No Mark, No Bond, No More Chapter 05
Discharged after a full week of bed rest, my body had healed enough to return to the Alpha house.
I’d scrolled through Selene’s frequent pack feed posts all week long: endless photos surrounded by Dorian’s pack brothers, piled high with catered meals, fresh bouquets and expensive gifts. The moon pearl necklace Dorian had once promised to buy me hung prominently around Selene’s throat.
Surprisingly, none of it stung anymore; I scrolled past every post completely unaffected.
The house remained exactly as I’d left it. Staff had swept away the broken bowl shards, yet the air still hung thick with suffocating alienation. Dorian had spent every night at Selene’s clinic and never set foot in our home. He had no clue I’d spent days hospitalized.
I packed every belonging that belonged solely to me, tossed our old framed photos in the trash, and burned every handwritten love letter he’d penned years ago. Once just a teenage wolf swearing eternal protection atop Moon Ridge’s shrine, now a stranger who’d broken every sacred vow. I watched the paper vows burn to fine ash, then slipped my promise ring off my left ring finger and set it on the living room table.
I laid divorce and mating bond dissolution paperwork out beside the ring and picked up my pen to sign my name.
Before I could summon Dorian to sign his portion, he walked through the front door mid-call with my headquarters coworker, who’d just confirmed my flight departure for the next afternoon. I ended the call instantly upon his arrival.
“Plans for a prenatal checkup tomorrow?” he frowned.
“Work travel,” I replied coolly. “No doctor’s appointment.”
I spotted the takeout food container in his hand as he held it out toward me. “I’ve been stuck at Selene’s clinic nonstop, so I’m sorry I couldn’t leave. I picked up fish soup to help you recover.”
I refused the container outright, strong fish odor churning my stomach into nausea. After years together, he still didn’t know seafood made me violently ill—a bitter reminder of how little he’d ever paid attention to me. I had no leftover energy to argue or call him out on it.
Ignoring my cold reception, he set a second garment bag on the couch. “These are Selene’s silk dresses; they can’t go in the washer. Hand wash them tonight for me.”
I stared at him, adrift in confusion—had he always been this oblivious and self-absorbed, or had he slowly morphed into this man over time?
“Leave them there,” I said flatly.
“I need to grab a few extra clothes and then head back.”
He turned toward the bedroom to pack a small overnight bag, and I followed with the legal dissolution papers.
“The mortgage on our private den is fully paid off,” I told him. “Pack registry needs your signature for final filing.”
He didn’t read a single line of the documents and signed hastily where I pointed, oblivious to what he was agreeing to. Once he grabbed his packed bag and exited the house, I pulled out my phone and rescheduled my flight to depart in two short hours.
I removed my last ring, stacking the divorce and bond-dissolution papers alongside my official miscarriage medical records on the table. These were the final things I’d leave behind for Dorian Blackwood.
Our story ended right there, permanently.
