Alpha's Worthless Remorse

The air was thick with the sharp, metallic scent of blood. In the dim light, Jacob's expression twisted—shock and regret flashing across his face.

He rushed toward me, his hands trembling as he reached out. "Chloe, are you okay?" His voice cracked.

Turning to Hazel, who still wore a faint, self-satisfied smile, he snapped, "Go get the witch doctor—now! If anything happens to her, you'll pay for it!"

I pushed his hand away. "Why are you pretending to care now? You have a child on the way, and you still dare to claim you never betrayed me?"

The mask of tenderness cracked. Anger crept into his voice, hot and defensive. "Chloe, watch your tone. As Alpha of the Thorn Pack, I've already done more for you than anyone else would. Do you even understand the pain I've endured just to protect you from the truth?"

Sweat clung to my forehead, soaking through the strands of hair that stuck to my skin. He softened his tone as if his words could mend what was broken. "Chloe, as Alpha, I have obligations. You should understand that. It was nothing with Hazel—just a passing fling. My heart has always belonged to you."

After that, he sent me back to the castle. Officially, I was "recuperating." In reality, I was a prisoner.

At first, he acted as though nothing had changed. He would sit beside me, reminiscing about our sweet, distant past. But I refused to play along with his charade.

One day, he came to me, his usual arrogance replaced by an eager, almost boyish smile. He held a box in his hands, presenting it to me like some precious offering. When I opened it, my father's spear lay inside—the one he had given me before he died.

He thought this would please me. He thought it would make things right.

When I silently tucked the spear away, he leaned in, trying to kiss me. Like every other time in recent days, I turned my head, letting his lips meet nothing but cold air.

His smile twisted into a snarl. "Chloe," he growled, his patience finally snapping. "You have two choices—either kiss me, or take this."

He tossed a small glass bottle onto the bed.

"The witch doctor brewed this recently. It'll sever the bond between us. But no one's tried it before. The price could be anything… maybe thirty years off your lifespan."

He spoke as though this were the most natural thing in the world. "I'm an adult werewolf in my prime. If you won't take care of my needs, someone else will."

I stayed silent. He must have thought his threat had struck home because his expression softened as he reached out to pull me into his arms.

Without a word, I picked up the bottle, unsealed the cap, and downed the contents in a single gulp.

His face drained of color. "You would rather give up years of your life than be with me? Chloe, you're the coldest, most heartless woman I've ever known."

And with that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

That night, he didn't come back.

At first, I felt relief. But then the pain hit, as if claws were tearing through my chest from the inside.

It was the bond—his betrayal had finally cut through whatever fragile connection still remained between us. The agony came in waves, dragging me under, until I could no longer tell where the pain ended and I began.

Hours passed, or maybe days. I lost track.

When he finally returned, his face was flushed with satisfaction. The door creaked open, and he stood over me—like a king surveying his broken subject.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" His voice was cruelly soft. "I took the witch doctor's medicine before, you know. Just to spare you this pain. But not tonight." He smiled faintly, as though this justified everything. "Now you understand how much I love you."

I said nothing. There was no energy left to resist or fight back.

He mistook my silence for defiance, anger flashing in his eyes. With a bitter laugh, he turned and left the room.

Downstairs, the sound of celebration echoed through the castle. He made no effort to hide it—his laughter mixing with Hazel's soft murmurs as they kissed in the main hall.

A few women—wives who had suffered the same torment—gathered outside my door. They spoke in voices loud enough for me to hear every word.

"So proud, isn't she? Thought she was special. But in the end, she's no better than the rest of us."

"Exactly. She should come out and drink with us. It's the only way to dull the pain."

And then, as if on cue, Jacob arrived, his arm draped around Hazel's shoulders. His voice rang out—fake and condescending. "Don't be disrespectful to my wife."

A beat of silence, then he added, "Chloe, I'm giving you one last chance. Admit you were wrong. If you do, I'll forgive everything. You'll still be my Luna—the most honored woman in the Thorn Pack."

I didn't answer.

Annoyed, he shoved the door open, ready to unleash another cruel lecture.

But the words died on his lips and he froze.

Because lying on the bed, my body had already grown cold.