After My Wolf Died to Save Him, He Betrayed Me

I balanced the heavy oak tray against my hip, the rich, savory aroma of roasted garlic, crushed tomatoes, and fresh basil rising from the warm porcelain plate. I had spent three hours in the pack kitchens kneading the dough for this pasta, my hands dusted with flour and aching from the effort. It was a labor of love. For ten years, serving Adrian his favorite human meals had been my quiet ritual, my way of showing my fated mate that he was still cherished, even if he was confined to a wheelchair.

Ten years ago, a rogue attack had nearly taken his life. In a desperate, bloody moment of pure devotion, I had channeled every ounce of my aura and the very life force of my inner wolf to heal his torn throat. The sacrifice had permanently severed my connection to my wolf, leaving me a broken, wolfless Omega. The pack mocked me, treating me like dirt beneath their boots, but I endured it all for Adrian. We were two broken pieces, or so I thought.

As I approached his private quarters, I noticed the heavy mahogany door was cracked open just an inch. I paused, adjusting my grip on the tray, ready to push it open with my shoulder.

Then, I heard the voice of Marcus, our Pack Healer.

"Your wolf is restless, Adrian. It's becoming dangerous," Marcus said, his tone hushed but urgent. "You cannot keep suppressing an aura this immensely powerful. It's unnatural to hide strength like this for so long."

I froze. My breath caught in my throat.

"I will suppress it for as long as I see fit, Marcus," Adrian replied.

My hands began to tremble. The voice that came from my mate's room wasn't the raspy, weakened wheeze he used when I held his hand by the fire. It was deep, resonant, and dripping with an absolute, terrifying authority.

"She suspects nothing," Adrian continued, his tone chillingly indifferent. "The Omega plays her part perfectly. My condition remains our secret. You are dismissed."

The tray felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. The warmth of the plate seeped into my palms, a sickening contrast to the ice flooding my veins. Ten years. He had been perfectly healthy for ten years. While I scrubbed floors, endured the sneers of ranked wolves, and mourned the silent void in my soul where my wolf used to be, he had been pretending. My life-altering sacrifice wasn't a tragedy we shared; it was a cage he had built for me.

I didn't drop the tray. Years of brutal Omega conditioning had taught me how to be invisible, how to suffer in absolute silence. I backed away, my cheap canvas shoes making no sound on the hardwood floor. I carried the pasta back to the kitchen, dumped it into the trash, and walked numbly up the narrow stairs to my cramped, drafty attic room.

The walls of my tiny quarters seemed to press in on me. I pulled a worn cardboard