CHAPTER 4 – THE TRUTH OF IT
1259 Words
Nevara
The divorce papers were ready.
Sitting in my inbox like a quietly ticking bomb.
I stared at the subject line—Petition for Dissolution of Bond – Nevara Laurent & Tobias Voss—and felt both sick and free.
It had only taken Rosa two days to draft everything. Fast, precise, confidential. There were no assets to divide. No children. Just a name and a contract that never meant what I wanted it to mean.
I clicked download. Watched the little progress wheel spin. My hand hovered over the mouse as the printer began to hum.
I didn’t shake. I didn’t cry.
I just waited.
When the pages were finished, I gathered them slowly, feeling the weight of the paper like it meant something more than ink and signature lines. This was my exit. My rebellion. My last-ditch effort to reclaim my dignity before Tobias could tear it away piece by piece with moans and stolen glances meant for someone else.
The only problem? He’d never sign them willingly.
He wasn’t in love with me. But the marriage suited him. It kept the elders quiet, kept Veronica at bay, kept Vanessa conveniently out of reach of scandal. A tidy little arrangement wrapped in the illusion of nobility.
But he didn’t love me.
And I was done pretending that I was okay with that.
The question now was: how do you trick a wolf into signing away the thing that protects him?
That question led me down a dark hallway of possibilities I wasn’t quite ready to face. But my resolve held.
I set the papers aside and sank into the armchair by the window, letting the autumn wind brush against my skin.
And for the first time in weeks, I let myself remember how this all began.
⸻
It was spring when it happened. The trees were still budding, and the ground was soft with the kind of thaw that made your boots stick.
Tobias had been out in the far east woods, running training drills with a few of the younger warriors. They were supposed to stay in formation, cover more ground, practice silent tracking.
But Tobias had always run faster than the rest of them.
He’d pulled ahead—shifted into wolf form and left the others behind. His coat was nearly black in the shade of the trees, a blur of muscle and power. I know because I’d seen him run that way before. Confident. Reckless. Unmatched.
The far eastern woods were mostly avoided for a reason. They were thick, wild, and unmarked. No one ever went that deep unless they had a purpose.
I did.
The herbs I needed for my tea—scarlet sage, moonmint—only grew beneath a cluster of ancient ash trees hidden in that region. I was alone, wearing a pale green dress and a satchel slung over my shoulder.
I’d just finished clipping a cluster of mint when I heard it.
A howl.
Short, sharp, and agonized.
It wasn’t a call for attention. It was a scream.
I froze, heart pounding, straining to hear. Another whimper. Then silence.
I followed it.
When I found him, Tobias was still in wolf form—unconscious, one leg caught in a rusted metal bear trap. The teeth had clamped down just above the joint, bone likely cracked, blood soaking the dirt beneath him. His head was resting at an odd angle beside a flat rock streaked with red.
The trap had snapped and thrown him, hard.
My breath caught. I didn’t think—didn’t hesitate.
I dropped to my knees beside him and forced my fingers into the springs. The trap was old, but strong. It took everything I had to pry it open, and even then, I cried out from the pain in my arms.
When it finally released, Tobias groaned faintly. He didn’t shift. Couldn’t. He was too far gone.
I tore at the hem of my dress until I had long strips of fabric and wrapped them tightly around his leg to slow the bleeding. My hands were shaking. My knuckles bloodstained.
“I’m going to get help,” I whispered, brushing the fur behind his ear. “Hold on.”
I ran.
I didn’t think about the herbs I’d dropped or the blood on my arms. I didn’t even think to shift—I just ran, legs pumping, heart pounding.
But by the time the warriors made it back to the site…
Vanessa was already there.
Kneeling beside him. Stroking his hair. Whispering soft, frantic words.
And I’ll never forget the way the warriors looked at her—as if she were the moon itself come to earth.
No one ever asked how she got there.
No one questioned why she, of all people, had wandered into the eastern woods alone.
She never corrected them.
When they carried Tobias back, it was Vanessa who stayed by his side. Vanessa who was praised. Vanessa who was credited with saving his life.
I stood to the side, dress torn, hands shaking, tea herbs long forgotten.
Nickolai found me later that night.
“I know it was you,” he said. “I saw your dress...”
I didn’t reply. I didn’t have it in me.
“You should tell him so he knows,” he added gently. “The elders are demanding an heir and a marriage, I told him to marry you.”
He looked me straight in the eyes.
“You’d treat him right. If he has to marry, it should be someone who sees him. Really sees him.”
And so, a few weeks later, I did what I thought was right.
I said yes.
⸻
Now, years later, I stared down at the papers in my lap.
I saved his life. I gave him peace. I gave him a way out of Veronica, out of politics, out of pressure.
And still—it was never enough.
He still wanted her.
And she never stopped taking what wasn’t hers.
Not this time.
This time, I was going to take myself back.
That night, I set the trap.
I went to the office—our shared office, technically—and pulled out the paperwork I knew he’d be expecting. End-of-month reports. Resource allocations. Some estate logistics for the Harvest Moon event. Things I’d managed for years. Things he never questioned.
He was used to this dance. I organized the details, printed the summaries, added sticky tabs in bright neon colors at each line that required his signature.
He never read them. Not really.
He’d glance at the top page, ask a single question if anything jumped out, then sign wherever I marked. Hand them back. Trust me to take care of the rest.
And I always did.
Which is why tonight, I added one more page.
Tucked between the inventory summary and the landscaping vendor approvals, I slid in the signature page of the divorce petition.
Not the full document—just the last page, where the lines waited for names and dates. Where the quiet unraveling of a marriage began not with a fight, but with a pen.
I aligned the pages, smoothed the edges, and pressed a yellow arrow tab on the divorce page like all the others. The same exact kind I’d used for years.
Routine. Familiar. Invisible.
When I was done, I stared at the stack in my hands.
He’d sign them.
He always did.
And this time, it wouldn’t just be another approval form or budget draft.
It would be my freedom.
- Writer
