Three years after the divorce, the Alpha King reunited with his ex-wife. He stared at her, tears falling. “Where are our twins, Isla?”

Fireworks for Someone Else

Isla

I lit the last candle and watched the flame catch like a secret. Everything was in place; the only thing missing was my husband. A bottle of red wine breathed on the counter the way I used to breathe when Kade kissed down my throat and told me I was safe—told me he loved me. It’s ridiculous, craving that on an anniversary. But I did.

I wanted him back. Not the Alpha who sat on a throne made of meetings and territory maps and other people’s fear. Not the man who spoke in clipped sentences and looked through me like I was another problem to solve. I wanted my husband.

I went to the bedroom, put on a black lace over skin-painted silk, and fastened a soft leather collar at my throat. He used to hook his thumb under my chin and say, "Mine," in a way that made my knees weak. I added cuffs, a garter, the blindfold laid out like a promise, and a small velvet bag that had made me blush in the store and feel brave at home.

Pathetic how love could turn a wolf-girl into a hopeful little fool. I checked the time again.

9:03 p.m. Kade had promised he’d be home by eight.

I told myself not to overthink it. Alphas were busy. Kings were worse. Crimson Pack ran like a city with teeth, and people called him Alpha King like it was carved into his bones, like he didn’t bleed the way the rest of us did.

But he did bleed. I’d seen it. I’d stitched him once, two years into our marriage, when the Wandering Wolves tested Crimson’s borders and he came home at dawn with blood dried like rust along his ribs. I’d been shaking, furious and terrified, and he’d let me yell while I cleaned the wound, but then when he cupped my face, smoothed my hair away from my eyes, and whispered, You’re allowed to be afraid. You’re allowed to be angry. I’m still here.

Still here?

Where was he now?

My phone buzzed against the counter. A message from one of the Omegas in the main house: The council ended early. Alpha left half an hour ago.

Relief washed through me so hard my eyes stung. Then another buzz. A notification.

JUNO_LIVESS has started a live video.

Juno was one of those shameless social butterflies who could turn anything into content, pack training bloopers, gossip, “Day in the Life of an Omega Assistant,” and once, a ridiculous “Ranking Alpha Smirks” video that had me laughing so hard I snorted.

I didn’t even mean to tap it, but my thumb did it by itself.

The screen filled with neon lights, and everyone seemed happy. There was a carousel, a Ferris wheel, and music thumping in the background. Juno’s face dominated the frame with her eyes glittering and cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Oh my god, you guys,” she squealed, swinging the camera. “I’m not even supposed to be here, but someone rented out the entire park, and I swear I will never shut up about it.”

The camera caught a sign: CLOSED FOR PRIVATE EVENT.

My stomach tightened. Private events weren’t unusual for Crimson Pack. Kade did them for charity sometimes. And also for injured pack members and for political allies he needed to impress.

The camera swung again, and the fireworks started, white and crimson bursting over the dark like flowers made of fire.

Juno shrieked. “Okay, okay, wait. I have to show you who this is for.”

She pushed through a crowd. The live chat exploded with hearts and comments I couldn’t read fast enough.

Then the camera found a woman standing under the fireworks, laughing with her head tipped back like she’d never had to carry grief in her mouth. Long dark hair and a sleek dress that shimmered like oil on water.

Her arm was around a little boy, maybe five or six, who clutched a bright balloon and bounced on his toes, and beside them—Kade.

My husband in a dark coat, jaw sharp, posture imposing even in a place built for play. He looked like he didn’t belong under carnival lights, except he did, because he was smiling. An actual smile, not the thin, polite smile he offered outsiders. Not the half-smirk he gave council members when they annoyed him. A real smile, soft at the edges, boyish in a way I hadn’t seen in months.

Juno zoomed in so hard I could see Kade’s hand on the boy’s head, steadying him, fingers splayed like a blessing.

The woman leaned into Kade and said something I couldn’t hear over the fireworks.

Kade laughed. Kade never laughed.

The sound didn’t reach me, but I could see it in the movement of his mouth, in the way his shoulders loosened. Like he wasn’t carrying the world. Like he was, God, like he was home.

Juno whispered dramatically, “You didn’t hear it from me, but… this is Mara Voss’s birthday, and—” She swung the camera to the boy. “This is Luca. Isn’t he adorable? Look at him!”

The boy waved at the camera with a sticky hand, frosting smeared on his cheek.

The woman, Mara, held up a mixing bowl. There was a table set up nearby with ingredients and a giant cake tin. In the background, staff wore party hats. A banner fluttered: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARA!

Kade lifted the boy, whom now I know to be Luca, up onto his hip like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like he’d done it a thousand times. The live chat screamed. My phone slipped in my hand. I caught it before it hit the counter. I couldn’t breathe.

Kade never did grand gestures for me. Not like that. He’d given me protection, yes—he’d sheltered the scattered remnants of Blackthorn after the Wandering Wolves tore us apart. He’d taken my people in when our borders shrank, when our howl fell quiet, when our alpha, my father, aged ten years in one season.

The union had been “strategic,” everyone said. Some called it marriage for peace, while some called it marriage for shelter.

And still, I’d believed, like a fool that I was, that love grew anyway. Because there was love. There had to be. You couldn’t fake the way he used to look at me when he thought I wasn’t watching. You couldn’t fake the way he’d carried me across the threshold of our home, murmuring, No one touches what’s mine.

I stared at my screen until it blurred.

He Wanted Kids, Just Not With Me

Isla

Then Juno’s voice squealed again, “Oh! Okay, wait, wait, they’re doing the candle thing.”

The camera steadied on a cake; it was big, extravagant, frosted smooth, and pale. Mara leaned close to light the candles. Kade stood behind her, his hand on her waist, guiding her, and that made my skin crawl.

The boy clapped. “Mom, hurry!”

Mom?

My throat closed, and I got up from the bed and headed downstairs. Mara blew out the candles. Fireworks burst again, perfectly timed, raining light over their heads.

Juno laughed breathlessly. “Tell me this isn’t the cutest little family moment—”

Family?

I dropped the phone like it burned me. It clattered onto the counter. The live kept going, muffled, a distant echo of happiness I couldn’t understand.

My hands shook so hard I had to grip the edge of the sink. This had to be wrong.

Kade was dutiful. Kade was cold, yes, and distant lately, but he was not the type to betray me like this. He was the kind of Alpha who kept his word because his word was law.

He’d never been overly affectionate, but he’d always come home. He’d always slept beside me, even if he was too tired to touch. He’d always kissed my forehead like a promise. So I picked up my phone again.

And called him. The call rang three times. Then someone answered.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice. Her voice was warm, amused, and distracted.

My blood turned to ice.

“Mara?” I managed, though I didn’t know how the name came out of my mouth. Maybe my brain was trying to save me by making it a question. She didn't answer right away, then, lightly, as if I was someone inconveniently calling customer service: “Who is this?”

My hand clenched around the phone. “Where is Kade?”

Still no answer, and then I heard the laughter, the music, and fireworks in the distance.

She didn’t lower her voice. She didn’t have to.

“Kade?” she called, teasing, like she was calling a man from the other room in her house. “Someone’s on your phone.”

My world tilted.

Then a small voice, close to the receiver, bright and sure: “Dad! Dad, look! I got sprinkles!”

Dad?

My lungs forgot how to work.

I tried to speak. Tried to say, "This is his wife." Tried to say, "Give him the phone."

But the call ended.

I didn't get the explanation or the apology or that maybe it was a mistake. No mistake corrected. The screen stared back at me, calm and blank.

I stood there for a long moment, listening to the quiet of our home like it had teeth.

Then I turned off the stove. One knob. Then the next.

The meal I’d made, the one he liked, the one I’d learned in Crimson territory because the herbs grew differently here, went into the trash with a soft, wet thud.

I didn’t cry. No, I can't cry; it has to be a mistake. My mate loves me.

I walked through the house like a ghost and saw evidence of my love everywhere.

Curtains chosen, because Kade liked the way they softened the morning light. Plants he’d brought me after a council victory, awkwardly shoved into my arms like he didn’t know how to be tender but wanted to try.

Illustrations on the wall, wolves in ink, landscapes of Blackthorn’s forests, my attempt to keep my old home alive in this new place.

Our wedding photo, framed on the mantel. Kade’s hand on my waist. My smile is too bright. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes, his eyes had been on me, like I mattered.

Now, the symbols felt like a cruel joke. Like I’d built a shrine to a love that had never truly been mine to begin with.

The front door opened at 11:17 p.m. “Kade?”

He strode into the hallway, shrugging off his coat, his scent sweeping through the house—pine, smoke, and something sharp and clean that used to make my body relax.

His gaze found me. For a heartbeat, he softened. “Isla.” As if my name should fix what he’d broken.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and the words landed wrong. Too easy. “Plans changed. I’ll make it up to you.”

Plans changed. Our anniversary was a plan.

My throat burned. “Where were you?”

His jaw tightened, the first sign of irritation. “I had to handle something.”

“Something,” I echoed, tasting the word like poison. “Was it Mara?”

A flicker crossed his face, annoyance. The cold mask he wore for outsiders slid into place.

“I don’t have the patience for this tonight.”

“This?” My laugh cracked. “I called you. She answered.”

His eyes narrowed. “She had my phone.”

“And the child called you Dad.”

He froze. He didn't deny

My heart did something awful but kept beating anyway.

He stepped toward me and reached out, his fingers curling around my wrist, tugging gently like he thought I’d follow. Like I always followed. Like he believed I would never leave.

“Come to bed,” he said, in a low voice, commanding in that Alpha way. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I looked at his hand on my skin and felt… nothing.

Not warmth. Not longing. Not the familiar ache of wanting him.

Just disgust. I pulled away.

His brows drew together, confusion sharpening into annoyance. “Isla.”

“Don’t touch me.”

The words fell between us like a slap.

His gaze hardened. “You’re overreacting.”

I stared at him. “I set the table. I made your favorite meal. I—” My voice shook, and I hated that it did. “I waited for you, and I wore this! To impress you.”

“I said I’ll make it up to you.” He said it like love was a debt he could pay off with a gift. Like I was a problem he could manage.

“Do you even hear yourself?” I whispered.

His patience snapped. “You’re being unreasonable. You know what my life is like. You knew what you married.”

I flinched as if he’d hit me.

Because yes, I knew.

I’d married an Alpha King with a pack on his shoulders and blood on his hands and duty stitched into his spine. I’d married a man who saved my people when my home burned down, who gave Blackthorn’s scattered wolves a place to breathe again.

I’d married him because I loved him.

And because in those early years, he’d loved me back in the only way he knew, quietly, fiercely, possessively, like he couldn’t say the words but couldn’t stop proving them.

He used to come home just to find me in the kitchen and press his mouth to my temple, inhaling like he needed my scent to remember he was human under all that power.

He used to sit on the floor with me, back against the couch, and listen while I told him stories about Blackthorn’s forests, the way the river sounded in spring, and the old stone circle where my mother used to sing to the moon.

He used to look at me like I was the only softness he allowed himself. Now he looked at me like I was an obstacle.

His phone rang. His eyes flicked to the screen. Something shifted in his expression—focus, urgency, and a softness that made my stomach turn.

He answered immediately.

“Kade,” a woman’s voice came through, panicked, pleading. I didn’t need to hear the name to know.

His tone changed to be gentler and warmer. “Mara. Slow down. What happened?”

I stood there, frozen, listening to him speak to her like she was precious.

“I’m coming,” he said. “Stay where you are. I’ll handle it.”

He hung up and looked at me again, and the warmth vanished. The Alpha returned.

“Go to sleep,” he ordered, already grabbing his coat. “We’ll talk later.”

Later. Always later.

He didn’t wait for my response. Didn’t ask if I was okay. Didn’t glance at the table I’d set or the candles I’d lit or the small, humiliating hope I put on today just to spice things up.

He walked out of our home like I was something he could set down and pick up when convenient. The door shut behind him.

And the silence that followed wasn’t quiet. It was a howl trapped inside my ribs, clawing to get out.

I went upstairs and stared at myself, at what I was wearing, until my vision blurred. Then carefully, like I was handling something that might break me, I sat down on the edge of the bed.

And for the first time since Blackthorn fell, I thought something I hadn’t allowed myself to think:

Maybe shelter isn’t the same as love.

He's… Busy

Isla

Sleep didn't come when he left; everything held its breath.

I stayed on the edge of our bed with the candlelight dying in the other room and the cold settling into the sheets where his body should’ve been. The collar was still around my throat, soft leather turned suddenly humiliating, like I’d dressed up for a ghost.

The clock hit midnight. 1a.m. 2.

I told myself it was duty. An emergency. A pack matter only an Alpha King could handle. Even though I knew it was about her.

Kade had always come back. No matter how late the council ran, no matter how much blood stained his knuckles or how heavy his crown sat on his shoulders, he always returned to sleep beside me. Sometimes he wouldn’t touch me. Sometimes he’d fall into bed like a stone. But he came back. Tonight the bed stayed empty.

And my mind, traitor that it was, filled it for me. thoughts and images I shouldn't see

I saw him in a different room, in a different bed, diving deep into her cunt, moaning out Mara's name. Mara’s mouth was curving like she’d never lost him at all. Saw the way he softened for her, the way he’d softened under those fireworks, laughing like the man I married was buried under her name.

I pressed my hands to my stomach, trying to stop the nausea, trying to stop the images, but it didn’t help.

By dawn, I was twisted up in the sheets, writhing with a kind of pain that felt feral, like something inside me wanted to claw its way out.

My phone rang at 6:38 a.m.

I snatched it up so fast it nearly slipped from my shaking fingers.

“Hello?” My voice came out rough, hopeful in the worst way.

“Isla.” My father’s voice, Alpha Rowan of Blackthorn. He was panicking. “Get to St. Elara’s. It’s your mother.”

The world narrowed to that sentence.

“What happened?”

“A heart attack.” He exhaled hard, like the word hurt him. “She collapsed an hour ago. They’re stabilizing her. Just—Isla, come.”

I was already moving. I yanked on jeans, a sweater, and shoes without socks. I didn’t look in the mirror. I didn’t fix my hair. I didn’t even think. I just ran.

Hospitals always smelled like fear and antiseptic, like prayers whispered under fluorescent lights.

My father was in the corridor outside the cardiac ward, shoulders squared too tightly, jaw clenched like he could hold the world together with stubbornness alone. His silver-streaked hair looked wilder than usual, and his eyes, Blackthorn eyes, the same stormy gray as mine, lifted when he saw me.

He crossed the distance in three strides and caught my shoulders.

“She’s stable,” he said immediately, and the relief hit me so hard my knees almost buckled. “She’s stable, sweetheart.”

I nodded too fast. “Where is she?”

“In recovery. They’ll let you in soon.”

My mother, Elowen, had always been the heart of Blackthorn. Even after the Wandering Wolves raided us, even after we lost land and people and pride, she’d kept our remaining pack members fed and warm, kept them believing we could rebuild.

Now she lay in a hospital bed because her heart couldn’t carry what life had demanded of it.

When the nurse finally let me in, I walked in softly, like sound might disturb her.

Mom looked small against the white sheets. The monitors beeped steadily. An oxygen tube sat beneath her nose. Her skin was pale, but her eyes, when they opened, were still my mother’s loving eyes.

“Isla,” she rasped and tried to smile.

I went to her bedside and took her hand carefully. “I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered immediately, guilt spilling out like it had been waiting. “Your anniversary…”

My mom has never forgotten my anniversary, but now she feels like she ruined something important. My throat tightened, and I squeezed her hand. “Mom, don’t. You didn’t ruin anything.”

Her brows pulled together. “Kade should be with you.”

“He’s… busy.” The lie tasted metallic.

My mother’s gaze didn’t leave my face. “Isla.”

That single word was a press of fingers against a bruise. I forced my mouth into something that resembled calm. “We’re fine. Kade and I are fine.”

My father made a satisfied noise from the doorway, the kind a man makes when he believes his daughter is safe with a powerful husband. He’d never stop being grateful to Crimson for sheltering us after Blackthorn’s decline. He’d never stop believing this marriage, this alliance, was our salvation.

My mother didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push.

She just lifted my hand to her cheek, eyes wet. “You’re a strong girl,” she murmured. “Always have been.” I smiled like it didn’t hurt.

Something changed in the ward at noon. You could feel it like weather shifting before a storm.

Nurses moved faster. Voices lowered. A hush spread down the corridor as if the building itself had recognized a predator entering its territory.

I stepped out to get water and saw him, Kade.

He filled the hallway the way he filled rooms, tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in dark clothing that made him look carved from night. His gaze scanned the ward coldly, and people stepped out of his path without even realizing they were doing it.

The hospital director practically jogged to meet him, flanked by two doctors.

“Alpha King Blackwood,” the director said, bowing his head slightly. “We’re honored. I—”

“Save it,” Kade cut in, his voice flat. “I want the best cardiologist on her case. I want round-the-clock monitoring. And I want her moved to a private suite. Immediately.”

The director nodded so fast it looked painful. “Of course. Of course. We have an executive suite on the top floor—”

“Good,” Kade said. “Make sure it’s secure.”

I Want A Divorce

Isla

A murmur rippled through the staff. Through the few patients who recognized him. Through the families lingering by doors. Envy was a scent, sharp and sour. People stared at me like I’d won something.

Like being favored by an Alpha King was the highest form of love. I wanted to laugh.

Instead, bitterness rose in my chest, thick and ugly. Because I knew what this was.

Reputation and control.

A dutiful gesture from a man who could buy excellence the way other men bought coffee. A performance that said, Look how well I take care of my mate. Look how noble my house is.

The same way our marriage had been presented years ago: a beautiful union, an alliance of packs, a symbol of stability. A crown placed on my head so everyone could admire it.

Kade’s eyes found mine across the corridor. For a moment, something softened there, an old reflex, maybe. A memory of who we used to be. Then it was gone.

He walked toward me like I was an obligation he intended to handle efficiently.

“Isla,” he said, low enough that the director and doctors pretended not to listen. “How is she?”

“Stable,” I answered. My voice didn’t shake. I was proud of that, even though my insides were splintering. “They said she’ll recover.”

“Good.” He nodded once. “I’ve arranged better care.”

“I noticed.”

His gaze sharpened, like he heard the edge beneath my words. “This isn’t the time.”

Was it ever?

My father approached behind me, beaming like a man who’d just been handed proof that his sacrifices were worth it.

“Kade,” he said warmly, gripping Kade’s forearm in a warrior’s greeting. “Thank you. This—this means everything to us.”

Kade inclined his head politely. The perfect Alpha.

My mother, watching from her bed when we moved to the suite, smiled faintly too, relief softening her features.

“See?” her eyes seemed to say. He’s here. He takes care of you.

Kade stepped into the room and kissed my forehead in front of them; it was brief, a gesture that made my parents’ shoulders relax with satisfaction.

To them, it looked like devotion. To me, it felt like a brand.

His hand slid to my waist, drawing me close. “You look pale,” he murmured. “Are you unwell?”

My father watched us like he was witnessing a blessing. My mother’s eyes shone, reassured.

I nodded automatically. “Just tired.”

Kade’s shirt collar shifted as he moved, and that was when I saw it. A faint lipstick mark, smudged and discreet, as if someone had kissed him beneath the collar and expected it to stay hidden. And beneath his usual scent of pine and smoke and cold air—there was something else. A perfume, sweet, feminine, and not mine.

My stomach lurched so violently I had to clamp my mouth shut.

Kade’s brow furrowed. “Isla?”

I tore away from him so fast my mother startled. “Bathroom.”

I didn’t wait for permission. I barely made it to the sink before I vomited bile and water, and the taste of last night’s hope turned into acid.

My hands braced on the counter. My vision swam. Behind my eyelids, fireworks bloomed. Behind my ribs, something broke.

When I rinsed my mouth and looked up, my face in the mirror was ghost-pale, my eyes too bright. I looked like the girl I’d been when Blackthorn fell, trying not to crumble because other people needed me standing.

I remembered that day like a scar you can’t stop touching.

Rogue wolves on our borders. Screams in the trees. My father leading the resistance, fighting like he could hold back the end with his bare hands. We repelled them, yes—but the losses hollowed us out. Families gone. Territory burned. The pack splintered, scattered like ash on the wind.

And then Crimson came, the new Alpha, newly crowned, hungry to stabilize his reign. Kade needed prestige. Kade needed loyalty. Kade needed an alliance that made him look strong.

So he married me. We’d grown up together in neighboring territory, chasing each other through woods, stealing apples, and trading secrets like vows. I’d been naïve enough to believe that history meant something. That affection lived beneath his duty. That the way he once looked at me was love.

We’d laughed in this very kind of light, soft mornings, shared meals, and his hand at the small of my back when he thought no one watched. He’d carried me once after a long council night, murmuring into my hair that I deserved more rest, more softness. He’d kissed me like he meant it, like he was grateful I existed.

Those memories were the reason I’d stayed through the distance, through the neglect, through being taken for granted. Because I kept waiting for that version of him to come back.

Now I realized something with sudden, brutal clarity: he had come back, just not to me.

I pressed my palm to my stomach, breathing through the nausea. Then I straightened up.

My eyes looked different in the mirror, as if some tender part of me had finally learned to stop begging. I walked out of the bathroom with my spine stiff and my heart quiet in the most dangerous way.

Kade turned toward me, concern flickering. “Do you need a doctor?”

“No,” I said, and my voice didn’t tremble at all. “I need a divorce.”

The word hung in the air like the first crack of thunder. My mother’s smile faltered. My father stiffened.

Kade’s face went still and cold, as if I’d said something absurd.

“What did you say?” he asked softly, and softness had never sounded so much like a threat.

I looked at him, at the lipstick beneath his collar, at the scent that wasn’t mine, at the man who believed I would never leave.

“I said,” I repeated, “I’m done.”

Happy anniversary

Isla

I kept my hood up as I walked into the council building, even though everyone knew my scent. Even though the guards straightened up the moment they saw me.

The clerk behind the front desk looked up. “Luna Isla—”

“I need the forms,” I cut in softly, because my voice would break if I said it too loud. “Divorce application forms.”

The word landed between us like a dropped glass. The clerk blinked, then lowered her gaze quickly, hands moving as if this was just another piece of paperwork and not the end of a marriage everyone considered sacred. She slid a stack of documents across the counter, along with a pen.

My fingers trembled when I took them. I hated that. I hated that my body still reacted like a frightened girl instead of a woman who’d survived a pack collapse, a political marriage, and a love that kept bruising her.

“Do you… need assistance?” the clerk asked carefully, eyes darting up and away again.

“No.” I swallowed. “Not yet.”

Because I couldn’t, wouldn’t—let the pack know. Not until my mother was discharged, not until she was safe and strong enough to hear the truth without her heart paying the price again.

I tucked the forms into my bag like contraband and turned and nearly collided with a familiar chest.

“Isla?”

My heart lurched before it hardened. Damon Vale, Kade’s Beta, his second, his oldest friend. He’d been a boy I’d chased through forests when I was still Blackthorn’s princess and he was the loud, laughing cub from Crimson territory who always stole my hair ribbon and never gave it back.

Now he wore a Beta’s authority like a blade. Tall. Broad. Golden-eyed. His expression held the same easy warmth he’d always reserved for me.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. “Shouldn’t you be at the hospital with your mother?”

I forced a smile so quick it felt like a lie sewn onto my mouth. “I was. I just… needed to handle some council paperwork.”

Damon’s brows drew together. “Council paperwork?” He glanced at my bag. “Since when do you run errands like that?”

Since my husband stopped showing up for our marriage and started showing up for someone else.

I tightened my grip on the strap. “It’s nothing. Just… pack-related.”

His gaze sharpened, Beta instincts always reading what people tried to hide. “Isla—”

“I’m fine,” I cut in, too brightly. “Tell Kade I’m heading back to the hospital. Mom’s resting, and Dad—” I let out a small breath. “Dad refuses to leave her side.”

Damon studied me for a beat too long. Then he nodded slowly, like he was filing away the way I wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Okay,” he said, softer. “If you need anything, anything at all, you call me. Even if it’s just to yell.”

I managed a laugh that sounded wrong. “Noted.”

As I walked away, his voice followed me, gentle and suspicious all at once.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Isla?”

I didn’t turn around. If I did, I might’ve confessed everything right there in the marble hallway.

Kade texted at noon: Dinner tonight. 8. I’m making up for yesterday.

The text was a command dressed as compensation. I stared at the message until my eyes stung, then set the phone down like it could bite.

At the hospital, my mother slept. The doctors said she’d likely be discharged within a day or two if her vitals stayed steady. My father hovered like a guard dog, his relief turning into restless energy.

“You should go,” he told me when Kade’s driver arrived. “Your husband is trying, Isla. That matters.”

Trying?

I wanted to ask my father what trying looked like to a man who’d lost everything. To a man whose pack had been torn open by rogues and still stood.

But I swallowed it down, because my mother’s heart had been fragile enough to betray her once already.

So I let Kade take me to dinner.

The restaurant was the kind of place built for display, with crystal lights, velvet seats, and soft music that made people speak in murmurs. He reserved a private room. The staff bowed slightly as we passed, eyes flicking between us as if we were a story they couldn’t believe they were allowed to witness.

Kade sat across from me, coat draped perfectly over the back of his chair, cuffs crisp, posture immaculate. He looked like the Alpha King everyone feared.

He looked nothing like the boy who used to steal kisses behind Blackthorn’s training grounds when we were teenagers, whispering that he liked the way I smiled when I thought no one was watching.

The waiter brought wine, then bread and a sense of normalcy that felt like a costume.

Kade reached into his jacket pocket and slid a small box across the table.

My chest tightened automatically, out of habit. Every year, on our anniversary, he gave me the same thing: an elegant, expensive, and cold bracelet.

I used to tell myself it was sweet, his consistency, his sense of tradition. I used to clasp it onto my wrist and feel chosen, because in my world, gifts from powerful men meant commitment.

Now I stared at the box like it was a joke someone had told too late. I opened it. A bracelet, of course. Silver links, delicate stones that caught the light. It was beautiful, but meaningless.

“Happy anniversary,” Kade said, voice low.

I tried to find something in his expression, remorse, tenderness, or even guilt.

There was only patience. The kind you offer when you think the outcome is guaranteed.

“Thank you,” I said, because that was what a dutiful wife said.

His gaze flicked to my face. “You don’t like it?”

I almost laughed.

“I used to,” I admitted, and my voice betrayed me, too honest, too raw. “I used to be delighted.”

Kade’s jaw tightened a fraction. “Then what changed?”

You did.

But I didn’t say that. I didn’t say your first love answered your phone. I didn’t say I heard a child call you Dad. I didn’t say you left our bed empty and returned wearing someone else’s mouth under your collar.

I swallowed all of it like poison and forced a small smile.

“I’m tired,” I lied.

He leaned back, watching me like he was measuring the cost of my mood. “I arranged this to make up for yesterday.”

“I noticed.”

His eyes cooled. “Isla.”

I lifted my hands, palms up, like surrender. “It’s fine. Really.”

He signaled the waiter, and when dessert arrived, my breath caught.

Matcha cake. Green layers. Powdered dusting. A small garnish shaped like a leaf.

Kade’s mouth curved faintly. “I asked them to prepare something special.”

Something special. My stomach rolled. I stared at the cake and felt my throat close, not with gratitude, but with a sick, painful kind of irony.

“I’m allergic,” I said quietly.

Kade blinked. “What?”

“Matcha,” I repeated. My voice sounded far away. “I’m allergic to matcha.”

For a moment, I watched comprehension stumble across his face, then vanish behind annoyance.

“You never told me.”

I stared at him. “I did.”

Once, early in our marriage, after the first time he’d brought it home because he liked the taste and wanted to share it. I’d laughed and told him it was sweet, but it made my throat itch. He’d looked distracted, nodded once, and gone right back to his paperwork.

He didn’t remember, because he never cared.

But he remembered Mara’s birthday.