Lysandra’s POV

He studied me with penetrating gray eyes. “This is not a decision to make lightly.”

“It’s not hasty,” I replied. “I’ve had months to consider this path.”

A servant was dispatched to fetch Luna Isolde, returning moments later with the elegant matriarch of the Wolfbane family. Her silver-gray gown flowed around her like liquid moonlight as she entered, her presence immediately commanding the space.

“Lysandra wishes to undergo the severance ritual tonight,” Fenris explained before I could speak.

Isolde’s composed expression faltered. “What happened? What did Tristan do?”

I swallowed hard. How could I explain two years of systematic cruelty in a few sentences? The cutting remarks, the cold shoulders, the open disdain—a marriage that existed only on paper.

“The bond was never real,” I said simply. “He never accepted what you arranged.”

Although they had been nice to me, I couldn’t tell them about the twins. Tristan had been brutally clear—he would never allow his heir to be carried by a “defective specimen” like me.

Fenris moved toward the ancient fireplace, his gaze fixed on a mural depicting the pack’s history.

“Where will you go?” he asked.

“I’ll leave the pack.”

“Like a Rogue?” Fenris asked, his tone both serious and concerned. “Do you understand what that means?”

I nodded. I knew little about Rogues except that they belonged to no pack. But I had no one here who truly wanted me, and I had to protect my babies. What choice did I have?

Fenris shook his head, deep lines forming on his brow. “Please reconsider, Lysandra.”

My mind wandered back to when Tristan signed the scroll without hesitation. If he didn’t reconsider, why should I?

“I’m sorry, Alpha. I’ve made up my mind.”

The lines on his face deepened, and he let out a sigh of resignation. He had done everything in his power to make his son realize I was his best choice, and I appreciated his efforts. But Tristan had always been stubborn, and now it had come to this.

Something flickered in his eyes—a deeper knowledge, as if he was considering implications far beyond tonight’s ritual.

“Perhaps,” he said, his voice dropping, “this is precisely the path foretold in the prophecy… Separation is not the end, but a necessary trial.”

I frowned. What prophecy? Tristan had mentioned something similar during our worst arguments, accusing me of manipulating his father through some ancient prediction.

Before I could ask, Fenris sighed. “If this is truly your choice, I will respect it.”

Just then, the heavy oak doors crashed open and Tristan stormed in, his ritual robes billowing behind him like dark wings.

“Lysandra!” he growled, striding toward me.

All eyes turned as he approached and grabbed my wrist, pulling me toward him.

His expression was anything but pleasant. “What schemes have you been whispering to my father behind my back?” he sneered, accusation heavy in his voice. “Another prophecy perhaps?”

I touched the mark on my neck—the one Tristan had been forced to give me on our wedding night. Everyone else had found their true mates—everyone except us. Yet I had fallen hopelessly in love with him despite knowing we weren’t true mates.

For two years after, he treated our mate bond like a chain he longed to break. My fingers trembled as I nodded.

“Begin,” Fenris commanded.

We knelt at opposite sides of the stone circle. Tristan’s face remained impassive as the silver knife was passed to him first. He sliced his palm without hesitation, dark blood dripping onto the ritual stone. When the knife reached me, I drew it across my skin, watching my blood join his.

The elders began chanting in the ancient tongue. Each syllable seemed to pull at something deep within me, unraveling threads I hadn’t known existed. Pain exploded through my body as the mate bond began to tear.

Blood filled my mouth as the mark on my neck burned white-hot. I doubled over, retching crimson onto the stone floor. Through blurred vision, I saw Tristan watching, his only reaction a slight furrow of his brow as I choked on my own blood.

“Blood bound in force, now break apart. Bond made in duty, now cease to be.”

The words ripped through me like barbed wire. I felt the mate bond splintering, each crack sending fresh agony coursing through my veins. The mark on my neck seemed to sear itself away, leaving only scarred flesh behind.

Tristan stood unmoved, though a muscle ticked in his jaw. His eyes remained cold as ice as he watched me suffer, as if this was nothing more than a minor inconvenience in his day.

When the final words faded, I forced myself to my feet despite the blood still dripping from my lips. My legs shook, but I refused to show weakness. The mark that had bound me to him was gone, leaving only smooth skin behind.

“The mate bond is severed,” Fenris declared solemnly.

I walked toward the exit on trembling legs, tasting copper and victory. At the threshold, I paused for one final look at the man who had marked me without love.

“From this moment, I am Rogue,” I said clearly. “But I am no longer your prisoner.”