The masked alpha's regret return of his ruined omega

Five years. Five years to the day since she had walked down the aisle of the Lycan High Council's cathedral, bound by a political treaty to Dominic Vance, the Supreme True Alpha of the territories. She had been naive then, a young woman who believed that patience, loyalty and unconditional devotion could thaw even the most frozen heart. She had thought that if she became the perfect Luna, if she built a sanctuary within these walls and poured her soul into raising their adopted son, Leo, Dominic would eventually look at her and see a wife, not just a strategic alliance. Instead, she had spent half a decade living like a ghost in a gilded cage. Dominic ruled the pack with terrifying, unyielding authority, his name whispered with reverence across the continent but behind closed doors, he was a stranger. He spoke to her in brief, clinical directives, his gaze always cutting past her as if she were a piece of furniture he had inherited with the estate. He never touched her. He never sought her out. He buried himself in pack politics, leaving her to starve in a desert of emotional neglect. A heavy, deliberate footstep sounded in the doorway and the air in the room instantly shifted. The atmospheric pressure dropped, heavy with the suffocating, dominant aura of a True Alpha. Seraphina didn't flinch. She had grown accustomed to the weight of his presence, even if it always made the phantom wolf inside her retreat into the shadows. Dominic stood at the threshold, unbuttoning the cuffs of his crisp white shirt. He was towering, broad-shouldered, and devastatingly handsome, with sharp, aristocratic features and dark hair that fell slightly over his brow. His golden-amber eyes, typical of the supreme Vance lineage, caught the dim light of the chandelier. As usual, his face was an unreadable mask of cold indifference. "The Lycan Council delegation is arriving in an hour," Dominic said, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone that vibrated through the floorboards. "The reception must be seamless, Seraphina. Lord Tremblay is looking for any sign of instability within our borders. I expect you to perform your duties flawlessly tonight." "Perform your duties." The words tasted like ash in her mouth. On the night of their fifth wedding anniversary, there was no acknowledgement of the milestone. No private word. Just a reminder to put on a good show for the politicians. "Everything has been arranged," Seraphina replied, her voice smooth and devoid of the tremor that used to plague her in their early years. "The banquet hall is prepared and the security detail has been briefed. The Vance Pack will look entirely unshakable." Dominic gave a curt nod, walking past her toward the wardrobe. As he did, he paused, his gaze briefly dropping to the velvet box sitting on the edge of the vanity, a small anniversary gift she had bought weeks ago before the final embers of her hope had completely died out. He looked at it for a fraction of a second, his expression unchanging, before turning his back to her. "Help me with the collar," he ordered quietly, pulling a dark velvet formal coat from the hanger. Seraphina suppressed a bitter sigh and stepped forward. It was a routine they had performed a hundred times before public galas. She was the dutiful wife, adjusting his armor before he went out to command the world. She stepped into his space, smelling the familiar, intoxicating scent of cedarwood, winter rain, and pure Alpha dominance. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached up to smooth the high collar of his coat, her hands brushing against the warm skin of his neck. For a split second, she thought she felt a sudden tension ripple through his massive frame but she dismissed it. Dominic Vance did not feel tension around her; he felt nothing at all. As she turned his head slightly to secure the silver pack crest pin near his lapel, the harsh light of the vanity mirror caught the side of his neck. Seraphina's hands froze. Hidden just behind the curve of his ear, partially obscured by his dark hair, was a distinct, smudged crescent of crimson. Lipstick. The color was vivid, an aggressive, expensive shade of scarlet. A shade Seraphina never wore. The world around her seemed to lose its sound. The ticking of the grandfather clock faded into a dull, distant roar. She stared at the mark, her breath catching in her throat as a cold, paralyzing dread flooded her veins. Instantly, a vision flashed in her mind… Vivienne. Her closest childhood friend, the woman who had spent the last five years cozying up to the Vance Pack hierarchy under the guise of supporting Sera. Vivienne loved that exact shade of scarlet. She had worn it to the pack house just yesterday, lingering a little too long in the corridors, smiling a little too brightly whenever Dominic walked into a room. "He's just busy, Sera," Vivienne's sweet, manipulative voice echoed in her memory. "Don't worry about his coldness. I'll make sure to help him with the council paperwork so you can rest." It hadn't been paperwork. A sharp, violent pain sliced through Seraphina's chest, so intense she thought her heart might physically rupture. The emotional starvation, the years of isolation, the crushing loneliness. She had endured it all because she believed Dominic was simply incapable of affection. She had excused his coldness as a product of his brutal upbringing and the burdens of his title. But he wasn't incapable of desire. He was just incapable of desiring her. While she was sitting alone in the dark wings of this estate, keeping his house in order and protecting his public image, he was letting another woman press her lips against his skin. He was humiliating her in the most primal way possible, right under her nose with the person she had trusted most. "Seraphina?" Dominic's sharp voice broke through the haze. He frowned noticing her sudden stillness, his amber eyes narrowing as he looked down at her pale face. "What is it?" Sera let her hands drop from his collar. She took a slow step backward, her gaze lifting to meet his. Her heart was shattered into a thousand jagged pieces but as she looked at the man who had spent five years reducing her to nothing, a profound, icy stillness washed over her. The pain didn't disappear, it crystallized. It hardened into something fierce, sharp and absolute. The foolish girl who had begged for crumbs of his attention was dead. "Nothing," Seraphina said, her voice terrifyingly calm, completely steady. "The pin is secure." Dominic stared at her for a long moment, sensing the abrupt shift in her energy, his wolf shifting uncomfortably beneath his skin. He opened his mouth as if to say something but a knock at the door interrupted him. "Beta Logan is waiting downstairs, Alpha," a guard announced through the door. Dominic tore his eyes away from Sera, adjusting his coat. "I am coming." He looked back at her one final time, his voice returning to its usual authoritative clip. "Do not be late to the ballroom, Seraphina." "I won't," she whispered to the empty room as the door clicked shut behind him. The moment she was alone, Seraphina walked over to the desk in the corner of the room. She pulled out a clean sheet of parchment from the drawer, picked up a fountain pen and began to write. Her hand didn't shake. To the Lycan High Council and the Alpha Supreme, I, Seraphina Vance, hereby file for an absolute dissolution of the political marriage… She signed her name at the bottom in bold, elegant cursive. She left the paper resting flat on the center of the desk, completely uncovered But leaving wasn't enough. Five years of her life had been stolen, chewed up, and spat out by this pack. She had lived like a saint, hiding her own desires, stifling her own youth, all for a man who treated her like a phantom. Before she walked away from the Vance territory forever, before she took Leo and disappeared into a new life, she wanted one moment of absolute defiance. She wanted to commit a sin of her own. Sera pulled out her personal phone and opened an encrypted application, an elite, underground network catering exclusively to the wealthy and powerful of the Lycan territories. It was a black-market registry used by high-society wolves to procure anything from illegal information to high-class, completely anonymous companionship. With a steady thumb, she bypassed the warnings and entered the premium escort registry. She selected the highest tier of anonymity available. Requirement: Absolute discretion. Silver-threaded mask required. Scent-suppressant potion mandatory. Luxury Suite 404, The Grand Obsidian Hotel. Tonight at 10:00 PM. She hit send. Seraphina looked back at the mirror. Her cheeks were flush with a sudden, dangerous heat, her green eyes flashing with a primal rebellion she hadn't felt in years. Tonight, Dominic Vance would have his political banquet. He would have his pack, his title, and his mistress. And tonight, for the first time in five years, Seraphina would belong entirely to herself.