The Alpha’s Regret Came Too Late

The door stood ajar.

I heard the sound of laughter.

A woman’s laughter.

Then the scent washed over me—deep, pungent, animalistic.

Sandalwood and jasmine. Her scent.

Liam despised competing aromas in his domain. He’d forbidden strong perfumes, incense, anything that could obscure the natural wolf signatures of pack members.

But tonight, the air was saturated with something intentional and claiming.

I pushed the door wider.

And there they were.

Liam was seated behind his desk, at ease, his sleeves rolled up, his Alpha aura a visible pulse in the low light—that supernatural glow only werewolves could perceive.

On his lap sat Scarlett Foster.

Not standing respectfully beside him.

Not seated politely in a chair.

On his lap.

Her expensive dress had ridden high on her thighs as she leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. Liam’s hand rested openly on her waist, his thumb tracing slow, possessive circles against the fabric.

As if she was his.

As if she belonged right there.

As if I did not.

Scarlett laughed, tilting her head back, and Liam pressed his mouth to her throat—a lazy, unhurried, deliberate kiss. His wolf’s eyes flashed amber for a fleeting instant.

Then his gaze lifted and found me.

“Oh.” His voice didn’t change. “You’re back.”

Scarlett didn’t move from his lap. She only turned her head slightly, offering a smile one might give to a servant.

“Chloe,” she purred. “We were just… catching up.”

Liam’s fingers remained on her thigh.

I forced my eyes away from that detail before it could make me falter.

If I showed a reaction, I would lose.

I took a measured step forward and placed a slim folder on the desk.

Liam didn’t even remove his hand from her when his free one reached for it.

“What’s this?” he asked.

His tone was distracted—as if he was humoring a child while his real attention remained where it mattered.

With her.

“University paperwork,” I said, my voice soft. “Safety and liability forms for the research lab. They require a signature.”

Scarlett’s smile widened.

“You’re always signing her little school documents,” she teased, her voice dripping with amusement. “So dutiful.”

Liam chuckled.

“It keeps her busy.”

The words slid into me like shards of ice.

But my expression remained placid.

I pointed to the signature line.

“It’s mandatory,” I said. “They won’t allow me to continue my work unless it’s signed by my legal next of kin.”

“Next of kin?” Liam’s eyebrow arched slightly.

I offered a small, controlled smile.

“You’re my husband,” I reminded him. “And you’re the only family I have left.”

For half a second, there was a pause.

That statement should have meant something.

It should have stirred the mate bond—that supernatural tether meant to make us inseparable.

But Scarlett shifted on his lap, settling more comfortably astride him, and Liam’s focus snapped instantly back to her mouth, to her perfume, to her proximity.

“Just sign it,” I said lightly. “I’m running late for the lab.”

He didn’t read it.

Didn’t even glance at it.

He picked up his pen as if it were nothing—as if he weren’t authorizing the end of a marriage, the severing of a mate bond.

His signature flowed across the page in one decisive stroke.

Then he pushed the folder back toward me.

“Done.”

Scarlett beamed, her fingers threading into his hair.

“She’s really quite good at being invisible,” she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear.

Liam’s eyes flicked to me for less than a heartbeat.

Empty.

Then his mouth found Scarlett’s again.

I picked up the folder.

The ink was still wet.

My throat constricted, but I forced the feeling down.

“Thank you,” I said.

I turned and walked out.

I didn’t allow myself to take a full breath until the door clicked shut behind me.

Only then did my fingers begin to tremble.

Inside my bag, I opened the folder just enough to see the top page.

Bold. Clean. Final.

PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE AND SEVERANCE OF MATE BOND.

Liam Walker had signed it without reading.

I stared at his name for a long moment.

Then I smiled.

Not out of happiness.

Because I was finally free.

That night, I sat on the edge of my bed, a half-packed suitcase open on the floor.

I’d been planning this for weeks. Quietly. Meticulously.

In a werewolf pack, a woman survived by staying silent.

But leaving an Alpha demanded something more.

It demanded being cleverer than the man who believed no one could ever outmaneuver him.

My phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

I hesitated for a split second—then answered.

“Ms. Walker?” a male voice inquired, his English crisp with a faint European accent. “This is Dr. Moreau’s office, Geneva Biomedical Research Institute.”

My heart stuttered.