Five years ago today, we exchanged rings on a blood-red carpet, only for him to slide a bond break pact across the bed that night—this union was never a true bonding.
Now the day our bond break becomes law falls on the same moon as our anniversary.
No wonder he assumes I was gift-shopping. Every year, I’d spend fortnights picking out cufflinks or a watch, even though his wolf never marked the date.
Why does he remember now? Does he realize today is also the day our bargain expires?
Swallowing the acid in my throat, I clutch the bond break certificate in my bag and nod: “Yes. Looking for something special.”
This scarlet document is the deadliest gift of all.
He checks his wristwatch: “Taking Alice to Atlantic for skiing tomorrow. Let’s celebrate tonight. I’ve reserved La Maison’s pent
