Omega: Reborn Without Becoming Innocent

The knife slipped from my fingers.

Steel rang against marble. Plates shattered a second later, porcelain bursting like bone beneath my feet. The sound echoed through the dining hall, sharp enough to make the guards outside the doors stiffen.

Derula didn’t flinch. 

He was standing, glaring at me like he didn't just drop bomb on me. 

“Eidlene is back,” he repeated, as if he were announcing the weather. “We’ll divorce.”

I stared at the fragments by my slippers. One shard had sliced my toe. Blood welled, warm, quiet. I didn’t feel it. I didn't mourn it. 

My blood had ran cold. 

Divorce.

My mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Derula folded his arms, crown glinting beneath the chandelier. His eyes—once warm, once mine—were flat, calculating. A king measuring loss like coin. 

I'm the coin or ...the loss? 

I swallowed. 

“You’ll leave by tomorrow,” he continued. “I don’t want you here when she arrives.”

The room tilted.

I gripped the edge of the table. My palms slipped on polished wood. Three years of meals I cooked myself. Three years of sitting alone at this table while he met councils, fought wars, ruled a pack that never bowed to me.

Treated me lesser than his subjects. 

I didn't mind that. 

But now: Eidlene.

Her name pressed against my ribs, squeezing the breath from my lungs.

“You said…” My voice cracked. I swallowed and tried again. “You said she was gone.” I desperately hung on those words. 

“She was.” His jaw tightened. “Now she’s not.”

I straightened, forcing my spine rigid. Queens did not crumble. Even omega queens. Especially omega queens. 

“You bonded with me,” I said. “You stood before the pack. You called me your mate.”

“I did.”

The past flickered—his hand clasping mine before the blood moon fire, the howl of approval, the way the pack had gone silent when they scented my weakness. 

Omega.

The promises with excitement in his eyes. 

What went wrong? 

Why did the marriage that I suffered three years for it to take shape...suddenly...my hands dared shake by my sides. 

Derula exhaled sharply. “Things change.”

I laughed. The sound startled me more than him. It came out thin, almost hysterical.

“What changed?” I asked. “Was it when I gave you my kidney? Or when I stopped producing pheromones and had to inject myself every month just to be touched by you?”

His eyes flickered. Just once.

Then they hardened.

“That was your choice.”

The words struck harder than any slap.

I remembered the sterile white room. The Blue Moon physician’s mask. The pain tearing through my side while Derula lay pale beside me, unconscious, dying. I remembered signing the consent form with shaking hands because no one else would.

I’m his queen, I had told myself then. This is what queens do.

My knees buckled. I caught myself before I fell.

“It’s not fair,” I whispered.

Derula’s head snapped up. “What’s not fair?”

The edge in his voice made the guards tense again.

I lifted my gaze