Chapter 7 His voice slithered through me like poison, that cruel laugh scraping at wounds he carved himself. Mine? The word was a chain he thought I'd never break. For years, I let him sink his claws in, let him claim, control, devour, until all that was left of me was silence. But silence breeds rage. And rage is sharper than any fang Then I heard it.... In the background, I caught the sound of a woman's laughter, high and hollow, like a blade dragged across glass. Marga. Always Margarette Hartclaw. The clink of crystal followed, sharp as fangs meeting bone. Luxury and cruelty mingled in the air like perfume and blood. "We're in paradise," Alpha Shawn drawled, his voice slick as oil, sweet as poison. "The twins are gorging themselves on waffles. Margrette's parading in a white bikini that costs more than your entire wardrobe. Meanwhile, you're rotting in that forgotten pack house, pacing through those halls like a ghost chained to her tomb." The rage stirred in me, slow and molten, crawling through my veins like the first tremor of the wolf beneath my skin. My pulse throbbed at my temples. My breath thickened in my chest. He never noticed. Or perhaps he enjoyed stoking the fire. "She says her hounds need feeding," Alpha Shawn continued, casual as if speaking of children. "You remember those beasts, don't you? The ones that nearly tore you down last year when they scented your fear?" He chuckled. "She said to remind you, wolves don't pity weakness." Then Marga's voice, honey-dipped, venom-laced came. "Don't forget the bath, Stella! They prefer rose shampoo. Not that cheap concoction you reek of." My jaw locked. My teeth ground together until my gums ached. I tasted iron. Shawn's voice slithered back into my ear, soft as silk, cruel as claws. "I'll wire you some money. Enough for their food. Don't waste it. Don't fail again, though God knows, failure is your only talent." And then, right before the call ended, his tone dropped, low and final, like the Alpha's growl before a killing blow. "Let's talk when I return. And for the love of the Moon, Stella... stop pretending. You are no saint. You're a kept woman. This is the cost of the life I gave you." That was it. That was the moment my wolf, long starved and silenced, bared her teeth. My voice was clear. Calm. Sharper than any blade. "The divorce-bond severance papers are waiting for you." The silence that followed was thick, charged, almost alive. I could hear him breathing, like prey caught off guard. Then came the laugh. That mocking, feral laugh I had once mistaken for charm. 1/3 11 9% 6:44 pm "Divorce me?" he spat, disbelief dripping from every word. "And go where? To who? You have no pack. No bloodline left. No job. You're a stray wolf, exiled, forgotten. You walk away from me, and you're nothing. You think you can survive outside the name I gave you?" He paused, his voice slicing the air like a silver blade. "You only exist because I allow it." I chuckled. Not the nervous sound of a she-wolf beaten down. Not the weary sigh of someone cornered. But a sound born of something older, wilder. A laugh with teeth. A laugh that tasted of freedom, of earth, of blood, of sky. The sound of a wolf remembering she had a soul. Then I hung up. I opened Mark's chat. Took a picture of the signed papers. Sent it. Blocked my son. And just like that, the world went silent. No gnawing voice in my head. No phantom weight pressing down on my ribs. No ache behind my eyes. For the first time in years, I stretched out on the old bed of my family estate, the one the elders used to say was built on sacred ground, and I slept. Not restless. Not half-dreaming. Not chainec to fear. I slept like the Alpha-born daughter I had always been. I slept like a wolf who had remembered her own name. Alpha Shawn's POV She hung up on me. I stared at the phone, dumbfounded, as though waiting for the device itself to repent. Then a ping, loud and clear. A photo. I opened it, half-grinning already. There it was. Crisp. Final. The bond severance papers. Her signature was dark and defiant against white parchment. My side, still empty, blank. As though her little scribble could defy my will. As though she forgot who had collared her, who had fed her, who had given her shelter when her pack cast her out. I laughed. Loud. Harsh. The sound of dominance, of a wolf mocking the weak. "Marga!" I called, raising the phone like a trophy. "Come look at this. Stella thinks she's a rebel Sent me divorce papers. Blocked Mark too." Marga sauntered over, silk robe loose around her body, eyes gleaming like a predator amused by prey. She skimmed the image, then scoffed, dismissive. "She's bluffing. She won't last a week without your name. She's sentimental. Soft. A relic of ar older bloodline that should have been culled years ago." Her words were daggers, and yet I grinned. "She used to know her place," I said. "Silent. Obedient. Hosting dinner parties like a proper Luna. Now she thinks herself free." Later, as I dressed for the gala, I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror. The years were there, lines across my eyes, sagging beneath my jaw. My wolf stirred restlessly, as though Chapter 7 312 126 6:44 pm mocking me too. I forced a smirk, straightened my cufflinks, and turned away. The party was the same as ever, wolves with too much money, humans pretending they weren't prey. I drowned myself in their laughter, their empty words, the intoxicating scent of bloodlines and perfume. Yet later, when I stood alone on the balcony, waves black beneath the Moon, I opened my phone again. My gaze lingered on that signature. Real. Final. Her defiance was the truth I refused to follow. I smirked, but it wasn't the soundless confidence of a victor anymore. It was quieter. Uneasy. Like the low growl before the storm. She thought she had won. She thought she could walk away. But she had forgotten one thing: wolves never release what's theirs. And Stella? She was mine. Mine to claim, to break, to rebuild. Mine to touch, to cage, to burn. Every breath she took, every beat of her heart, belonged to me, and me alone. Chapter 7 6:44 pm