Alpha's Betrayal, Luna's Vengeance

Killian stiffened at my words, his broad shoulders tensing as his expression darkened with irritation. The Alpha aura he exuded thickened the air, but I stood my ground, refusing to back down.

"Veronica consulted a seer who said she needed gold for protection. How can you be so stingy?" he growled, his alpha tone reverberating through the room.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. Veronica had been whining about her canceled lingerie deals, blaming it on "bad luck." Killian, ever the indulgent fool, had commissioned custom-made gold lingerie for her. It was absurd.

I remembered how he used to scoff at superstition. When I complained about misfortune, he would snap at me to stop making excuses and use my brain instead of blaming luck. But now, here he was, embracing that very nonsense for someone else—and calling *me* stingy.

The truth was, Veronica’s canceled deals had nothing to do with bad luck. Several wealthy mates of the pack had discovered she was using the lingerie shoots as a cover to flirt with their husbands. Yet Killian refused to believe it, convinced everyone was slandering his precious childhood friend.

When I called her out with every unflattering term I could think of, he finally lost his composure.

"Veronica isn’t like that!" he roared, his alpha tone making the walls tremble. "She’s a professional model who earns her living through her own talent. I won’t let you insult her character! We’ve known each other for over twenty years. Don’t ruin our friendship with your sordid assumptions!"

I stared at him, my wolf whimpering in the back of my mind. Over the years, Killian had done countless questionable things under the guise of their "pure friendship." From gifting her clothes and bags to now lingerie and underwear. It was humiliating.

He stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard the frame shook. I stood there, feeling nothing but bitter irony. Dulce, my Gamma friend, had shared a slew of damning rumors about Veronica at a gathering yesterday. To Killian, she was his cherished childhood friend. To Veronica, he was nothing more than a backup ATM.

As I pondered how to expose her, Killian reappeared, his temper cooled. He strode into the kitchen, his muscular frame moving with purpose.

"You had some wine tonight; you’re not thinking straight," he said, his voice softer now, almost conciliatory. "I’ll make you some chicken soup."

This was his usual tactic—giving me a way out, sweeping the matter under the rug. I felt the words of rebuttal catch in my throat and stayed silent, watching his busy silhouette.

Ten minutes later, as he turned off the heat, his phone rang with a special ringtone. Killian answered immediately, and Veronica’s coy voice drifted from the other end.

"Killian, is my chicken soup ready yet? My stomach feels terrible. Could you come check on me?"

"Veronica, don’t worry. Just rest a bit, and I’ll be there soon," he said, his tone gentle, almost tender.

I watched as he packed the soup into a thermos, leaving a bowl on the table in front of me. "Veronica’s not feeling well. I’m going to see her. I’ll be back later."

Without another glance at me, he left, closing the door behind him. I stared at the bowl of chicken soup, my stomach churning. To think I was just an afterthought. He’d even forgotten I hated chicken.

In a fit of anger, I poured the soup down the sink, the liquid swirling away like my patience. Half an hour later, Veronica’s Instagram account updated with a new post, captioned: *"Never liked taking meds; Killian’s got a way with me since we were kids~"*

The video showed Killian leaning over her, seemingly administering medicine mouth-to-mouth. The post went viral instantly, and my phone buzzed with a message from Dulce.

I typed and erased several times before finally sending a reply to meet up and talk later. Minutes later, I saw Killian’s earnest comment under the video: *"Since you won’t behave, we’ll have to resort to the method from our childhood."*

I sat stunned on the couch, my wolf whimpering softly in my mind. What was the point of this six-year mate bond? What was the point of being Luna if I was nothing but an afterthought?

Then, a message came through from Marianna, my loyal Beta. She had compiled a detailed list of Killian’s recent expenses. It was endless—hundreds of thousands spent on Veronica’s whims. Meanwhile, his gestures toward me amounted to nothing more than perfunctory words and gifts worth mere dollars.

I thought if I no longer loved him, I wouldn’t feel hurt. But deep inside, a wave of pain washed over me, the mate bond throbbing like an open wound.

With trembling hands, I called Marianna once more. "I want to dissolve the mate bond. Please help me draft the papers."

There was a pause on the other end before Marianna responded, her voice steady. "Understood, Luna. I’ll have it ready by tomorrow."

As I hung up, my wolf let out a quiet, mournful howl, echoing the ache in my chest. The mate bond wasn’t just a bond—it was a chain, and I was ready to break it.