Savannah's POV
That anniversary morning when I spotted Jonathan in our kitchen, my thoughts began spinning wildly.
He sat there consuming his regular breakfast while scanning fresh documents from the corporation my father had handed over to him.
The business served as both wedding present and gesture of trust between our united packs. Jonathan had become consumed with that firm the instant our ceremony concluded.
As though he had wed the enterprise rather than me.
Still, it wasn't the sting of envying a business that drove me to liquidate all my jewelry and designer clothing the second he departed for work.
It wasn't even his complete oversight of our anniversary date. I had grown accustomed to his obliviousness regarding special occasions and my birthday.
Naturally, the nation's most formidable alpha couldn't waste time remembering such trivialities when weightier concerns demanded his attention.
His secretary handled sending gifts and flowers with generic birthday messages he couldn't trouble himself to personally sign.
What disturbed me was the fresh bite mark he displayed carelessly on his left ear.
I asked nothing. He didn't attempt conversation that morning, maintaining his usual pattern.
He completed his meal and departed without offering a simple greeting. I remained steady when the door shut behind him.
That same afternoon, I arranged a meeting with an attorney and drafted divorce documents. I refused to touch the credit cards Jonathan had provided for expenses.
Instead, I relied on funds from selling my possessions. Predictably, the legal fees consumed half my meager savings.
The cost felt justified.
Today marks my liberation.
I hadn't anticipated morning in years, but this day carried special significance. Excitement kept sleep at bay.
Dawn hadn't broken when I finished organizing my belongings and preparing myself.
One small travel bag.
The dress I had purchased for my initial encounter with Jonathan before our arranged marriage.
Mother's pearl earrings, inherited the day I accepted his ring.
Deep crimson lipstick Jonathan constantly declared inappropriate for a Luna, paired with subtle makeup.
I positioned my wedding band on the nightstand beside the mattress. My mattress. The bed Jonathan rushed to abandon immediately following our wedding night.
The same bed where I twisted and wept as my days filled with this distant man's coldness.
Never again.
I studied my reflection in the mirror.
My eyes finally held their former brightness after these long years. The black fabric embraced my gentle curves while my dark hair fell perfectly across my exposed shoulders. The pearls caught the bedroom's gentle illumination.
I observed a woman destined to die within weeks, yet I had never experienced such joy.
The council would swiftly move to punish this Luna's rebellious behavior, particularly from one deemed defective and barren.
My birth pack, Tide Waves, would attempt maintaining harmony with Jonathan's Anaya Pack by offering up their traitor.
My freedom would last perhaps one week, but those days would belong entirely to me. Not controlled by my pack. Not bound to a man incapable of love. Mine exclusively.
I collected my bag and gazed upon the room that had imprisoned me these past five years one final time.
Unexpected melancholy washed over me momentarily. These walls had observed every misery I endured, each cry and tear and bitter moment.
I shut my eyes to banish the sensation and closed the door firmly.
Moving through the living room toward my exit, I discovered Jonathan positioned on our sofa. His shirt hung open at the collar, hair disheveled as though his fingers had raked through it repeatedly.
Raw whiskey scented the air, mixing with his distinctive honey and burned wood pheromones. The combination proved nearly suffocating.
His violet eyes darkened upon finding me. Perhaps the shadows beneath them created his menacing aura.
He released a low sound while examining me. His gaze traveled over my form slowly, deliberately. I wore everything he despised, so his disgusted expression seemed inevitable.
I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My mouth opened to speak, but no words remained.
Not even wishes for his happiness or success. Not accusations or grievances. Nothing existed between us.
I turned away and approached the door.
This moment would define everything.
No possibility of retreat existed now.
As my hand reached for the handle, Jonathan's palm slammed against the entrance, blocking my path.
I hadn't detected his approach, yet his whiskey breath warmed my neck's exposed skin.
"Savannah," he rumbled.
His deep, gravelly tone sent tremors through my spine that he certainly noticed. His finger traced down my back, making me question choosing this backless dress.
I attempted summoning courage to reject him, but his unfamiliar touch, overwhelming pheromones, and alcohol-laden breath made everything blur. I gripped the doorknob, fighting to maintain control.
"This dress," he continued whispering, positioning his mouth near my throat, "you wore this when we first met."
How could he possibly remember such details? Had he detested it so intensely that the memory burned permanently into his mind?
"Don't leave, Savannah."
Summoning every ounce of strength, I pivoted to meet his stare directly.
My omega nature made this unfair, his use of my biological responses against me. His pheromones intoxicated me as thoroughly as alcohol had affected him.
"What are you attempting, Jonathan?"
My voice resonated breathlessly in the hallway.
He didn't produce his expected smirk or laugh.
Instead, he distracted himself by running his finger across my bottom lip, streaking the lipstick.
"I warned you against wearing this lipstick."
Even during our final encounter, this man couldn't resist criticizing me.
I couldn't suppress my bitter smile at his comment. His finger remained positioned on my lip while his attention shifted from it to my eyes.
Breathing became difficult under his intense scrutiny.
"Why? Because it appears unrefined?"
"Because it arouses me beyond control."