Too Late Alpha, I’m Done Being Your Pet

Kaelan noticed I hadn't filed a single medical or living expense request in the pack’s resource channel for a week.

He must have thought I’d finally kicked my greedy human habits. At dinner, he tossed a black card at me.

It cut a cold arc through the air, landing beside my plate.

“Your father’s treatment for next month. The wolf gene serum, the lab fees—it’s all approved.”

His voice was pure Alpha command. An order, not a suggestion.

“Bringing you and your father here was a risk. I fought the Elders for you. You are my mate. Stop begging for pack funds like a common stray. It’s a bad look.”

He didn’t know my fingers were ice-cold when I picked up the card.

The papers to sever our mate bond were already signed. So was my will.

The hoodie I wore when I left was a faded thing he’d tossed at me three years ago.

No one would believe it. The fated mate of an Alpha who ran a corporate empire… had to send a photo of a $10 painkiller receipt to a Beta assistant for approval.

All because he thought a fragile human like me was a leech who couldn’t be trusted with cash.

But a week ago, when my father’s lupus caused his organs to fail, I needed $50,000. He needed a dose of pure gene repair serum, synthesized in the pack’s high-tech med-bay. I begged him on my knees.

His childhood friend, Seraphina, just laughed. She froze my request, saying she was helping me break my bad habit of “cashing in on my mate status.”

Kaelan never knew I endured that humiliation just so my father could stay alive in his top-tier medical lab.

Now, my father was dead. The medicine was cut off, and his ashes were already in the ground.

I didn’t need to be his obedient little pet anymore.

During dinner, Kaelan tossed a black card at me. His face was a mask.

"I've approved the treatment fee for your father's lupus next month."

His voice dripped with Alpha authority. The kind you didn’t dare question.

"From now on, don't bother me with this pathetic money crap. I know humans and their families can be money pits, but you're my mate. Don't make us look ugly."

I just stared at the card.

Black. Metal. Engraved with the pack's silver moon crest.

No limit.

Three years ago, I would have trembled with excitement.

Now, it just made me sick.

"Thank you," I said calmly, pushing it back toward him.

Kaelan frowned. "Take it. That's an order."

"I said, thank you."

I stood up and walked to the study.

In the drawer, the signed Mate Bond Severance papers lay waiting.

My phone buzzed.

A text from Kaelan: Stop trying to scam me for money. This is your last warning.

I replied: OK.

Then I turned off the screen.

Three years ago, I was the youngest doctoral student in Columbia University’s genetic sciences department.

I heard werewolves