My Cruel Alpha

CHAPTER THREE

KATARINA

When the words hit his ears, he freezes. Good he heard me. Lifting his weight from me, he stares down at me. “Do you realize what you're saying?” he snorts.

I nod, feeling a mix of fear and determination surging through me. My heart races as I try to steady my voice, knowing that this moment could change everything. "Yes, I do," I whisper, hoping my resolve is clear.

Roman's eyes narrow, searching my face for any sign of hesitation. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I see a flicker of uncertainty cross his features. Then, he takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what comes next.

I can’t take his silence any longer, so I burst into tears and scream, "Let's get a divorce.”

His brows are furrowed as he watches me with a dismissive look on his face. “You're so boring.” He waves his hand dismissively at me. "All this for my attention?"

His words anger me. “I’m not kidding. I am very serious about this Roman.”

Roman's expression shifts from dismissive to slightly alarmed, his eyes widening in surprise. He studies me for a few seconds, the gravity of my words finally sinking in. "You really mean it," he murmurs, more to himself than to me, his voice tinged with disbelief.

As soon as I push him off me, I stand and cross over to my vanity. I pull out the papers hidden in the drawer. My hands tremble as I retrieve the papers. The weight of the decision presses down on me like a physical force. Each step back toward Roman feels like an eternity, my heart pounding in my chest. When I finally throw the documents on the bed, a mixture of sorrow and relief washes over me, knowing there's no turning back now.

“What are those?” he asks as I toss them on the bed next to where he is standing. Roman hesitates for a moment, then picks up the papers, his eyes scanning the words with a growing sense of dread. "You already drew up the divorce papers?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He looks up at me, a mixture of shock and hurt etched across his face, as if he's only now realizing the finality of my decision.

“Yes. I want nothing from you. I have already signed them. I am no longer your wife.” I square my shoulders, take a deep breath, brace myself for the emotional impact, and meet his gaze unwaveringly.

Roman's expression darkens, and in an instant, he grabs my arm, his grip firm yet desperate. "You can't be serious," he growls, pulling me closer as if to hold onto the remnants of our fractured relationship. I don't flinch; instead, I meet his gaze with a newfound strength, determined not to falter.

“Let me go, Roman.” I say struggling to yank my wrist out of his grasp.

He’s clinching his jaw and sneering at me.

Then he grabs my throat with his other hand. To get him to release his grip, I claw at his arm. He tightens his grip.

Panic surges through my veins as I try to get away from him before he hurts me or kills me. The room spins around me as my lungs burn for air. I can't focus on anything other than the crushing pressure around my throat as I feel fear and desperation intertwine. Suddenly, my vision blurs, and I know I have to get out or else I'll lose everything.

He brings his face to mine. "You think it'll be that easy?" releasing his grip enough for me to respond.

“I will leave Moon Blood. You won't ever have to see me again.” My voice raspy from bruising already forming on my throat.

Roman's eyes narrow, a dangerous glint flashing in them as he processes my words. His grip on my throat loosens slightly, but his rage is palpable, simmering just beneath the surface. "Leave Moon Blood? You think you can just walk away from this life?" he snarls, his voice low and menacing.

Roman drops me to the ground. I grab my throat and try to soothe the pain. I look up at him as a devilish smirk plays across his face. A smirk that can shake even an Alpha to their core. It's like looking into the eyes of a wild beast - a predator who's intent is clear, and the chances of survival slim.

“Cute. Where would you go, a wolfless she-devil? If you leave my pack, where will you go? Will another pack accept you?” His words hurt, but he's right. There aren't many packs open to taking in the wolfless. Most werewolves think we're just a little better than humans.

He watches me with hatred in his eyes. He despises me. He has another woman, so why question me? He wants to be with her. Releasing us from this loveless marriage is a way to get what he wants. Leaving his pack would mean living as an outcast, constantly on the run from predators and rival packs. Without a pack's protection, I’d be vulnerable to attacks and left to fend for myself in a world that sees lone wolves as easy prey. The isolation and lack of resources could lead to a slow, painful demise, but staying here with Roman feels like a fate worse than death.

The past two years have been a nightmare for me; I have done everything within my power to please him, to be what he wanted. This cruel man never noticed my love for him.

Tears pour down my face as I shake my head. “I was in this marriage hoping we could be happy. A family with our childr-“

“Children?” he snorts. “How could you think about children, Katarina? Would I ever let you carry my pups?" Roman seethes. “I'd gut you if you bore any.” Roman seethes.

The color drains from my face as his words slice through me like a blade. My heart pounds in my chest, and for a moment, I struggle to breathe, the weight of his threat pressing down on me. Despite the terror gripping me, I refuse to let him see my fear; I stand up slowly, meeting his gaze with a newfound determination.

“What? Cat got your tongue Kat-arina?” He mocks me.

Once I wipe away the tears, I gather my courage and stand. "Sign the papers, Roman. Let's be done with each other."

"You don't think I'll sign them?" he asks as his eyes darken.

Despite the trembling in my hands, a sense of empowerment washes over me as the words leave my mouth. For the first time in years, I feel a flicker of hope, a glimpse of freedom from the oppressive weight of this toxic relationship. No matter his reaction, I've made my choice, and I'm ready to face whatever comes next.

Those intimate moments we spent together made me want him to reconsider, to tell me he didn't wish for me to leave or divorce. I was what he wanted instead of Layla, so despite never loving me, he wouldn't sign for me.

He pulls a pen out of his inside jacket pocket, grabs the papers off the bed, and signs. He doesn't show regret, hurt, or sadness, only indifference. As if he had signed another business agreement. My heart sinks as I watch him sign the papers with such cold detachment, a stark reminder of how little I meant to him. The finality of his indifference stings more than I anticipated, but it also solidifies my resolve. I take a deep breath, knowing that this is the first step towards reclaiming my life and finding the peace I deserve.

In the last two years, I have provided for all his needs. Did I love him less than he wanted? Was my love for him less powerful than Layla's?

Suddenly, he threw the divorce papers at my feet. Reaching into his pocket he retrieves his checkbook, writes a check, then throws that at my feet as well. Anger and humiliation surge through me as the check lands at my feet, a cruel symbol of how disposable he believes I am. My hands clench into fists, and I fight the urge to scream, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break. Instead, I look him in the eye, a silent promise that I will rise above this moment and rebuild my life without him.

“Take it. Consider it as payment for the bed services you have provided through our marriage.” With that he leaves me alone in the room.

As the door slams shut behind him, the floodgates of emotion burst open. I collapse onto the bed, tears streaming down my face, a mix of relief, sorrow, and fury. The weight of his final insult crashes over me, but I know this pain is unavoidable.

Placing my hands on my stomach “I’m sorry my loves, I have to protect you from your father. We must leave.” I grab a suitcase from the closet and start packing my essentials, my hands trembling with urgency. Each item I place inside symbolizes a step towards our new beginning, away from chaos and hurt.

I pick up everything off the floor, put the divorce papers in my purse and the check on the night stand.

Roman mocked my love, he used me for “bed services”, he would kill me for bearing his heirs.

“I will never forget what you said, Roman Whitlock. You are undeserving of me and our children.” I mumble to myself zipping up my luggage.