He Rejected Marking Ceremony, I Upgraded Mate

Leaving Ethan with that look of stunned disbelief, I massaged my stinging wrist. I gave a curt nod to the former Alpha and Luna, who stood by the door wearing complicated expressions.

"Goodbye."

I didn't look back at the chaos erupting inside the Pack House. I walked straight out into the night.

The moment I stepped past the pack’s barrier wards, the injuries I had been suppressing came roaring back.

When Ethan pushed me away, he used all his Alpha power. Right now, my body was burning with pain.

If I had known it would hurt this much, I would have burned the last of my spiritual energy to shove those jade shards right down Ivy’s throat before I left.

That was Ethan. Always the same.

Whenever something happened, his fangs were always bared at me, while all his gentleness was reserved for that professional victim.

Years ago, if Ivy tripped over her own feet on the training grounds, Ethan would scold me in front of the entire pack for being "jealous and aggressive."

Eventually, I stopped explaining.

And so, I became the "vicious, envy-ridden madwoman" in the eyes of the pack.

My vision began to blur. My body swayed, losing its balance.

Just as I thought I was going to collapse onto the freezing snow, a convoy of matte-black armored SUVs pulled up silently in front of me.

The doors opened.

A wave of Alpha pheromones hit me—colder than a polar blizzard and a hundred times more terrifying than anything Ethan could ever muster.

"Falling down already? My new First Commander."

I squinted, forcing my head up.

A man stood before me, tall and broad as a mountain, clad in a black tactical trench coat. Even in the darkness, his pupils glowed with an electric, spectral blue light. It was the gaze of an apex predator.

I opened my mouth to say his name, but darkness claimed me.

I didn't hit the ground. I fell into a hard, warm embrace. My nose was instantly filled with a scent that was strangely grounding—cedarwood and the metallic tang of blood.

When I woke up, I wasn't in a public hospital smelling of disinfectant.

I was in the luxurious cabin of a private airship.

I was lying in a high-tech healing pod, tubes connected to my arms delivering high-purity Spirit Liquid.

And sitting by the bed was him.

He wasn't wearing a mask. His profile was sharp and cold, like a statue carved from ice. A shock of dazzling silver hair caught the light, glowing with a chilly brilliance.

It was the trademark of the Winterborn Alpha—Damon.

The North’s most brutal tyrant. The man known for being fiercely protective of his own.

Right now, this tyrant was bowing his head. With hands that were famous for tearing enemies limb from limb, he was carefully, almost delicately, adjusting the flow rate of my IV drip.

Looking at that silver hair, which looked surprisingly soft, I reached out as if possessed and touched it.

It felt cool and silky.

Damon looked up the instant I moved. Those ghostly blue eyes locked onto mine.

But he wasn't angry. Instead, a playful, dangerous smirk curled his lips. He caught my hand, brought it to his mouth, and lightly bit down on my fingertips.

"What? Making a pass at your new boss the second you wake up?"

His voice was deep and magnetic, resonating in his chest like a cello. It made my ears burn.

I tried to pull my hand back, but my phone on the bedside table suddenly started vibrating violently.

The moment the call connected, Ethan’s hysterical roaring filled the cabin.

I had no idea how he got my new number. He clung to me like a ghost that refused to fade.

"Selena! You murderer!"

"Ivy miscarried! My Alpha Heir is gone! All that blood... that was my child!"

"How could you be so venomous? That was my firstborn! You will pay for this with your life!"

He was screaming like a rabid dog.

I leaned back against the soft pillows, my expression indifferent. I actually felt like laughing.

"Ethan, honestly, you should have dissolved the contract with me ages ago."

"It wasn't hard. All you had to do was swear to the Moon Goddess and unilaterally reject me as your mate. Then I wouldn't have been stuck with the title of your future Luna."

"The only reason you dragged it out is because you’re greedy. You wanted Ivy’s submissive adoration, but you couldn't bear to lose your free bodyguard and pack administrator. Am I right?"

"I spoiled you for ten years. I made you think I was a dog you could kick away and call back at will."

"Oh, and Ethan? You really are an idiot. Ivy’s pregnancy was fake. That blood she was sitting in? It smelled like chicken blood from the black market."

I didn't wait for his reaction. I hung up and added his number to the permanent blacklist.

My chest heaved with the emotion of the moment, pulling at my internal injuries.

A large hand reached out, gently patting my back to help me catch my breath.

Damon watched me. There was no pity in those blue wolf eyes, only unmasked arrogance and a brutal sort of protectiveness.

"Selena, there's no need to waste energy getting angry at dead men."

He idly rubbed the Wolf King’s bone ring on his thumb, his tone as casual as if he were discussing dinner options.

"Say the word, and I’ll have the Winterborn Heavy Guard turn around right now."

"Before dawn, I can raze the Silver Moon territory to the ground. I'll twist that idiot Alpha's head off and let you use it as a soccer ball."

"Or, we can throw that female wolf—Ivy—into a snake pit? You choose."

I looked at him.

He was saying the most violent, bloodthirsty things, yet his gaze was focused on me as if I were the only thing in the world that mattered.

This was Damon, the Tyrant. Simple. Brutal. But he gave me a sense of safety I had never known.

I forced a weak smile, meeting his aggressive gaze head-on.

"Flattening the territory is too easy for him."

"Damon, I do have a favor to ask of you."

Ethan had been so smug about his "Heir," hadn't he? He thought of me—his "barren" ex-mate-to-be—as nothing but dead weight.

Fine.

If we were going to break up, I was going to make sure it was loud enough to shake the foundations of the pack.

I picked up my phone. I angled the camera to capture the large, powerful hand currently adjusting my IV drip.

In the photo, the man’s hand was scarred from battle, his fingers long and dominant as they held my pale wrist.

But the focal point was undeniable: the black-gold signet ring on his thumb, carved with the roaring head of a wolf. The symbol of the Northern Overlord.

I didn't block anyone. I posted it directly to my public feed.

The caption was simple, brutal, and provocative:

[This Alpha mate is much better. #Upgrade ]