“I mean, it’s a damn shame,” she added, tapping the steering wheel. “If anyone had told the eighteen–year–old me that Ethan Hawthrone–the ‘golden alpha‘–would end up ruining the only real thing he had, I would’ve said they were out of their minds.”


    I gave her a small, tired smile. “That’s because fairy tales sound


    sweet… until they start rotting from the inside.”


    She didn’t argue. Neither did I.


    When we arrived at the Silvermoon courthouse, the skies were


    draped in a sheet of gray, the moonlight slipping in between


    clouds like pale silk. The entire building was sleek steel and


    stone–modernized to amodate our kind. Inside,


    everything was pristine. Gláss walls. Echoing floors. Cold


    marble counters manned by expressionless werewolves in navy


    uniforms. The unbinding hall was bathed in a soft silver glow,


    light filtering down through the skylight above.


    Ethan was already there.


    He stood near the sensor tform, dressed in a dark wool coat,


    hands stuffed in his pockets. He looked up when he saw me.


    His eyes dropped instantly to the cut on the corner of my


    mouth–the fading bruise that no amount of makeup could


    quite cover. Guilt red in his expression, then vanished as quickly as it came. He didn’t say anything. Neither did I.


    We walked up to the mate unbinding tform together.


    The technician in charge, a middle–aged wolf with streaks of


    gray in her hair and a matte ck uniform, gestured to the twin


    sensor tes. “Palms on the tes, please. Blood and fingerprint


    required!”


    I rolled up my sleeve, exhaled, and ced my palm on the


    sensor. I felt a tiny prick as the system drew a drop of blood. A


    soft hum followed.


    “Olivia Whitmore, Alpha–rank. Verified,” the system intoned in


    a neutral tone.


    Ethan did the same. His hand brushed mine briefly. It was


    warm. Familiar. It meant nothing.


    “Ethan Hawthrone, Alpha–rank. Verified.””


    On therge screen above the dais, a blue disy opened with


    the heading:Mate Contract: ActiveMatch Duration: 8 years, 3


    months, 14 daysStatus: Pending Unbinding


    “Request number #230718 recorded,” the officer continued,


    flipping a page on her clipboard. “Do both parties confirm their


    desire to voluntarily dissolve the mate contract?”


    <b>Chapter </b>86


    “I confirm,” I said clearly, looking ahead, not at him.


    There was a pause.


    Then Ethan said, “I confirm.”


    A second screen appeared, shing bright white:Mate Bond


    SeveredStatus: Complete


    Two printouts slid from the terminal slot. The officer picked


    them up, stapled them, and handed one to each of us. “These are


    your official divorce and unbinding papers. You are no longer


    mated under werewolfw.”


    I took the document without hesitation.


    Ethan hesitated for a second longer… but he took his too.


    But then I watched Ethan’s hand extend the divorce papers


    toward me, the leather folder reflecting a faint sheen under the


    courthouse lights. My pulse ticked a little faster as I reached for <ol><li>it. He frowned–curious, unsettled. </li></ol>


    “Keep them,” he urged softly. “You never know when you might


    need them.”


    I paused. “Use them,” I said slowly. “If you ever… I don’t know,


    remarry.“‘He stumbled slightly. “I—I won’t remarry!” His voice


    trembled, as if he were testing himself.


    “Then why do you need them?” I asked, trying to keep my tone


    steady.


    “I-“Ethan swallowed, nced away. <b>“</b>I just thought you should


    hold onto them. Safer that way!”


    I let it go. If he really wasn’t going to remarry, it wasn’t my


    concern. I nodded and tucked the folder into my bag.


    “I hope you find happiness,” I offered quietly. “Wishing well,


    right?”


    He blinked, confusion shing in his eyes. “Who do you want


    that happiness with?”


    I kept my expression calm<b>, </bposed. “With me,” I said simply.


    “On my own terms.”


    Ethan’s gaze softened. He straightened. “You deserve that!”


    “Thank you.” I found the much–needed courage to finish.


    “Goodbye“”


    We parted ways–he lingered a moment, as if expecting more,


    but I did not hesitate. I walked out into the brisk evening air, the


    weight of eight years resting in that folder and in my posture. I


    breathed deeply, the crisp air bringing rity. The courthouse


    steps disappeared behind me, reced by theforting blur of city lights. I felt oddly lighter, as if a final cord had been severed.


    Walking home, I tried to summon gratitude–but my emotions felt neutral. Numb, not sad, just worn. At my door, I paused and closed my eyes, letting relief wash over me. No coteral damage. No lingering doubts. Just space to breathe again.


    Inside, Ava greeted me with a soft hug. She’d waited, cautious, ready to support. “How are you?”


    I touched the folder nestled inside my bag. “Free,” I whispered. “Let’s just stay in tonight.”


    She nodded, offering tea and a cautious smile. We sat quietly,


    our shared stillnessfortable.


    ? ????),