His Luna Wore Knockoffs

I stood in what used to be my kitchen, holding the divorce papers Kieran had just thrown across the marble countertop like they were takeout menus. The weight of the document felt heavier than it should have—twenty-three pages that somehow managed to erase four years of my life.

"You can keep the dog," Kieran said, not looking up from his phone. "I'm keeping the apartment."

My fingers tightened around the papers. The apartment. The one I'd saved three years of freelance design income to put a down payment on. The one where I'd spent weekends hunting for the perfect mid-century modern furniture, where I'd hung my collection of Risograph prints on walls I'd painted myself.

"The dog is at your mother's house," I said quietly. "And this is my apartment, Kieran."

He finally looked up, his expression flat. "Check the deed, Wren. Whose name is on it?"

The air seemed to thin. When we'd bought the place, my credit score hadn't been high enough to qualify for the mortgage alone. We'd used my money—every penny I'd scraped together—but put his name on the paperwork. A temporary arrangement, he'd promised. We'd transfer it to both our names after his promotion to Beta.

That promotion had come six months ago. The transfer never had.

"Those are your things," Kieran nodded toward the front door, where two black garbage bags sat like accusations.

I walked over, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floors I'd refinished myself. Inside the bags, my clothes were crumpled together—silk blouses wrinkled against cotton t-shirts, my favorite cashmere sweater balled up with workout leggings. Everything else—my Ember temperature-control mug still sitting on the coffee table, my vintage Eames chair, the hand-woven throw blanket I'd bought from an artist in Portland—remained exactly where I'd left them.

As if I'd never existed here at all.

His phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a message from Odette: "She gone yet? I'm in the parking garage."

Something cold settled in my chest. "How long?"

"What?"

"How long have you been planning this? The timing seems awfully convenient."

Kieran's jaw tightened. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

"I want to see the financial breakdown." I flipped through the divorce papers, scanning for asset division. "Where's the property settlement?"

He laughed—actually laughed. "What property, Wren? What assets?"

The words hit like ice water. "The joint account—"

"Has been closed. The funds transferred to my personal account three days ago." His tone was matter-of-fact, like he was discussing the weather. "Perfectly legal. Check the signature cards."

My hands started to shake. "The connections I introduced you to at the Beta inauguration—"

"Follow the position, not the person. That's how pack politics work." He straightened his tie, the same navy one I'd bought him for his first Alpha Council meeting. "You should be grateful, actually."

"Grateful?"

"That I kept your secret as long as I did." His eyes went cold, calculating. "Do you think the Alpha Council would have accepted an Omega