(Evelyn’s POV) “Sorry... If you use your healing ability one more time, I will have to leave you,” my wolf Ariella whispers weakly in my mind. My heart shattered into a million pieces. I sobbed and pleaded with her, "Please, Ariella, don't." To treat my husband's fated mate, my wolf has been drained of the last drop of our shared healing ability. She is too weak and can no longer stay with me. But my husband's voice in mindlink is sharp, impatient, “Hurry up, she needs treatment!”   ...She, Emma. His fated mate. His true love. While I'm just his second chance, and a wife he doesn't like. Always ignored, always used. I am a werewolf blessed by the goddess, with unique healing abilities. I can heal many ailments at once. This is why we have such a strange entanglement. I don't mind being his second chance, marrying him with all the passion and love I had. I always believed I could win his heart, until I saw that woman. I heave open the door to Emma's bedroom. Logan sits on the edge of Emma’s bed, his broad shoulders curved protectively as he holds Emma's hand. Logan's dark hair falls across his forehead. Those emerable eyes—usually so cold when looking at me—now so soft with concern. He's wearing the same clothes from this morning's pack meeting—he dropped everything when she called. The mansion is quiet tonight except for the distant sound of rain tapping against windows, the polished wooden floors gleaming under the soft chandelier light. The space is lavish—silk sheets, plush pillows, expensive furnishings—a room designed for the true Luna, not the substitute standing in her doorway. Emma lies against silk pillows, her golden hair artfully arranged around her face. Even “sick,” she looks beautiful. Her eyes, the color of quartz crystal, find mine; a flash of triumph in them before she puts on a pained expression once more. The servants all focused on her, as if she were the future lady of the pack. And despite being Alpha Logan's wife, not a single pair of eyes cared about me. Not even his. I stand at the foot of her bed, assessing Emma's condition with trained eyes. The wolfbane fever should have responded to my first treatment days ago. There's no medical reason for her continued symptoms, no explanation except the obvious one that no one will acknowledge. “There you are,” Logan says, not bothering to look at me fully. “She's getting worse. Treat her now.” There's no warmth in it, no concern for me—only urgency for her. “Logan,” I say quietly, “I've already treated her three times this week. It drained me.” The room feels suddenly colder as his attention shifts fully to me. The weight of his gaze is heavy, expectant. Outside, the rain intensifies, drumming against the windows like impatient fingers. The truth is evident in my pale skin. Dark circles have formed under my eyes, and my normally vibrant hair has dulled now to a lifeless brown. Each healing session with Emma takes more than the last, as if she's become a bottomless well that consumes my power without end. Once, my wolf Ariella was strong and fierce, a constant companion. Now she's barely a whisper, a fading echo of what we once were together. Logan's jaw tightens. “You've never complained before.” “I'm not complaining. I'm stating a fact. I'm exhausted. I can't continue like this.” Emma lets out a soft whimper, drawing his attention back to her immediately. She clutches her chest dramatically, her eyes fluttering. “The pain... It's getting worse, Logan.” His response is immediate, his hand tightening around hers. The intimacy between them slices through me, sharper than any knife. He reaches for the drawer in the nightstand without looking away from her face. From it, he produces a checkbook and pen. The scratching of his pen against paper fills the silence as he writes a check for one million dollars. He tears it from the book and holds it out to me, not meeting my eyes. “Heal her first.” The check hangs between us, a symbolic representation of our marriage. A transaction. A business arrangement. He is my mate, and the one who saved my life. Over ten years ago, he saved me when I was kidnapped by rogues; more than a decade later, I recognized him in the same place, which had been attacked by rogues again. The emerald eyes I recognized immediately. I fell in love with him. The moment our eyes met across that chaotic battlefield, recognition flared between us—the mate bond awakening after years of dormancy. Since then, I have been devoted to him. I've poured my very life, drained my wolf's strength to heal a woman who means nothing to me— I abandoned my family and came to his pack. Every ounce of it, merely to t***h his heart. My fingers tremble slightly as I look at the check, but I make no move to take it.  For the past three years, every time I treated her, he left me a check, but not a word. He doesn't care about me, just as I have no position in this house. I am nothing more than a rogue who married in. Logan made sure of that when he brought me here. Emma's eyes narrow at my hesitation. She lets out another dramatic cough, clutching her chest with delicate fingers. “Is it because we're first mates that you won't treat me?Are you that petty?” The words h***r in the air like poison. She's lying in there bed, pretending to be sick and at the mercy of my healing hand. She should have been healed when I treated her the first time, but she keeps making me treat her endlessly. Wolfbane fever isn't a serious illness—it's simply poisoning from accidental toxin ingestion. But over these years, she has drained my energy. Healing ability isn't unlimited, and every time, I've had to give it my all. I have always been suspicious that she's deliberately playing the victim in front of him. She coughs hard, clutching her chest, but wolfbane fever doesn't cause coughing—it only causes fever. As a healer, I know the symptoms intimately. Ariella's voice growing fainter, I need to tell him the consequences of saving her. Somewhere underneath it all, I believe he's still a reasonable person. Somewhere beneath the cold exterior beats the heart of the man who once risked everything to save me. I say, trembling, “If I heal her, my wolf will completely disconnect, and our mate bond will be severed. Do you still want me to heal her? Are you willing to give up our mate bond for the woman who once rejected you?” No wolf would want their bond severed; it's as painful as being rejected. After a second chance, he'll have a hard time finding another mate. An alpha without a mate will go mad... Would he be willing to go that far for her? Thunder crashes outside. He is handsome but indifferent, his features carved from stone. “The condition for our marriage was that you heal her. Or have you forgotten your place?” He writes another check, adding ten million, and hands it to me. “Now, Evelyn. This is more than enough. Do as you’re told, heal her.” The amount is staggering—enough money to start a new life somewhere far away. But what good is money when my soul is being bargained away? What value does currency have when compared to the sacred bond between wolves, between mates chosen by the Moon Goddess herself? I stare at the check and can't help but laugh at the absurdity. The sound is foreign even to my ears—hollow and bitter. I take the check from his outstretched hand, feeling the expensive paper between my fingers. With deliberate slowness, I tear it in half. The pieces flutter to the floor like confetti, an end of my submission. Logan is stunned, "What are you doing?!"

(Evelyn’s POV) Logan didn’t expect that I would refuse his offer so directly. For all his power and control, for all the dominance he wielded as Alpha, he stood utterly frozen as the pieces of the cheque fluttered to the floor; the final remnants of something unspoken between us. The end. For a moment, silence reigned in the room. The tension was suffocating, weighing down on me as I stood there, my chest heaving with the effort it took to hold back tears. I could feel his gaze on me, sharp and hard, but I refused to meet it.  Emma, of course, seized the moment. She let out a pitiful sigh, her voice trembling just enough to make her seem frail. “I don’t want to affect your relationship,” she murmured, her blue eyes darting between Logan and me. She shifted in the bed, the sheets rustling as she sat up slowly, like a wounded bird trying to take flight.  I watched her in disbelief.  Emma swung her legs over the side of the bed, her movements unsteady. “I’ll go,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”  She made a show of standing, gripping the edge of the bed for support. Her knees buckled almost instantly, and she collapsed to the floor in a heap of golden hair and pale limbs.  “Emma!” Logan’s voice cut through the tension like a whip. In an instant, he was at her side, crouching down to lift her off the floor. He moved with a gentleness I hadn’t seen in years, cradling her as though she were made of glass.  “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft, filled with concern that should have been mine.  I stood frozen, watching the scene unfold as if I weren’t even in the room. He carried her back to the bed, adjusting the pillows behind her to make her more comfortable. She looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, her hand brushing against his arm as though she were silently thanking him for his care.  The sight was unbearable.  “She shouldn’t have tried to get up,” I said, my voice colder than I intended.  Logan finally turned to me, his expression hard. “What are you waiting for then?” he demanded, his tone sharp. “She needs treatment!”  I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to stand taller. “I told you, Logan,” I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound strong. “I’m exhausted. I can’t keep doing this. It will result in my end.”  He took a step toward me, his towering presence making the room feel smaller. “You’re a Healer, aren’t you?” he snarled. “This is what you’re supposed to do, Evelyn. This is your duty!”  Something inside me suddenly snapped. “Healing isn’t unlimited, Logan,” I said, my voice rising. “Every time I treat her, it takes something from me. My wolf—” I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. “My wolf is dying, Logan. She can’t take much more of this.”   “That’s your problem,” he said finally, his voice devoid of emotion. “The condition for our marriage was clear. You agreed to this.”  Sacrifices must be made. I stared at him, the man I had once believed I loved, and felt nothing but a hollow ache.  Of course, I had agreed. I had believed I could endure anything for him. I had been so naive.  He saved me, and this time, I should save the one he loves. “A life saved should be repaid with a life,” I whispered, the words a painful echo of the oath I had taken when I became a Healer.  I glanced at Emma, her pale face serene as she leaned against the pillows. Her delicate features were perfect, making her look like the goddess herself.  I took a deep breath, steadying myself. This would be the last time.  I stepped closer to the bed, holding out my hands. The faint glow of my healing ability flickered at my fingertips, growing brighter as I focused my energy.  “If you do this, Evelyn, we will be no more.” The wolf, my wolf, objects. I cannot concede, not now. We have gone past the point of no return. “I’m sorry, Ariella,” I whisper, as the searing pain of separation begins to rumble deep in my core. I am not sure I will survive this, at least not whole. I know that when Areila is gone, a piece of me will have died forever. You agreed. Emma closed her eyes, a soft smile playing on her l**s as the golden light enveloped her. Logan stands firm, his eyes trained solely in satisfaction on Emma. The energy surged through me, hot and powerful, but it burned as it left my body. My hands trembled violently as the light grew brighter, spreading over Emma like a warm blanket.  Her breathing evened out, the tension in her face melting away as the fever broke.  But the pain in my chest was unbearable. It felt like something was being ripped from me, piece by piece. Ariella cried out in agony, her voice echoing in my mind before fading into silence.  The golden light dimmed. I stumbled back, clutching my chest. My breathing was shallow, each gasp of air feeling like a knife to my lungs.  Logan didn’t even glance at me. He was focused entirely on Emma, his hand brushing against her cheek as he whispered something I couldn’t hear.  I felt hollow and empty. The bond between Logan and me had disappeared, severed completely. I could no longer feel the warmth of his presence or the pull of our connection.  Strangely, it didn’t hurt as much as I had imagined it would. The pain wasn’t as bad as the heartbreak I had felt earlier, hearing his cold, dismissive words.  When he finally turned to me, it wasn’t to thank me. It wasn’t even to acknowledge the sacrifice I had made.  He looked past me. I was a ghost incarnate. “Beta,” he said, his tone brisk, “let’s go to the study. We need to finalize the plans for handling the rogue rebellion at the border.”  He walked toward the door, his footsteps echoing in the silent room. He didn’t look back.  I collapsed to the floor, my body trembling uncontrollably. Tears streamed down my face as I clutched my chest, the pain threatening to consume me.  “Do you really not care about me at all?” I called out, my voice breaking.  Logan paused at the doorway for a moment, but he didn’t turn around.  “Make sure the distinguished guests are handled properly,” he said to the Beta, as if I hadn’t spoken.  I forced myself to stand, gripping the edge of the bed for support. My legs felt like they might give out at any moment, but I refused to fall.  I wiped the tears from my face, lifting my chin high. I wouldn’t let him see how much he had broken me.  Logan stopped in his tracks. For the first time, he turned to look at me, but his l**s remained sealed shut by the bitterness that bound us over so many years. “Since there’s no bond anymore,” I said, my voice trembling but firm, “let’s get a divorce.” 

(Logan’s POV) The pain from the bond breaking is excruciating—it’s even worse than when the first mate's bond with Emma was severed. But I hold it in. Standing in the study, I grip the edge of the desk so tightly my knuckles turn white. My breath is uneven, the hollow ache in my chest so deep it feels like it’s pulling me into a void. No matter how much I try to ignore it, the absence of the mate bond claws at me, relentless and unyielding. The room is dim, and the late afternoon sunlight filters weakly through the heavy velvet curtains. It casts long, slanted shadows across the rich mahogany furniture and the shelves lined with old books—an oppressive stillness that only amplifies my turmoil. I close my eyes, inhaling deeply, but it doesn’t help. The bond is gone, and the absence of Evelyn’s presence—her warmth, her scent, her energy—feels like a wound ripped open in my chest. My wolf is furious, pacing restlessly in the back of my mind. “You actually let the mate bond break?” he growls, his voice low and rough with anger. “Are you insane, Logan? Evelyn is ours! How could you do this?” I grit my teeth, my jaw tightening as I try to block him out. “Enough,” I snap under my breath, my voice sharp and cold. But he doesn’t stop. He never does. “Emma doesn’t compare to her. You know it. Evelyn is the one the Moon Goddess gave us. And you just let her go like she’s nothing!” “Stop,” I snarl, slamming my fist against the surface of the desk. The sharp sound echoes through the empty room, but it does nothing to silence the wolf—or the thoughts swirling in my mind. I force myself to look down at the reports spread across the desk. Rogue activity at the border is increasing, and several scouts have gone missing in the past week. I’ve been working non-stop to organize our defenses, to keep the pack secure. I can’t afford to let personal matters cloud my judgment. I try to focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Evelyn. I can still see her standing in Emma’s room, her hands trembling as she spoke. The look on her face when she said her wolf was dying. The way her voice cracked, the sheer vulnerability in her eyes. She was telling the truth. I knew it then, and I know it now. And yet, I let her go. I push the thought aside, shaking my head. I can’t think about that. I made my choice, and I have to live with it. Three years ago, Emma saved my life. During a rogue attack at the border, she drank the poisoned wine meant for me. Wolfbane fever nearly killed her, and her health hasn’t been the same since. It was my fault. Even before the attack, Emma suffered because of me. My father insisted she wasn’t fit to be Luna because of her frail health. He forced me to reject her, and I obeyed. I told myself it was for the good of the pack, but the truth is, I was a coward. I didn’t fight for her. The rejection nearly destroyed her. And yet, even after everything, she risked her life to save me. How could I not repay that debt? When I found Evelyn, it seemed like a miracle. She was a rogue with an extraordinary gift—healing powers unlike anything I’d ever seen. I needed her to save Emma, and she needed the safety of my pack. Our marriage was a practical arrangement, nothing more. The conditions were clear: Evelyn would provide regular treatments for Emma in exchange for the pack's protection and resources. But now, Evelyn is breaking the agreement. I glance at the empty chair across from me, the one she sat in during our first meeting. I can still remember the way she looked that day. Her dark eyes were wary but determined, her shoulders squared, her chin raised as if daring me to question her abilities. She was strong, confident, and unapologetically herself. I thought she understood the arrangement. I thought she knew what she was signing up for. Maybe I was wrong. My wolf growls again, his voice low and insistent. “You didn’t just lose the mate bond—you lost her. And for what? A debt you think you owe? Emma doesn’t need you to sacrifice your happiness for hers.” “Enough!” I snap, my voice echoing harshly in the quiet study. I don’t want to hear it. I can’t. This isn’t about the mate bond. It’s about duty, honor, and responsibility. A life debt is far more important than a bond, no matter how strong it might have been. If it weren’t for Emma, I would be the one lying in bed, poisoned and dying. Evelyn knew that. She knew what she agreed to when she married me. But even as I try to justify my actions, a part of me wonders if I’ve made a mistake. I glance at the clock on the wall. Its steady ticking is the only sound in the room. Time feels heavier than usual, each second dragging on like an eternity. Does Evelyn hate me now? The thought lingers, unspoken but undeniable. She was never meant to love me—not in the way a true mate does. This marriage was never about love. I shake my head, forcing myself to stand. My wolf lets out a low, mournful growl, but I ignore him. There’s no point in dwelling on what’s already done. Besides, she lived well in the packhouse, enjoying luxury and comfort. What more did she want? A little money as compensation was enough. Was it not enough? If she complains it wasn’t enough, I will write her a bigger check. I turn to leave the suffocating confines of my office and head to the work that needs to be done.   ( Evelyn's POV) I have Logan’s Beta prepare the divorce papers. When he brings them to me, I sign them on the spot. “You will bring these directly to Logan.” He says nothing, and I can tell he’s not surprised. No one in this pack would be surprised. The room feels colder now. After Logan walked out of Emma’s room without a second glance at me, I stood there for what felt like hours, staring at the door he closed behind him. My chest aches; I refuse to cry in front of Emma. She doesn’t need to see how much this hurts me. I leave the room as quietly as I can, my legs trembling with every step. The hallway stretches endlessly ahead of me, the packhouse eerily quiet except for the sound of my footsteps echoing off the walls. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know I need to get away—to be alone. I find myself in the garden, the place where I used to go when I first arrived here. Back then, I thought this could be my home. I would sit on the stone bench near the rose bushes, imagining a future where Logan and I would grow to love each other. But now, as I sink onto that same bench, the reality is impossible to ignore. The roses are in full bloom, their vibrant red petals a stark contrast to the gray sky above.  I reach out and t***h one of the blossoms, its soft texture a cruel reminder of the life I thought I could have. My hand trembles as I pull it back, the tears I’ve been holding in finally spilling over. I press my palms against my face, trying to muffle the sound of my sobs. I feel so foolish. How could I have believed that Logan would ever choose me? The words he said earlier echo in my mind: “That’s your problem. You agreed to this.” I thought I was strong enough to handle this marriage, to endure the coldness and distance for the sake of duty. But now I see the truth: Logan will never see me as anything more than a tool, a means to an end. When I finally stop crying, my decision is clear. The silence in the room is deafening, and for a moment, I sit there, staring at the door. Then, as the reality of what I’ve done sinks in, I feel a wave of emotions crashing over me—relief, pain, anger, and, most of all, sadness. I reach out through the mindlink, needing to hear the one voice that has always brought me comfort. “Daddy.” The word comes out shaky, and I press a hand to my mouth to stifle a sob. My father and I haven’t spoken in the three years since I married Logan. “Evelyn? What’s wrong?” His voice is soft but commanding, carrying the strength I’ve missed so much. “I’m divorced,” I tell him solemnly, my throat tight with emotion. The admission feels heavier than I expected, as though saying it out loud makes it more real. “Did you finally see the true face of that man?” he asks, his tone calm but sharp. I don’t respond. Instead, I let out a quiet sob, the weight of everything crashing down on me all at once. “Return home to the palace, my princess,” my father orders.

(Evelyn’s POV) “There is a car en route to pick you up,” the mindlink ended.  For a moment, I stood frozen in place, staring blankly at the wall in front of me. This was it. I was finally leaving.  I turned slowly, my gaze drifting around the room. It was spacious and luxurious, with soft lighting and elegant furnishings. The large bed with its neatly folded blankets, the little reading nook by the window, the shelves lined with books I had spent years collecting—it all looked perfect, but it was just a façade.  This wasn’t my home. It never had been.  The room was tucked away in a quiet corner of the pack house, far from Logan’s quarters. I had spent three years here, alone and forgotten, like an unwanted guest. At first, I had tried to make it my sanctuary. I had arranged the furniture, added cozy cushions, and placed small trinkets around the room to make it feel like mine.  But no matter how much effort I put into creating a home, it never felt like one.  The memories in this room were suffocating. I had cried myself to sleep on that bed more times than I could count. I had sat by the window for hours, staring out at the pack grounds, wondering if Logan would ever look at me the way he looked at others. I had spent countless nights convincing myself that if I worked harder, if I proved myself, he might finally see me as more than just a rogue.  But now, as I stood here, all I felt was emptiness.  I crossed the room to the closet and pulled out a small suitcase. My hands trembled as I unzipped it, the sound sharp in the stillness. I didn’t have much to pack—just a few sets of clothes, some personal documents, and a couple of sentimental items.  On the desk sat the credit cards and jewelry Logan had given me over the years. I picked up one of the necklaces, letting the diamonds catch the light. It was beautiful, expensive, and utterly meaningless.  I set it down with a quiet thud. I wouldn’t take anything he had given me. They weren’t mine anymore.  As I folded my clothes and placed them neatly into the suitcase, I felt the weight of the past three years pressing down on me. Every moment of humiliation, every cold glance, every dismissive word—it all came rushing back.   I was so lost in thought that I didn’t hear the door open until it slammed against the wall.  “What time is it? Why haven’t you started cooking yet?”  Logan’s mother, Aretha, stormed into the room, her voice sharp and accusing. She stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes narrowed into slits.  “It’s almost noon!” she snapped, her tone dripping with irritation.  I turned to face her, my stomach sinking. Of course, she couldn’t leave me in peace.  Aretha had always been the one in charge of the pack house. Even after Logan and I married, she refused to relinquish her role, claiming that I was unfit to manage anything. To her, I was nothing more than a rogue, an outsider who didn’t belong.  From the moment I arrived, she made my life a living god. She assigned me tasks meant for the lowest servants—cooking, cleaning, ironing clothes—insisting that it was to “train” me. And Logan… he let her. He never questioned her, never defended me.  “I won’t do this anymore,” I said, my voice sharp and steady.  Logan’s mother’s eyes narrowed further, her l**s curling into a sneer. “What are you talking about?”  “I’m divorcing your son, Aretha,” I said, lifting my chin. “I don’t have to do anything for this pack anymore.”  She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “A rogue like you, willing to divorce? Don’t make me laugh. Who do you think you’re challenging? You think you can walk away from your responsibilities?”  Her words stung, but I refused to back down.  “I’m leaving,” I said firmly, my hands tightening into fists at my sides.  Her expression darkened, and she took a step closer, her voice rising. “Leaving? You think you can walk away after everything we’ve done for you? After all the work you’ve neglected? You don’t even have the skills to—”  “What’s going on here?”  Logan’s voice cut through her tirade. I turned to see him standing in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space. His dark eyes were cold, flicking between me and his mother.  “She’s refusing to do her duties,” Aretha said quickly, her voice dripping with righteous indignation. “She has the audacity to call the work in the pack house ‘servant’s work.”  Logan’s gaze shifted to me, his eyes narrowing. “Is that true?”  “Yes,” I said, lifting my chin. “I won’t do the servant’s work anymore. I’m done.”  His mother let out a derisive laugh. “Do you hear her? Such high ambitions for someone who can’t even do the simplest tasks!”  Logan’s expression darkened as he looked back at me. “You can’t even handle basic responsibilities, and you couldn’t cure the wolfbane fever. What exactly have you been doing every day?”  For a moment, I couldn’t speak. The anger and frustration that had been building inside me for years finally boiled over.  I reached for the diamond ring on my finger—the one he had placed there three years ago, the one that had once symbolized a promise of love and partnership.  “You want to know what I’ve been doing?” I said, my voice trembling with fury. I yanked the ring off my finger and held it up. “I’ve been surviving, Logan. That’s what I’ve been doing.”  I threw the ring at him, the cold metal striking his chest before falling to the floor with a faint clink.  For a moment, he just stared at me.  I didn’t wait for a response. I grabbed my suitcase and turned toward the door, my heart pounding.  I walked past him; I didn’t look back.  Stepping outside, the cool air hit my face, and for the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe.  A sleek, black luxury car was waiting at the edge of the driveway, its exterior gleaming in the sunlight. The sight of it was almost surreal—a stark contrast to the life I was leaving behind.  The driver stepped out and opened the door, but before I could get in, the window rolled down.  A handsome man leaned out, his dark hair neatly styled and his sharp features softened by an easy smile. His eyes sparkled with warmth and understanding, his presence a pleasant reminder that I wasn’t alone.  “Finally separated from him?” he asked, his tone light but filled with quiet reassurance. 

 (Evelyn’s POV) I get into the car, slamming the door harder than I intend. My hands tremble as I press them into my l*p, trying to steady myself. The soft leather seat feels foreign, almost too comfortable after the years I spent enduring the cold, unyielding packhouse.  “I’m completely done with him,” I say, my voice wavering but firm.  The man sitting next to me doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he leans over, calmly pulling the seatbelt across me and fastening it with care. His movements are deliberate. “Welcome back home, sis,” he says softly, the corner of his mouth lifting into a gentle smile.  The knot in my chest tightens, and I can’t hold back the tears any longer. My brother’s words, so simple yet filled with warmth, break through the walls I’ve been holding up for so long. I press my hands to my face, my shoulders shaking as I sob quietly.  He doesn’t rush me. He doesn’t tell me to stop crying or that everything will be fine. He just places a reassuring hand on my shoulder, his t***h grounding me as the car pulls away from the packhouse.  The drive back to the palace feels both endless and fleeting. I stare out the window, watching the familiar scenery of the royal territory come into view. The towering gates of the palace loom ahead, their intricate gold designs glinting in the sunlight. It feels surreal to be back here after three years.  When the car stops, I take a shaky breath and step out. My legs feel weak as I make my way up the grand steps, the weight of everything crashing down on me all at once. The enormous double doors swing open, and there he is—my father, the Alpha King.  The moment I see him, the dam inside me bursts. I run to him, collapsing into his arms like a child seeking comfort. His strong arms wrap around me tightly, and for the first time in years, I feel safe.  “Daddy,” I whisper, my voice breaking as fresh tears stream down my face.  His hand strokes my hair gently, his other arm holding me close. “Evelyn,” he says, his voice low but filled with fury. “What did he do to you?”  I shake my head, unable to speak. My sobs are muffled against his chest, but I can feel the tension in his body, the barely contained rage simmering beneath the surface.  “You’re home now,” he says firmly. “No one will hurt you again. I should never have let you go in the first place.”  Behind him, my brother stands with his arms crossed, his expression a mix of relief and concern.  “I told you this would happen,” my father continues, his voice growing colder. “That petty beast was never worthy of you. I should have put an end to this ridiculous marriage before it even began.”  “Father,” my brother interjects softly, stepping forward. “Let her breathe.”  My father sighs, his grip on me loosening slightly, but his anger doesn’t fade. “I’ll kill him,” he mutters under his breath. “That arrogant, ungrateful—”  “Please, don’t,” I say, my voice barely audible as I pull back to look at him. My vision is blurry with tears, but I can see the storm in his eyes. “It’s over. I’m done with him. I just… I just want to move on.”  My father studies me for a moment, his expression softening as he lifts a hand to wipe a tear from my cheek. “You’re stronger than I thought, my princess,” he says quietly.  Hearing him call me “princess” feels strange after so long. It’s a reminder of the life I left behind, the life I thought I could escape.    “We need to talk,” my father says, his tone shifting to something more serious. He gestures for me to sit on one of the plush chairs in the grand hall. My brother sits beside me, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder.  “For the past three years, I’ve been forced into the role of Alpha,” my brother says, his voice calm but tinged with frustration. “It was never what I wanted, Evelyn. You know that. I was only holding the position until you came back to take your rightful place.”  I open my mouth to respond, but my father speaks first. “Now that you’re back, you must fulfill your duty as the heir to the throne. You’ve had your chance to live a different life, and it didn’t work. It’s time to embrace who you are.”  I glance at my brother, who gives me a small, encouraging smile. “I’m happy you’re back,” he says softly. “I’ve missed you.”  “I’ve missed you too,” I whisper, my throat tightening.  My father rises from his seat, his commanding presence filling the room. “Now that you’ve returned, there’s no time to waste. You must take the throne and secure your future.”  He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’ll arrange a mate ball,” he announces.  “A mate ball?” I repeat, my heart sinking.  “Yes,” he says firmly. “You deserve a mate who will respect and cherish you, someone worthy of your status as a princess. It’s time the world knows who you truly are.”  The finality in his tone leaves no room for argument. I glance at my brother, who nods in agreement.  My father continues, his voice growing colder. “I’ll let Logan know what he lost.” My head snaps up at his words, my heart pounding in my chest. I thought he was going to go after Logan, “Father, don’t.” He frowned, eyes narrowing on me. I forced myself to speak, my voice barely steady,“Forget about him. It’s over between us. Completely. I don’t ever want to see him again.” My father was silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. “If that’s truly what you want,” he said quietly. I couldn’t afford to think about Logan anymore — not here, not now, not ever again. I had to be strong.   (Logan’s POV)   After handling the political matters, I return to my office, my head pounding from the endless meetings. The stack of paperwork on my desk seems to have doubled in my absence, but one document catches my eye immediately—the agreement.  The Beta stands near the door, his expression neutral. “Evelyn has already signed it,” he says quietly.  I sit down heavily, picking up the papers. My jaw clenches as I flip through the pages, scanning the terms. She hasn’t asked for a single penny. No alimony, no property, nothing. All she wants is the divorce.  I toss the papers onto the desk with a frustrated sigh. “Where is she?”  The Beta hesitates. “We don’t know. She left in a car—luxury, judging by the footage—but the license plates are encrypted. Confidential.”  Confidential? My chest tightens. Who could she have left with? “She hugged the man inside,” the Beta adds reluctantly.  I glare at him, my fists clenching at my sides. A man?  Before I can say anything, an envelope is placed on my desk. It’s an invitation, the royal crest stamped in gold on the front. I tear it open and scan the contents, my eyes narrowing as I read.  A mate ball.  And then I see it: the princess’s name. Evelyn.