You Wanted Me Too Late, Alpha

0002: Clinging To A Promise

ANNA'S POV

The soup had been on since four. Bay leaf, slow stock — it would be all the way down the hall by now, maybe further. I'd been at the stove since quarter to five, stirring, not wondering whether he would come.

He had promised. I told myself that when I added the onions. When I turned the heat down. When I stood there at quarter past six with nothing left to do but wait.

I heard the heels on stone before the door had finished opening. Lucy first. Felicia behind her.

"Still playing cook?" Lucy said, leaning against the counter. "I thought you'd be preparing for your big performance."

I didn't look up. I added salt to the soup. Then I turned.

Lucy stood with her arms crossed. Her face was disgust, plain and unhidden. Beside her, Felicia looked different in the kitchen light — softer than the polished woman who'd arrived at the pack days ago. Her eyes were hard. She studied me before deciding what to do with it.

"So it's true," Felicia said. "You're holding the divorce hostage. For thirty days of what? A performance?"

"A marriage," I said. "For thirty days, he'll be my husband. The way he promised to be six years ago."

Lucy laughed. Ugly. "You think a month of fake dinners and forced smiles will change anything? He loves Felicia. He's always loved Felicia. You're just the obligation our dying father shoved onto him."

I nodded, slow. "I know."

That stopped her. "You know?"

"I've always known." I held her gaze. "I've known for six years that I was a placeholder. That I was chosen because I was convenient." I paused. "I'm not asking him to fall in love with me. I'm asking him to keep one promise before I leave forever."

Felicia stepped forward, close enough that I caught her perfume.

"And what about me?" she asked quietly. "What about the years I lost? The mate they took from me? The cruelty I endured while you sat in his house, wearing the title that should have been mine?"

I looked at her. Really looked. The scars on her arms weren't from an accident — I'd seen them in passing, half-covered by her sleeve, and she pulled that sleeve down like reflex, every time, without thinking about it. She had been given to a brutal Alpha. She had suffered.

So had I.

"I'm not your enemy, Felicia," I said.

Her eyes flashed. "You're standing in my place."

"Your place was taken by your own father's debt. Not by me." I kept my voice level. "I was taken from nowhere and given to a man who didn't want me. We're the same, you and I. We're both women who were sold."

Lucy scoffed. "Don't compare yourself to her. She's a widow. A mother. You're just an orphan who got lucky."

I smiled. It didn't reach my eyes.

"Lucky," I repeated. "Six years of eating in this kitchen while your family celebrated at the table twenty feet away." I tilted my head. "So lucky."

Lucy's face reddened.

"You think this bargain makes you powerful?" she said. "Thirty days of fake affection? He'll go through the motions, and then you'll sign, and then you'll be nothing again."

"Perhaps," I said. "But for thirty days, I'll be something. That's more than I've had in six years."

Felicia's smile stayed a beat too long before it went. "You're asking for thirty days of something he never gave you in six years," she said. "What makes you think you're worth it now?"

I held her gaze. My voice didn't waver.

"Because I'm not asking him to love me," I said. "I'm asking him to keep a promise. And if he can't even do that — then I'll know. Completely. And I'll leave without looking back."

Felicia's fingers curled at her sides. Just slightly.

"And after?" she pressed. "Where will you go? What will you do? You have no family. No pack that will take you. No money of your own."

She meant it to land as a wound. I let her think it had.

"That's my concern," I said. "Not yours."

"You're making a mistake," Felicia said finally. "You think these thirty days will give you closure. They won't. They'll just make it harder when he walks away."

"Maybe," I said. "But that's my mistake to make."

Her mouth flattened. Not pity. Recognition. Then she turned and walked away.

Lucy lingered. Her smile narrowed to something quieter, more precise. "He'll be very kind about it, you know," she said. "At the end. That's the worst part."

She followed Felicia out.

~

That night, I set the table for two.

Candles. Flowers. The good ware I'd never used. I changed into a cream dress I hadn't worn in two years and put my hair down. Not for him. For the woman I meant to be in thirty days.

She deserved the practice.

He arrived at seven. Stood in the doorway. Looked at the table. Looked at me.

"You did all this?"

"I made dinner," I said. "Sit."

He sat. I dished out his food and settled beside him. We ate in silence. His fork scraped the bowl. He made a small sound, almost a hum of approval — the same smell that had never once brought him to the table in six years.

Halfway through the meal, he reached for the wine bottle and poured my glass without being asked, and for one long second I couldn't remember the last time anyone had done that for me without being told to.

Then I picked up the glass and drank.

That wasn't the bond. It was quieter than that, and harder to forgive myself for.

"Lucy came to see me today," I said.

He paused. "I know."

"She brought Felicia."

His hand stilled around his glass. "Anna—"

"I'm not complaining." I set down my spoon. "I'm telling you what happened. So you know what to expect."

"What did you say?"

"That I wanted closure."

He was quiet a long moment. "Do you think thirty days will give you that?"

I looked at him — at the set of his shoulders, the way his fingers kept curling around the glass and letting go, the shadows under his eyes.

Good.

"I don't know," I said. "But I'm going to find out."

Dinner ended there.

Luca stood, pushed back his chair, carried his plate to the sink. He wiped his hands on the towel and headed for the door.

"Goodnight, Anna."

I didn't move from my chair.

"Where are you going?"

He paused, hand on the doorframe. "To my room. It's late."

I shook my head. "No. You're not."

He turned, brow furrowed. "Anna—"

"You promised." I stood, smoothing my dress. "Thirty days. You be my husband. A real husband. Husbands don't sleep in separate rooms."

His jaw went hard. "That's not—"

"You don't get to rewrite what this is between us," he said, his voice lower now. Harder. "A performance. Nothing more."

"Then perform," I said. "In my bed."

His eyes cut to mine. "I didn't agree to that."

"You didn't refuse when I said it." I held his gaze. "You want the divorce? You want your freedom? Then you keep your word. Every part of it."

"Anna, this is—"

"Six years, Luca." My voice dropped. "Six years I slept alone. Six years I listened to you walk past my door without stopping."

I stepped closer. Close enough to see the pulse tick in his throat. Close enough that the bond stirred between us, restless and eager.

"You owe me thirty nights, Luca."

I paused.

"Not because you love me."

Another pause.

"But because you never even tried."

The kitchen was silent.

His eyes worked through it — an argument, a loophole, a way out. He didn't find one.

"Fine," he said finally, the word sharp. "But don't expect—"

"I don't expect anything." I turned toward the hallway that led to my room. "Follow me. Or don't. But if you don't, the deal is off. And Felicia can wait another six years."

I didn't look back.

Behind me, I heard his footsteps.