ELIANA :
My breath caught as the frigid gel swept across my abdomen. The wand of the ultrasound glided over my skin, sending shivers up my spine that had nothing to do with temperature. The room was steeped in silence, save for a rhythmic whooshing sound — a sound I'd been waiting to hear for two excruciating years.
I fixated on Dr. Giselle's face. After so many disappointments, I'd become an expert in reading the subtle shifts in her expression before she even opened her mouth. I bit down on my lower lip, piercing the skin. I waited, blood pooling in my mouth in metallic waves.
It was the instant her eyes lit up that I knew.
"Congratulations!" The voice of Dr. Giselle pierced the tension like sunlight after a storm. "You're pregnant, Eliana."
The words hung in the air, almost magical and surreal. I faced the monitor — a smudge of black, white and gray that held no meaning to my inexperienced eye. But that sound — that glorious whooshing heartbeat — was all that mattered.
"Oh fucking god," I whisper, hands shooting up to cover my mouth. "I'm pregnant."
Dr. Giselle clasped my shoulder. "Yes, you are."
Suddenly, tears streamed down my face. The doctor embraced me, and I sank my shoulders against her, wailing with relief and joy I had never known before. Two years of monthly humiliation had led to this moment — this miracle.
"I'm gonna tell Denver!" The words spilled out before I could catch them. "He's going to lose his mind."
I imagined his face — those icy green eyes finally warming, that signature scowl softening into something like happiness. Maybe even... love?
Delusional, a voice in my head whispered. But I silenced it.
We were everything opposite of each other—an Omega slave and an Alpha King, a Blood Hound and a Black Moon wolf. Once ancient enemies thrust into an arrangement neither of us had elected. But this baby was a game changer.
It had to.
I have to leave," I said, quickly wiping gel off my stomach and grabbing my clothes. I texted Denver: I need to talk to you and my fingers trembled in anticipation.
The drive from the villa to the Pack was a tepid recollection of frenetic thoughts and pulse-pounding heart. The sight of Denver's slick black car out front filled me with nervous energy. Great timing, I thought, smoothing my hair, rehearsing how I'd break the news.
But once inside, the vibe smacked me like a physical blow. Denver hunched in the darkened living room, his body as tense as rock, his face obscured in half-shadow.
"Oh," I said, faltering. "I didn't realize you would come so quickly."
"Er, well, I've got something to tell you, but only after I cook you your favorite—" The words hitched in my throat as Denver stood.
"Eliana." The way he pronounced my name — flat, detached, clinical — made my stomach drop.
"Have you already eaten?" I asked them, eager to take back my moment, my statement.
"No—uh, yes." He swallowed visibly. "I received your text, and I have something to tell you as well."
My heart skipped. Did he somehow know already? But seeing his face, I knew otherwise. After two years of marriage — contract or no contract — I'd learned the native tongue of Denver's moods. This wasn't excitement. This wasn't joy.
It was the end of something.
"Oh," I whispered. "What is it?"
"It's about us." His voice was gravel under foot." "I'm afraid I won't be able to keep this up for much longer. This isn't working, Eliana."
The room tilted. Blood thrummed in my ears, drowning out all stimuli save for three words reverberating in my skull: *This isn't working. *
"But... My rebellion died as Denver plopped a sheaf of papers on the coffee table separating us.
"It's been two years, and we're almost at the end of the contract. You still haven't been able to give a child.." His voice became white noise as I focused on the papers. Divorce papers. Bearing his bold, slashing signature already.
The proceeding irony of the unfathomable universe—blessing me with my miracle the very second Denver chose to throw me away.
"But," I said again, strangled in one syllable.
I glanced up, scanning his face for any fissure in the façade, any sign of the man who'd saved me, who'd been tender our wedding night. But they were empty voids, the twin black holes stars were supposed to be.
"It's over," he said.
"I... I don't understand." The words came out, oh-so-pathetically small.
"What is there not to understand?! His voice boomed in the room. "I want a fucking divorce!"
His rage hit me like a physical blow. "Two years—that was it. That was the entire plan. The time I gave you two years of my life, and what do you give me, Eliana? You know this isn't working; truth is that deep down you've known for a long time. There is no reason to wait any longer. This has to end now."
"But I love you." The confession came out unbidden—an ugly truth I'd been hiding, even from myself.
Denver's was a cruel, empty laugh that echoed from the walls. "You can't love me."
"It was just a deal," the official said. I've been quite clear about that from the beginning — "
"But I do," I blurted, my voice cracking.
Denver pulled back, raking his knuckles against his teeth — a sign I'd learned to interpret as barely suppressed rage. "Well, I don't love you!" he yelled, the words echoing in my torso like shrapnel. "I don't love you, Eliana. I never have. This was not what I ever wanted."
*I don't love you. I never have. *
Six words. Six bullets right through my heart.
"But you're my... mate?" The question came out as a gasping whimper.
His eyes flashed dangerously. "Then I reject you."
The official words slid from his lips like stones tossed into a pond: "I, Alpha Malik Denver, do hereby refuse you, Eliana Jacobs, as my mate, severing this bond."
The mate bond between us—so blinding and fragile that I felt it on our wedding night—disintegrated. A physical pain shot through my chest, taking my breath away. Being rejected by a mate was an emotional event — it was primal, visceral.
Denver's piercing gaze dug into me, demanding the completion of the ritual.
"I, Eliana Jacobs, accept your rejection. My whisper hardly disturbed the air.
This man bore little resemblance to the man who rescued me two years earlier. Or maybe this was the true Denver all along and I'd just been too clouded by gratitude and encroaching love to notice it.
A tear ran down my cheek and dropped onto the divorce papers. Denver flicked the tearstained sheet. "You have got until tomorrow to sign. Make a plan for where you're going to stay. If that's what you want, I will give you a leave.'
He pushed past me and headed for the door. "And other than that, I have nothing else to offer you, Eliana."
The door ajar behind him, his cologne remained — sandalwood and boreal pine, power and disinterest. Then I heard it — his deep baritone punctuated by the light, tinkling laugh of a woman.
My feet began to act on their own, leading me toward the door. I opened it just wide enough to see Denver with his arms wrapped around another woman — tall, blonde, perfect. Everything I wasn't. Her scant outfit exposed what my modest clothes covered. Her assured hands possessed him as if he had always belonged to her.
"Come on upstairs," she purred, twining her arms around his neck.
Denver's mouth attacked hers with a thirst I'd never seen from him. As they walked toward the stairs, he glanced back — just for an instant — and our eyes met. He'd known I was watching. Known I was shattered.
And he simply didn't care.
At that moment, something broke within me — the final remaining strand of delusion. I envisioned a future where this baby, Denver, and I would all be one big happy family. What a fool I'd been.
We looked nothing like my baby's father: this man—this cold, heartless Alpha—would never be the father I wanted for my child. And what if he knew about the pregnancy? A chill ran through me. Would he stick with me out of obligation? Worse, would he attempt to take my baby from me?
No. He didn't deserve to know. He didn't deserve us.
I stumbled over to the table and grabbed the pen. My signature joined his, tears fogging my vision but not my resolve. This was real end time — not only of our farce of a marriage but of my naïveté.
I looked around the room, and my eyes finally landed on the sad pack. Nothing here had been mine in any real sense. Every possession, every moment — all borrowed, fleeting. I could destroy it all in revenge, but that wasn't who I was. Instead, I decided to just walk away.
I slid the diamond off my finger and put it on the table next to the signed papers. A queen relinquishing a coronet she never truly wore.
As I walked through the doorway and into the cool night air, a hand instinctively floated toward my flat stomach. My heart was broken, but my mission was clear. I was going to start all over again — away from Oakland, away from Tombs Dale, away from Malik Denver's shadow.
That first brave step into the unknown, with the winds of change whipping through my hair. I had gone into that house with hope flowering in my chest; I came out with tears track-marking my face but grit cementing in my soul.
Just me and my child — Denver's secret heir, a truth that would remain buried.
No one would ever know.
No one.