You Wanted Me Too Late, Alpha

ANNA'S POV The folder was already on the table. He stood at the window with his back to me. "What are these?" I asked. "Divorce papers," he said. "I want you to sign them." His voice wasn't cold. Cold would've taken effort. He was just done. I walked to the table without hurrying and picked up the document. I opened the folder. The pages were dense with legal language—terms, conditions, settlement. Someone had spent real time making six years look like three paragraphs. "You prepared this in advance," I said. He finally turned. His eyes were storm-gray, unreadable, the same way they had been the night we mated, the night he first looked at me like I was something beneath him. "I was waiting for the right time." I almost smiled. He had been waiting for six years. Waiting for the moment when he could erase me without consequence. "For her to come back," I said. His jaw tightened. "Felicia has nothing to do with this." The lie was effortless. He had probably told it to himself so many times he had started to believe it. I closed the folder carefully, my fingers steady, and set it back on the table. "Then you won't mind if I take my time." His eyes sharpened. That was the thing about Luca—he could control his voice, his expression, even his scent when he wanted to. But his eyes always betrayed him. And right now, they betrayed impatience, annoyance. The faintest edge of something that might have been guilt. "I don't want this dragged out," he said. "No," I agreed softly. "You don't." He moved closer to the table, planting his hands on the polished wood. His wedding band caught the light. I wondered if he even noticed he was still wearing it. "Sign the papers, Anna. I'll make sure you're provided for. A house, money, protection. You won't have to worry about anything." I looked at him fully then. Not the Alpha the pack saw—just him. The man who had never once, in six years of marriage, said my name like it meant something. "You've already decided what I should want," I said. "You always have." His expression didn't change. But something flickered behind his eyes. Annoyance, yes. But underneath it, something else. Confusion, maybe. He wasn't used to me pushing back. I had spent six years being agreeable. Being quiet. Being invisible but not anymore. "Then tell me what you want," he said. "And we'll end this properly." There it was. The opening I had been waiting for. Not for six years—longer than that. For the moment when he would finally ask, and I would finally tell him. I let the silence sit just long enough to make him feel it. "I'll sign," I said. Relief moved through his posture so quickly most people would have missed it. A slight drop in his shoulders. I didn't miss it. I had been watching him for six years. "But not like this." The relief disappeared. "Anna—" "I want terms." His brows drew together. "Terms?" I nodded once. "You said you wanted this clean. So do I." He gestured to the papers, his hand cutting through the air in a sharp, impatient gesture. "That's what this is." "No." I kept my voice quiet. "This is convenient. For you. For Felicia. For the council. Everyone gets what they want, and I walk away with a house and money and the quiet understanding that I was never anything more than a placeholder." His eyes darkened. "That's not—" "I spent six years in this house as your and Luna in name only," I said, stepping closer. Not enough to touch him. Just enough to shift the air between us. "Invisible. Unacknowledged. Unwanted. You don't get to erase that with a signature." His jawline tightened. "What do you want, Anna?" he asked again. Slower this time. This time, I didn't make him wait. "You." His expression hardened instantly. "Don't." "Thirty days." He stilled. "Thirty days," I repeated. "You be my husband. Not in name but in action." His jaw worked silently. I could see him calculating, trying to find the angle, the trap, the thing I wasn't saying. He had spent six years underestimating me. Thirty days wouldn't be enough to break the habit, but it would be enough to make him start wondering. "That's not—" he started. "You come home every night." I didn't let him finish. "You sit across from me at dinner. You stand beside me at pack functions. You correct anyone who disrespects me." I held his gaze, steady and unflinching. "You sleep in my bed." His jaw tightened further. "Anna—" "You touch me," I added quietly. "Not like an obligation. Like a man who chose his mate." The room went very still. Outside, I could hear birds. Somewhere deeper in the house, a servant moved. But between us, there was nothing but the weight of what I had just asked for. "That's what you're asking for?" His voice was low now. Dangerous, almost. "A performance?" "Yes." "You want me to lie to you." "I want you to try." His eyes flashed gold. There it was—the Alpha, the predator, the man who had never been denied anything in his life. "There's nothing to try." I was angry. For one beat I wanted to take it back—the thirty days, the asking, all of it. I looked at the window instead of at him. "Then you have nothing to lose," I said. He looked away first. Walked to the window. Ran a hand through his hair—controlled, but not as controlled as he wanted to be. I watched his reflection in the glass. Watched him wrestle with the decision. "And after thirty days?" he asked finally. "I sign everything. No delays. No claims. No complications." "And you leave." "Yes." He turned back to me. Searching my face now. Not for emotion—he had never bothered to look for that. For weakness. He wouldn't find it. I had buried my weaknesses too deep, too long ago. "And if I refuse?" he asked. I tilted my head slightly. Let a fraction of a smile touch my lips—not warmth, not cruelty, just certainty. "Then we don't have a clean divorce." His eyes narrowed. "You can take me to court," I continued. "Challenge the terms. Drag this out in front of the council. Let them question why their Alpha is so eager to replace his Luna the moment his former lover returns. Let them wonder what you're hiding. Let them whisper." I watched the calculation happen in real time. Reputation. Authority. Control. All the things he valued more than me, more than Felicia, more than the truth. Thirty days of playing husband was a small price to pay for keeping those things intact. "Thirty days," I said softly. "In exchange for six years." His gaze locked onto mine. Something shifted behind his eyes—not the bond, never that. Something sharper. "You've thought about this," he said. "For a long time." Another silence. Longer this time. The longest yet. Then— "Fine," he said. "Thirty days. And then you sign. No conditions. No delays." I nodded. "Starting tomorrow." "No." He frowned. "Starting tonight." Confusion flickered across his face. "Why?" "Because I don't like wasting time," I said. His gaze held mine for a long moment. Then he gave a short, humorless breath—not quite a laugh, not quite a surrender. "Fine," he said again. "Tonight." He picked up the divorce papers. Folded them once. Set them back down on the table with more care than they deserved. "As of tonight," he said, "I'm your husband." Not again. Not properly. Just—a role. A part he would play for thirty days, the way he had played the absent husband for even longer. He turned and walked out of the room without another word. His footsteps faded down the hallway. A door opened and closed. I didn't move. I looked down at the folder on the table. Ran my fingers over its edge. I picked up the folder, walked to the window, and stood where he had stood. The glass was still warm from his shoulder. Thirty days. I could survive anything for thirty days. The question was whether he could.