Chapter 2 Welcome home, Heiress Feymere.
1334 Words
_Zarelle’s POV_
The world narrowed to the space between our breaths.
Calden's mask of control slipped—just for a heartbeat—but I saw it. His piercing gaze swept over my face like he could physically trace the origins of my betrayal. The great Alpha, momentarily stunned by the defiance of his weakest wolf.
I could practically hear his thoughts: The desperate omega who'd bartered her rare blood for protection—what gave her the right to make demands now?
"Explain." His command vibrated through my bones, thick with Alpha power.
"Nothing left to say." I kept my voice steady despite the storm in my chest. "I'll give my blood to Thessaly. But this is my price."
My fingers curled into my palms, nails biting flesh. I stared at the medical equipment behind him—anywhere but those golden eyes that saw too much.
"We had a deal!" A growl rumbled deep in his chest, his wolf's amber glow bleeding into his irises.
"And I'm breaking it." I finally met his gaze, my chin lifting. "Turn me over to the Council. Strip my title. I don't care."
For the first time in three years, something flickered across his face that wasn't anger or disdain. Something almost like... I wouldn't let myself fall into that trap again.
He'd expected the usual—my quiet submission, my hunched shoulders and averted eyes. Not this. Never this.
A muscle jumped in his jaw as he studied me, his scent turning acrid with conflicted emotion.
"Fine." The word came out clipped, edged with something that might've been reluctance. "Do you have the papers?"
The question struck like a physical blow. Of course he'd ask about logistics before reasons. Efficiency over emotion—that was Calden Ashmoor in essence.
"Not yet." My voice barely carried.
His stare bored into me, as if trying to decipher whether the fractures in my resolve were real or just another manipulation.
Then, with the finality of a judge's gavel: "Beta Aldrin—draft the divorce documents."
The world tilted on its axis.
His immediate agreement shouldn't have shocked me—yet it did. The finality of it stole my breath, leaving the hospital suite eerily hollow. I blinked back treacherous tears, raising my chin as if I had practiced it a million times.
Beta Aldrin returned too quickly, the divorce papers a death sentence in his hands.
Calden signed without hesitation, his signature a brutal s***h of ink across the page. For a fleeting second, I thought I saw something—anything—flicker in those golden eyes. But it was gone before I could name it, replaced by that infuriating Alpha calm.
"Deal." He slid the document into an envelope with clinical precision. "The Council will process this by sundown. Don't delay."
My fingers trembled as I tucked my copy away, the paper burning like ice against my skin. Three years of stolen glances and unspoken wants, reduced to two signatures.
"Thessaly's waiting." He turned on his heel, already moving on.
I followed numbly, my pulse a ragged thing in my throat.
That's it. I shouldn't have expected anything from him in the first place.
The VIP suite reeked of roses and deception. Thessaly lounged like a pampered queen, her silk robe artfully draped to highlight every curve. The elderly healer dozed in the corner, exhausted from tending to her "critical condition."
"Calden!" Her voice was honeyed poison, eyes lighting up—until they landed on me. A delicate frown. "Darling, I told you I didn't need—"
A fake cough. A theatrical sigh.
Calden ignored her performance. "Zarelle's here. Let's get this over with."
I stepped forward before he could order me. Thessaly's smirk faltered as I leaned in—
—and ripped the bandage from her forehead.
The scent hit me first: antiseptic and unbroken skin. No blood. No wound.
"Zarelle!" Calden's roar shook the windows, his grip bruising as he yanked me back.
Thessaly's shriek was pure melodrama. "How could you?!"
But I was already spinning toward Calden, shoving the pristine gauze in his face.
"Smell that, Alpha? No blood. Just another lie." My voice cracked with the weight of a thousand unsaid truths. "How many times have you made me bleed for nothing?"
A deadly silence filled the room as Calden's gaze locked onto the trembling human doctor. The air thickened with the acrid stench of fear-sweat and deception.
"Explain."
Just one word, but it carried the weight of an Alpha's wrath. Doctor Patel flinched as if struck, his fingers clutching at his lab coat. His eyes darted to Thessaly—a tell as obvious as a bleeding rabbit in wolf territory.
"Alpha, I...I only followed orders," he stammered.
Calden took a single step forward. The doctor shrunk back, his pulse jumping visibly in his throat.
"Whose. Orders." Each syllable dripped with lethal calm.
Thessaly's perfume turned cloying as she shifted on the bed. "Calden, darling—"
A sharp gesture silenced her. Even the pack's precious golden girl knew better than to test an Alpha's patience now.
The doctor broke like dry kindling. "Miss Ashmoor said you wanted the records falsified! Said you needed Luna Zarelle summoned!" His voice cracked. "She threatened my medical license...my family..."
A beat of stunned silence.
Then—"And my blood?" My voice cut through the tension like silver through flesh. "What happened to what you took from me?"
The doctor's gaze dropped to the floor. "Resold. RH negative fetches...quite the price on the black market."
Thessaly's perfect facade shattered. "Lies! All of it!" Her manicured fingers twisted in the sheets. "Calden, you can't possibly—"
I didn't wait for her performance. With a tap, I sent the damning photo to Calden's phone.
The buzz of his device seemed deafening in the charged silence.
"Your security can trace the sender," I said calmly, though my pulse roared in my ears. "But I think it's easy to guess who took that picture."
Calden's voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "Where did this come from?"
I met his gaze without flinching. "Ask your future Luna."
Thessaly's mask slipped for just a second—a crack in her perfect porcelain facade—before she summoned another wave of calculated vulnerability. Her lashes fluttered like wounded butterflies.
I didn't wait for the performance. "Our deal is done," I said, turning toward the door. "Find yourself a new blood bank."
Behind me, the doctor scrambled for the exit like a rat fleeing a sinking ship.
Then—the dramatic thud of knees hitting linoleum.
"Calden...I can't..." Thessaly's breath came in theatrical gasps as she collapsed in a swirl of silk. Her manicured hand clutched at his sleeve. "It's like...like when Daelen..."
The name hit like a silver bullet.
I felt Calden stiffen before I saw it—the way his shoulders locked, the barely perceptible tremor in his hands. Daelen. His lost brother. A memory about some loyal wolves who never made it home.
Thessaly went boneless against him, the picture of fainting maidenhood.
The elevator dinged.
I stepped inside, counting the agonizing seconds. One. Two. Three.
Silence.
No thundering footsteps. No Alpha command shaking the walls. Just the hollow echo of my own heartbeat.
My lips curled into something too sharp to be a smile. Three years of bleeding for him, and I didn't even rate a goodbye. It was indeed the right decision to divorce him.
The only thing wrong was that I had wasted three years to make it.
The garage air smelled of gasoline and polished leather. Calden's Bugatti crouched in its designated spot, sleek and untouchable—just like its owner.
Then I saw it.
The Rolls-Royce Phantom. Smoke-colored. Bearing the crest of the Missatian Pack.
My fingers trailed across the hood ornament—a howling wolf wrapped in thorns. The symbol of my true birthright.
To this pack, I was Zarelle Stormy—the disposable omega.
But the driver bowing before me knew better. "Welcome home, Heiress Feymere."
- Writer
