful eyes-were fixed on the woman draped over his arm.

Celine Thorne.

The Beta who had been his first love. The woman he'd been forced to leave behind three years ago when his family's dying patriarch demanded he marry me to save the Vane name.

Celine leaned into him, her vintage silk dress sliding off one shoulder, her flawless skin shimmering in the club lights.

The crowd around them erupted in cheers, someone calling for a toast. And someone cheered them on to kiss. Silas didn't pull away.

He didn't move an inch to reclaim his space. Instead, a dark, flirtatious smirk played on his lips.

It was a look he had never, not once, wasted on me, as he raised a glass of amber liquid to her.

The video cut to black.

I gripped the phone so hard the fresh stitches in my palm throbbed with a sickening heat. No wonder he hadn't answered. He was too busy welcoming his "true mate" back to the pack. He was too busy celebrating the end of us.

My fingers trembled as I typed a message with my one good hand, the words blurring through the unshed tears I refused to let fall.

[No need to hide from me anymore.]

[I agree to the divorce.]

[I'll be at the lawyer's office tomorrow at 10 AM.]

[Bring your seal.]

[Don't be late]

These days, most modern werewolves don't chase fated mates anymore.

Most choose their mates.

Some wolves never meet their fated mate in a lifetime.

Some don't care if they have one at all.

Some even despise the idea of a lifetime decided for them by the Moon Goddess.

Silas Vane was the latter.

He loved Celine Thorne deeply, and they promised each other they would reject their fated mate.

But his parents were traditionalists, convinced a fated mate was what was best for him.

And the powerful aunt who ruled warned: if Silas Vane dared to refuse, he would be disowned.

His company, his fortune, his reputation - all gone.

When they used their power to search the entire city and found me: the one with a 100% match to their son, they forced him to marry me.

The first time I met Silas Vane,

I felt his hatred long before the mate bond could pull me in.

But I had no choice back then.

My grandfather had cancer, with a last wish unfulfilled.

His treatment cost a million per shot.

I had no other way out but to agree to his aunt's demand - to marry him.

For three years, I had played the perfect Luna. I had cooked his meals, managed his PR, and endured his silence.

What he didn't know was this: the reason his parents had forced him to marry his 100% compatible fated mate wasn't just for the family.

It was for him.

He'd been born with a sickness.

A 100% compatible alpha and luna?

It wasn't just about the family's legacy.

It was about keeping him alive.

Suddenly, my phone rang. The screen flashed: ALPHA VANE.

My brain screamed at me to ignore it. To throw the phone against the ER wall.

But the bond which was the thin, fraying, one-sided connection we shared, made my thumb swipe "Accept" before I could stop it.

"Hello?" I whispered, my voice sounding small and brittle.

"Lana? It's Celine." The voice on the other end was smooth, like honey poured over thorns.

"Silas is completely drunk at The Nocturne. You should probably come pick him up before he does something... regrettable."

The line went dead.

She was marking her territory. She wanted me to see them together. She wanted me to know that even though I held the title, she held the man.

"To hell with both of them," I hissed.

I didn't want to go. Every cell in my body wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

But if he spent the night in her bed, he'd miss ten o'clock and "forget" the signing tomorrow.

I couldn't stay in that gilded cage for one more second.

He had to come home tonight.

When I arrived at the club, I tore the medical bandage off my hand.

The wound was raw, but I refused to look like a victim.

I walked into the VIP lounge seeing Celine was glowing, leaning into Silas's neck, her scent, sweet jasmine and victory, filling the air.

While for me, wearing my pajamas under a trench coat. I looked like a discarded housewife.

"Mrs. Vane!" Celine chirped, pulling back with a performance of "accidental" guilt.

"Please, don't be upset. Silas just had a couple too many drinks. I was just helping him stay upright. You know how he gets when he's celebrating."

The scent of her perfume was cloying, suffocating.

"Don't bother apologizing to her, Celine," a voice sneered. It was Mara, Celine's sister.

"Everyone knows the Alpha hates being tethered to a human fluke like her. If it weren't for that contract, you'd be the one carrying his heirs by now."

Laughter rippled through the lounge, sharp and jagged as the glass that had cut my hand.

Silas remained slumped in his seat, his eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to the insults being hurled at his wife.

I felt a coldness wash over me-the kind of cold that only comes when you truly have nothing left to lose. I looked Mara dead in the eye, my gaze unfaltering.

"You're right, Mara," I said, my voice cutting through the laughter like a blade. "He might hate me. He might even loathe the ground I walk on.

But until 10:00 a.m. tomorrow, I am still the Luna of this pack. I am still the woman who sits at the head of the table. And as for heirs..."

I turned my gaze to Celine, letting it linger on her pale, triumphant face.

"You should ask Silas if he's even capable of marking a Beta. Or has he forgotten who actually saved his life while his sweetheart was hiding in Europe, waiting for him to either die or get rich?"

The room went deathly silent. The music seemed to fade into the background. Celine's face drained of color.

I reached down, grabbing Silas's heavy, warm arm. His skin was burning, the Alpha heat radiating off him in waves.

"Wake up, Silas," I hissed into his ear, my voice trembling with a mix of fury and heartbreak.

"One last job as my husband. Drag yourself home so you can sign those papers. Then, and only then, you're hers."

The moment my fingertips finally brushed the skin just enough to wake him-

Someone yanked my shoulder back, hard.

Lana's POV

I ignored the person's tugging.

I didn't give the two Thorne sisters another glance.

I stepped toward Silas, my shadow lengthening under the club's rhythmic, pulsing strobe lights.

I leaned down, and for a second, the world narrowed to the scent of him-expensive bourbon, cedarwood, and the sharp electricity of forest rain.

By ten tomorrow, the scent will be gone from my life forever.

And the thought of it made my chest ache.

"Silas," I said, my voice low, cutting through the bass of the music.

He didn't move. His breathing was heavy, rhythmic, his long eyelashes casting shadows over his cheekbones.

He looked like an angel, beautiful and untouchable.

"You call yourself his wife, Lana? "

"You're nothing but his overeager nanny. "

"Silas can't stand you, and you still cling on."

The VIP lounge erupted. The people around us jeered openly.

A Gamma chuckled, swirling his glass. "I heard she's been hand-delivering TEA to Silas for three years. Like a faithful little hound waiting for a scrap of attention."

"She's practically a groupie with a marriage license," another added, followed by a chorus of barking laughter.

I ignored them. I turned my gaze directly to Celine Thorne. She sat there like a queen, watching me with a smug, polished pity.

"Tell me, Celine," I said, my voice projecting with a sudden, icy clarity.

"An ARTIST like you-graduated from the Paris Fine Arts Institute-how much do you even make now? One hundred thousand a painting? Maybe?"

Celine stiffened, her elegant mask of superiority slipping for a fraction of a second. "What the hell does that have to do with anything, Lana?"

"And you, Mara," I looked at the younger sister, who was already baring her teeth. "How much do you pull from that trust fund each month? Two hundred thousand?"

Mara crossed her arms, her eyes flashing a dangerous amber. "It's none of your goddamn business, human."

"It's just curiosity," I said, a cold, jagged smile touching my lips.

"I wanted to see if 'Noble Shifters' actually get as much pocket money as a lowly 'nanny.' Because Silas pays me a million a month just to exist. And I have full access to the Vane Black Card. No limit. No questions asked."

The room went deathly silent. The laughter died in their throats, replaced by the suffocating scent of envy.

I saw the flash of pure, unadulterated greed in Celine's eyes-the realization that the "human fluke" had been sitting on a throne of gold while she was abroad.

I signaled the head waiter, who was hovering nervously at the edge of the pit.

"The tab for this entire room is on me tonight. Give them the vintage labels. Drink up, everyone. If the bill is under a million by closing, you're insulting the Alpha of Silver Ridge."

I didn't wait for a response. I didn't care about the money; it was Silas's anyway, and I was done being the only one who felt the cost of our marriage.

With the help of the club's security-who were much more respectful now that I'd probably spent more in one night than they made in a year.-I hauled Silas's heavy, muscular frame toward the car.

The drive to the Vane Estate was a blur of rain and silence. Once inside the marble foyer, I heaved him onto the oversized leather sofa in the library.

I was sweating, my injured hand throbbing with a rhythmic, stabbing heat.

The moment his back hit the cushions, Silas's eyes snapped open.

The gold glow of his wolf was absent, replaced by a human frost so cold it could have withered a forest in mid-summer.

He sat up with a predatory grace that suggested he hadn't lost a single ounce of coordination to the alcohol.

He hadn't been drunk. Not even close. He had been awake for every insult, every mocking laugh, and every second of my public humiliation.

He had let them tear me down just to see if I'd finally break.

"Want some tea?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. My voice was raspy, exhausted.

Silas sneered, his lip curling in a way that made my stomach twist. "I thought you said you were done playing servant, Lana. Or did the audience at the club make you miss the spotlight?"

"I'm asking about the Hangover Tea," I said flatly, ignoring the sting of his words.

He hated the taste. He called it "human sludge" and "bitter filth."

He had no idea that for three years, I had been painstakingly filtering the slow-acting silver poison from his blood-a toxin meant to leave the Great Alpha Vane sterile, weak, and eventually, dead.

His aunt had paid me a million a month to save his lineage, a secret I had carried like a lead weight.

Only a month ago, I had spent twenty-four million of my own accumulated savings at an underground alchemical auction for a Century-Blood Root.

It was currently circulating in his system, mending the final fractures in his DNA, making him stronger than he had ever been.

"All you ever fucking talk about is your 'tea,'" Silas growled. He stood up, looming over me, his Alpha aura expanding until the air in the room felt thick and suffocating.

"Is that all you have to offer? Domesticity and silence? You're like some broken-record housewife."

"Let's talk about the divorce then," I countered, stepping back to catch my breath. "You saw the message. 10:00 AM tomorrow. Don't let your Beta secretary schedule any meetings. I want this finished."

Silas didn't answer. His gaze darkened, his pupils blowing wide until his eyes were two pools of obsidian.

"I'm sorry I occupied Celine's place for three years," I whispered, the pain finally breaking through my armor, making my eyes sting.

"I know you felt trapped. Just bear with it one more night, Silas. Then you're free to be with your love."

"Are you making room for me?" Silas stepped into my personal space, his voice a dangerous, vibrating rumble in his chest.

"Or are you making room for yourself? Now that the old woman who paid you is dead, you're looking for a higher bidder, aren't you? A human who sells her soul for a monthly check... I wonder who you've already lined up to fill the vacancy in your bed."

The words were pure poison. I had spent every cent I had on his survival-on my grandfather's cancer treatments and the rare herbs that made Silas the powerful Alpha he was today. And he thought I was just a gold-digger looking for a new mark.

"If that's what you want to believe, Silas, I won't stop you. " I turned to walk away, my legs shaking.

"I'm not done with you."

His hand shot out, catching my wrist with the speed of a striking cobra. With a violent, effortless tug, he pulled me back onto the sofa, pinning me beneath the crushing weight of his massive frame. He smelled of bourbon, heat, and a dark, terrifying rage.

"Lana," he hissed, his face inches from mine, his breath hot against my lips. "You've been the Alpha's wife for three years, and you haven't fulfilled a single 'marital' duty. Not once. Did you really think the Vane family was a goddamn charity? I want to see if a woman worth a million a month is actually made of gold, or if you're just as hollow as you look."

Before I could scream, before I could remind him that he was the one who had refused to touch me for years, his mouth crushed against mine.

It wasn't a kiss; it was a claim. It was a declaration of war.

I fought him at first, my good hand scratching at his shoulders, my injured hand screaming in protest as I tried to push his heavy chest away.

But then, a thought hit me like a cold wave. The toxin. If this happened, the transfer would finally be complete. He would be 100% cured, and I would be free.

Freedom, hum.

A rejected human ex-luna, no family, no money-

His hands were sliding up my waist like he owned me. His breath was hot against my neck.

He kissed harder, like he was trying to wake something in me, "Lana...", he was devouring my mouth.

I didn't move, just let him press me into the sheets.

I kissed him back. My sense of reason vanished.

I wanted him to mark me, to sink his teeth into my neck.

Let me have this. The reward for three years of longing. Even if it was the first and last time.

His kiss deepened-hotter now, more demanding. His hands grabbed my nipples with a slow, possessive certainty that made my thoughts blur at the edges.

Just when I was slipping-when my resistance finally started to melt and I let myself fall into him-

His voice broke against my skin, rough and low, almost intimate enough to feel like it didn't belong in the real world.

"Lana. don't divorce me."

For a heartbeat, I froze.

Lana's POV

The morning didn't greet me with sunlight or the gentle chirping of birds. It arrived as a jagged, shrill intrusion, the villa's landline screaming from the bedside table like a physical assault.

I tried to move, and my entire body revolted. A dull, heavy throb pulsed between my thighs, a constant, stinging reminder of Silas's "claim" from the night before. My muscles felt like they had been dismantled and put back together by someone who didn't know where the parts went.

I fumbled for the receiver, my bandaged hand clumsy and stiff. "Who... who is it?"

My voice was a shredded, unrecognizable mess. It sounded like I'd spent the night screaming into a void. Which, in a way, I had.

"Lana? Goddess, you sound like absolute shit. Did you spend the night howling at a blood moon, or are you actually dying?"

Maya. My best friend, a firebrand Gamma who had once tried to fight a Pack Enforcer over a parking spot. Her voice was the only thing that could pierce through the fog of my exhaustion.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and for a split second, I was back on that leather sofa. I could feel Silas's heavy frame pinning me down, his mouth crushing mine, his fingers digging into my hips as he vented three years of repressed rage and misplaced disgust into my body.

"Just a cold, Maya," I lied, my voice cracking. "I'm fine. What's up?"

"What's up? Lana, are you high? We were supposed to celebrate your Freedom Day! I've been sitting at The Obsidian Grill for two hours. I've been paging your link, but your phone is dead. I thought maybe you'd chickened out and decided to stay with that prick."

I sat bolt upright, ignoring the searing protest of my bruised core. I glanced at the digital clock on the dresser.

11:00 AM.

The world seemed to tilt. I was an hour late for the divorce signing. My heart hammered against my ribs, frantic and loud.

I scanned the master suite, but it was hollow. Silas was gone. The air in the room was cold and sterile, smelling of nothing but expensive laundry detergent and wood polish.

No scent of forest rain or cedarwood lingered. It was as if he had never been there at all-as if the war we waged on that sofa was just a fever dream I had conjured.

That absolute bastard. He had exhausted me until I couldn't keep my eyes open, and then he had walked out, leaving me to sleep through the most important appointment of my life.

He wanted me to look like the failure. He wanted to hold all the power, forever.

"I have to go," I whispered to Maya. "I'll meet you at the restaurant in thirty minutes. Don't leave."

The Obsidian Grill

The restaurant was a cathedral of glass and black marble, a place where the city's most powerful came to flaunt their wealth. I felt like a smudge on a masterpiece as I slid into the booth across from Maya.

My trench coat was buttoned to the chin to hide the dark, purple blossoms Silas had left on my neck, and my hair was pulled into a tight, severe bun.

"He's a monster. A literal, cold-blooded, narcissistic monster," Maya hissed, her eyes fixated on the fresh, white bandages on my right hand.

I'd told her a truncated version of the ER trip-the glass, the insomnia-but I'd skipped the part where my husband treated me like a combat dummy.

"Maya, keep your voice down," I murmured, staring into my untouched salad.

"I will not! He ignores your emergency calls, he parades that Botoxed Beta mistress Celine in your face at the club, and then he lets his pack of sycophants treat you like a goddamn servant? Lana, if you don't sign those papers today, I will shift right here and bite his throat out. I don't care if he's a Billionaire Alpha. He's a piece of shit."

The restaurant was quiet enough that her voice echoed. Several shifters at nearby tables turned their heads, their eyes gleaming with interest.

"Maya, please. People are looking."

"Let them look! The whole pack knows anyway. You've spent three years being a glorified nanny to that ungrateful wolf. And now what? You missed the hearing because you overslept? Lana..." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous, inquisitive hum. "Did you two actually... you know... before the divorce? Did he finally break the celibacy streak?"

I looked down at my plate, my face heating up until I felt like I was glowing. I couldn't lie to her, but I couldn't find the words for the truth either. "Is it a crime? To have... goodbye sex?"

A sharp, masculine bark of laughter erupted from directly behind me.

The sound was like a physical blow. I froze. The air around the table suddenly changed-dropping ten degrees and vibrating with the heavy, suffocating pressure of an Alpha's presence.

I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. The scent of cedarwood and ozone hit me like a tidal wave.

I turned slowly.

Silas was standing there, looking impeccably groomed in a charcoal-grey suit that cost more than my entire apothecary would.

He looked rested, powerful, and utterly unfazed by the night he had put me through. Beside him stood Julian Vane, his cousin, who was currently wearing a grin that promised trouble.

And, of course, Celine Thorne was tucked under Silas's wing.

She looked radiant in a cream-colored silk dress, but as her eyes met mine, I saw a flicker of something dark. Her aristocratic mask was twitching.

She had clearly heard Maya. She knew. She knew that Silas hadn't spent the night celebrating her return in her bed-he had spent it in mine.

For someone who claimed to be his soulmate, the realization that he'd lost control with a "human" was a visible, stinging blow to her pride.

Julian, ever the instigator, stepped forward, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"Goodbye sex, huh? Sounds interesting. How did the great Silas Vane perform? Did you enjoy it?"

The restaurant went silent. Even the clinking of silverware stopped.

I felt Silas's eyes burning into me-gold, predatory, and promising a world of pain if I said the wrong thing.

He stood there with his arms crossed, his posture radiating a smug, dominant confidence. He expected me to blush.

He expected me to stammer and hide my face in my hands like the submissive little wife I'd been for three years.

He wanted me to cower.

I took a slow sip of my water, my hand trembling slightly, but my gaze remained fixed on the table. Then, I looked up.

I didn't look at Celine. I didn't look at Julian. I looked Silas Vane straight in those golden eyes.

I shrugged, my expression one of bored indifference.

"It was... alright," I said, my voice projecting clearly through the room. "A bit mechanical, to be honest. Maybe he's just out of practice. Or maybe the hype didn't quite match the reality."

The silence that followed was so thick you could have cut it with a silver blade.

Julian's jaw literally dropped. Maya let out a muffled sound that was either a sob or a laugh. Behind us, a group of Omegas gasped.

No one-absolutely no one-evaluated a True Alpha's performance as "alright." It was more than an insult; it was a challenge to his core identity.

I had just treated the most powerful man in the state like a mediocre Yelp review for a two-star hotel.

Silas's face didn't move, but I saw the exact moment his control snapped. His jaw tightened so hard I heard the bone click, and a low, guttural growl vibrated deep in his chest.

His Alpha aura flared, a crushing weight that made the surrounding shifters instinctively bow their heads or look away. He looked like he wanted to shift right there and tear the restaurant-and me-into pieces.

The submissive, quiet, "nanny" Lana he had known for three years was dead. And I think he realized in that moment that he was the one who had killed her the night before.

"Three o'clock," Silas growled, the sound vibrating through the floorboards and up into my feet. "At the lawyer's office. Don't be late again, Lana. Or I'll find a way to make the 'goodbye' even more... mechanical. I promise you won't like the results."

He didn't wait for a reply. He turned on his heel and strode away, his heavy coat billowing behind him like a dark cloud. Celine scrambled to keep up, her heels clicking frantically on the marble, but before she turned the corner, she threw a look of pure, murderous hatred over her shoulder.

"Holy shit," Maya whispered, her eyes wide as dinner plates. "Lana... you're a goddamn legend. You just told the strongest Alpha in the Northern Hemisphere that he was 'okay' in bed. I think I'm in love with you."

I finally picked up my fork, my appetite returning for the first time in weeks. My body still ached, and my heart was still heavy with the silver-rot I was carrying for him, but for the first time in three years, I felt like I was winning.

"Three o'clock," I said, stabbing a piece of lettuce. "I'm going to be there early. I wouldn't miss his signature for anything in the world."

"And one more thing, Lana." Maya leaned back in her chair, watching me carefully. "Now that you're about to be single again, there's something I should probably tell you."

She paused just long enough to make my stomach tighten.

"Someone's been asking about you."