"Please," I begged, the word slipping out before I could stop it.
It was the worst violation of Northern pride, but I was dying. I dropped it. Tears burned down my face, tracking through my carefully applied makeup. "Trent, please. Give me another chance. I'll be harder. I can be stronger. My family — the shame of a broken contract will destroy my father's standing. He won't take me back?—"
"Your family has already been compensated for the termination," Trent said smoothly.
I stopped breathing.
My father — who had been sipping champagne upstairs all evening — had already negotiated a payout to accept my rejection. He had sold me, and then sold my failure. He had abandoned me the moment I stopped being useful.
I was alone in the world. Completely, catastrophically alone.
"We will sever the preliminary tether tonight," Trent stated, his voice taking on the rigid cadence of ancient pack law. It wasn't a request.
He raised his right hand. The air around his fingers shimmered as they began to glow with the pale, cruel light of concentrated alpha magic.
"It will be painful," he said, without remorse. "But clean. The healers can manage the shock once you return home."
"No," I whispered, stumbling back a step, my heel catching on the rug.
The preliminary tether wasn't the full sealed bond, but it was a deep magical root that had been growing into my core for a decade. Tearing it out wouldn't just hurt — it would leave a permanent scar on my soul. It would mark me as broken to every shifter on the continent.
"Trent, please don't do this," I sobbed, wrapping my arms around my chest. "Please."
"Stand still," he commanded.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. He brought the full weight of his apex aura down onto me. The invisible pressure hit like a wall, driving the breath from my lungs and forcing my legs to give. I collapsed to my knees on the rug, paralyzed by the biological imperative to submit.
I curled forward, trying to shield my chest as he stepped closer.
He didn't hesitate. He offered no apology, no final comfort, no shred of regret.
He reached down and plunged his fingers into the center of my chest, into the ethereal space over my heart.
The pain was absolute.
White-hot fire tearing through my veins, boiling my blood, shredding my magical core. I screamed, the sound raw in my throat, but the soundproofed doors kept it inside the office — ensured that no one in the foyer beyond would hear what was happening to me.
His fingers wrapped around the thickest bundle of the tether's energy.
He pulled.
It snapped.
A vital piece of my soul tore away with it, leaving a jagged, bleeding hollow where the root had been. I collapsed forward onto the rug, gasping for air my lungs refused to process. My body convulsed, overwhelmed by the systemic shock. I curledinto a ball, pressing both hands over my chest as if pressure could hold the broken pieces together.
Through the haze, I heard Trent step back.
He didn't offer a hand. He didn't crouch beside me. He stood over my shaking body, untouched by the carnage.
"Pack your things," he said. "My driver will take you to your father's estate in the morning. Attempting to contact me further will be construed as harassment of an Heir."
The oak door clicked shut.
The room went dark.
I lay alone on the Persian rug, clutching the broken bond scar burning on the left side of my neck. Defective. Unwanted. A failure.
And the worst part — lying there in the dark while my core burned to ash — was that I believed him. I believed I was nothing.
