The Bond He Broke Too Late

"Sign it, or I call your parents and friends and have them witness your refusal."

My mate, Declan, straightened his tie with an air of nonchalance before expressionlessly tossing the document for the dissolution of our partnership agreement onto the table in front of me.

It's a big day for us - our anniversary, also my birthday.

Not a celebration. Not an anniversary dinner. Even not "Happy Birthday", just a divorce paper.

'Happy birthday to you,' Rune, my inner wolf, whispered with bitter amusement. 'Your first gift is divorce papers.'

Declan didn't look up from the mahogany desk where he'd spread out official documents like battle plans. His broad shoulders were rigid beneath his tailored suit jacket, and the warm golden light from his easel lamp cast harsh shadows across his angular face. Three years of marriage, and I'd never seen him look more like a stranger.

'Sit down, Sage.' His voice held no warmth, no trace of the man who used to whisper my name like a prayer.

I remained standing, my boots creating small puddles on his pristine hardwood floor. The studio smelled of oil paints and turpentine, scents that once meant home. Now they felt suffocating.

'It's our anniversary,' I said quietly.

His gray eyes finally met mine, cold as the Seattle winter outside. 'It's also the end of our contract.'

Contract. Not marriage. Not bond. Contract.

I walked forward slowly, each step deliberate, and settled into the leather chair across from his desk. The documents were already turned toward me, legal jargon swimming across expensive letterhead. Dissolution of Mate Bond. Division of Assets. Termination of Partnership Rights.

'You've been thorough,' I observed, scanning the clauses with practiced efficiency. My years as a gallery curator had taught me to read contracts quickly, to spot the details that mattered.

Rune stirred restlessly in my mind. 'Ask him why. Make him say it.'

But I already knew why. I'd known for months, watching him pull away, feeling our bond grow thinner with each passing day. The headaches had started around the same time, sharp spikes of pain that left me dizzy and nauseous. I'd been taking herbal supplements to manage them, but they seemed to be getting worse.

'One and a half million,' I said, setting the papers down with a soft thud.

Declan's eyebrows rose slightly. 'Excuse me?'

'That's my price for signing tonight. Wire transfer. I'll sign the moment it clears.'

A laugh escaped him, harsh and humorless. 'You think you're in a position to negotiate?'

He reached for his phone with predatory grace, fingers dancing across the screen. The silence stretched between us, thick with three years of unspoken resentments and fading love. When he turned the phone toward me, I felt my blood turn to ice.

The video was professionally edited, all soft lighting and strategic angles. There I was at last month's charity gala, smiling up at Kieran Ashford, the young tech investor who'd been trying to court my gallery's services for months. The