Chapter 2

When I was discharged from the hospital, I neither cried nor begged.

A lesser wolf might have whimpered, tail tucked, desperate for scraps of affection. But I wasn’t a lesser wolf. Not anymore.

That night, my phone buzzed.

Alpha Harvey has transferred $100,000 to your account.

For a moment, I just stared at the notification.

Ten years of marriage. Ten years of being his Luna, his mate, his shadow. And this was the first time he had ever lowered himself to offer anything more than his indifference.

In the past, a single text from him would have had me scrambling to respond, my wolf perking up like a pup desperate for approval. I used to send paragraphs, hoping—praying—for a crumb of attention.

But now?

I returned the money without hesitation.

Moments later, a voice message came through. His growl was laced with frustration.

"Jasmine, I advise you to quit while you’re ahead. Don’t push your luck."

Ah, there it was. The real Alpha Harvey.

That evening, he brought Yvonne back to the villa.

She strutted in like she owned the place, her arm draped possessively over his, a smug smile curling her lips. My wolf, though battered, lifted her head slightly, watching—calculating.

Harvey barely spared me a glance before disappearing into his study for a so-called business meeting.

Yvonne, however, was in the mood to play.

She slinked closer, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Look at you. After giving birth, your figure is completely ruined. If I were you, I wouldn’t have the face to stay by Harvey’s side."

Her words were meant to hurt.

In the past, they would have.

But now?

I simply looked at her. No reaction. No anger. Just silence.

Yvonne shifted, her wolf pacing beneath her skin, clearly irritated by my lack of response. She wanted me to snap. To lash out.

Instead, I let her stew in her frustration.

Then—she made her move.

The moment she heard Harvey’s footsteps approaching, she grabbed the fruit knife from the table.

With a quick flick of her wrist, she dragged the blade across her palm, drawing blood.

And before I could even process what was happening—she shoved the knife into my hand and collapsed onto the floor.

Tears welled in her deceptive eyes as she sobbed dramatically. "Luna Jasmine, I just admire Alpha Harvey and want to spend more time with him! Do you really need to kill me to silence me?"

Ah. The usual trick.

In the past, I would have panicked. I would have thrown the knife away, my wolf cowering under Harvey’s accusing glare. I would have begged him to believe me.

But this time?

I kept the knife.

I curled my fingers around the hilt, the cool metal pressing into my palm. If she wanted me to play the villain, then fine—I’d be the villain.

Harvey’s reaction was instant.

His growl rumbled through the room, his wolf rising to the surface. "Jasmine, jealousy has its limits! Do you want to become a murderer?!"

Before I could speak, he shoved me. Hard.

I stumbled back, the blade grazing my wrist as I hit the ground.

Pain flared, but I barely registered it.

I was too busy staring at the red streak trailing down my skin.

"Apologize to Yvonne!"

His voice snapped through the air like a whip.

When I didn’t move, he grabbed my arm, yanking me up. His grip was tight, bruising.

"Just apologize!"

My fingers tightened around the knife.

Then, slowly, deliberately—I dragged the blade deeper across my wrist.

A sharper cut. More blood.

The scent of iron filled the air, thick and unmistakable. Even my wolf recoiled, her hackles rising in warning.

I lifted my gaze to meet Harvey’s. And I smiled.

"Is this apology enough for you? If not, I can go further—"

"Enough, Jasmine!"

For the first time in years, concern flickered in his eyes. He snatched the knife from me, his grip tightening around my wrist.

"Are you insane?"

Then, his expression shifted.

His gaze dropped to my wrist—to the faint, crisscrossing scars littering my skin.

His breath hitched.

"Why are there so many marks?"

The memories surged like a tidal wave.

Ten years.

Ten years of Harvey parading women through our home.

None of them innocent. Many, like Yvonne, delighted in framing me, in tearing me down, in watching me suffer.

Some of the scars? Left by them.

But most?

Left by him.

His fingers ghosted over the old wounds, hesitation creeping into his eyes.

For a fleeting moment, I thought he might remember. That he might realize.

Then, his mouth twisted into a smirk.

"Jasmine, trying a new tactic, huh? Since you can’t stop me from cheating, now you’re using self-harm to get my attention?"

His grip tightened on my wrist, pain shooting up my arm.

But I didn’t flinch.

I didn’t care.

Because in just three days, I would be gone.

And nothing he said or did would ever hurt me again.