Twice Stabbed, Third is my Revenge!

I slammed the door shut behind me, my breath coming in sharp gasps. My mind screamed at me to pack my bags, to leave, to walk away from the life I had built with Othello. But I couldn’t. I stood frozen in the middle of my bedroom, hands gripping the edges of my suitcase. The tears came fast, blurring my vision, and I let them fall. I had been here before—heartbroken, betrayed—but this was different. This wasn’t a man leaving me at the altar. This was five years of my life, my love, my loyalty—shattered in an instant. I closed my eyes, and suddenly, I was back in those moments—those precious moments I had convinced myself were real. "Othello, are you serious?" I laughed breathlessly as we ran under the full moon, our wolves racing side by side through the thick forest. He shifted back effortlessly, standing before me in his human form, silver eyes glowing with warmth. "Of course, I’m serious. A beautiful Luna has to keep up with her handsome mate, right?" I shifted back as well, catching my breath, my heart pounding—not from the run, but from the way he looked at me. Like I was his world. "You always do this," I teased, nudging him. "Challenge me, push me. What if I get tired of it one day?" He smirked, pulling me close, lips grazing my forehead. "Then I’ll just have to make you fall in love with me all over again." I clutched my chest. Lies. All of it. More memories crashed into me, unrelenting. "Close your eyes," he whispered, his hands covering mine as we stood under the waterfall during the Wolf Moon. The cold water rushed around us, but I only felt the heat of his body pressed against mine. "Why?" I asked, grinning. "Because I have something for you." I obeyed, and when I opened my eyes, he was holding a single white flower—small, delicate, yet somehow powerful. "It’s called a Moon Tear," he murmured, tucking it behind my ear. "Rare. Just like you." I laughed, shaking my head. "That’s so cheesy." "Maybe. But it’s true." Then he kissed me. I let out a choked sob, fingers digging into the sheets. He made me feel like I was everything to him. And I had believed it. But the worst memory—the one I had buried deep, refusing to acknowledge—came crashing down like a final blow. I had been searching for my earrings, rifling through Othello’s wallet when I saw it. A small, white gold necklace with a wolf moon diamond pendant. I smiled, holding it up. "You kept my necklace?" But when I turned to him, his face had darkened. In a flash, his hand had wrapped around my wrist, grip so tight it made me gasp. "Take it off." His voice was low, dangerous. I stared at him, confused. "Othello, what—" "Now, Amelia." I hesitated, and that was when I saw it—the raw fury in his eyes. The kind I had never seen before. Fear coiled in my stomach. Slowly, I unclasped the necklace and set it down. Just as quickly as his anger came, it vanished. He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I’m sorry," he muttered. "I didn’t mean to—" But he had meant it. And now, I knew why. That necklace wasn’t mine. It was hers. Melanie’s. — I let out a bitter laugh, wiping at my tears. "How could I have been so blind?" All these years, I thought he had chosen me. I thought I had won. But I was just a replacement. I stood up, my decision clear. I wasn’t going to be someone’s second choice. Not again. Not ever. I cried myself to sleep that night. My pillow was soaked, my chest felt hollow, and my mind refused to rest. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard his voice. "I married Amelia because it was the logical choice." "You think I was actually in love with her?" I curled into myself, gripping the blanket like it could hold me together. But nothing could. I had lost again. Sometime in the middle of the night, my phone rang. Groggy and drained, I reached for it. The name on the screen made my stomach twist—Adrian. Othello’s friend. I hesitated before answering. "What?" My voice was hoarse. He sighed. "Pick up your husband." My heart clenched. "No." "Amelia, do you really want the media to get to him first?" I shut my eyes. I hated this. Hated that even after everything, I still had to clean up after him. Dragging myself out of bed, I grabbed my coat and keys. When I arrived, Othello was a mess. Drunk, slumped against the bar counter, mumbling incoherently. His friend helped me get him into the car. Othello reeked of alcohol, his shirt wrinkled, his usually perfect hair disheveled. As I drove us home, his head lolled to the side, and then he whispered something that made my hands tighten around the steering wheel. "Melanie..." I swallowed hard, ignoring the way my chest ached. "Why did you leave me?" His voice cracked. "Why did you choose that scumbag Drake over me?" I felt sick. I wanted to slap him, shake him, scream at him. But instead, I did what I always did. I stayed silent. I brought him home. I cleaned him up. I put him to bed. I sat beside him, watching him sleep, hating how much I still loved him. Even when he was breaking me.

The morning came, and when I finally opened my eyes, the bed was empty. The scent of food drifted into the room. I dragged myself out and found Othello in the kitchen, humming as he plated breakfast. Like nothing happened. "Morning, love," he greeted, flashing me a soft smile. "Come eat." I just stared at him. How could he be like this? How could he pretend everything was fine? I didn't say a word as I sat down. I couldn't. I had nothing left to say. Othello, too busy making sure my plate was full, didn’t even notice my silence. And then my eyes shifted, unwillingly landing on the small box and bouquet of flowers beside my plate. "Happy 2nd anniversary," the note attached read. "I'm sorry I forgot to give you this yesterday. I'll make it up to you today." I blinked, my fingers brushing over the ribbon on the box. The words were sweet, but they felt hollow. Cold. Like a bandage over a wound too deep to heal. That was when his phone buzzed on the table beside me. A flash notification popped up on the screen. I wasn’t going to look. I wasn’t. But my eyes betrayed me. And what I saw made my blood run cold. "Melanie’s husband is dead. She’s coming back. She’s looking for you." I stopped breathing. The fork slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the plate. Othello finally looked at me. "You okay?" I forced a smile. "Yeah. Just lost my appetite." Because once again—Melanie had returned to ruin my life. The moment Othello saw the message, his entire demeanor changed. He stood up from the table, grabbing his phone and dialing a number as he walked away. His voice was urgent, almost desperate. "Where are you? Are you okay?" I watched him, numb, already knowing who he was talking to. Then he hung up and turned to me. "Pack duty. I have to go." I let out a bitter smile. "Of course. Go ahead." He hesitated for a moment, like he was about to say something else, but then he just nodded and left. No apology. No explanation. As soon as the door shut behind him, I exhaled shakily and reached for my phone. A year ago, we had both agreed to install a tracker on each other’s devices—something we laughed about, calling it a safety measure, a way to always find each other no matter what. I never thought I would actually need it. But today, I did. I opened the tracking app, my heart pounding as I watched his location update. He wasn’t going to the packhouse or his office. He was going somewhere else. My wolf growled inside me, seething with rage, but I swallowed the anger and grabbed my coat. I parked a few streets away from the restaurant, my fingers gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turned white. Through the large glass windows, I saw them. Othello and Melanie. They were sitting in our favorite restaurant. The one we always went to for anniversaries, birthdays, even just casual date nights. The place where he once told me he loved me. But today, he was sitting across from her. Melanie was crying—dramatically, like she was in some tragic movie. And my husband? He reached out and pulled her into his arms. I froze. His hands, the same hands that held me, were now holding her. He whispered something in her ear, something that made her sob even harder. And then—he kissed her forehead. Just like he used to do to me. The way he comforted me. The way he loved me. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I forced myself to stay still. To watch. To see just how much of a fool I had been. I reached for my phone, my hands shaking. I dialed his number, holding onto the last sliver of hope that maybe—just maybe—I still mattered. Inside the restaurant, I saw him glance at his phone. He didn’t even hesitate before he declined the call. A text popped up instead. "Pack meeting. Busy." I let out a strangled laugh, wiping my tears away with the back of my hand. Right. Of course. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palm. He had made his choice. But I wasn’t done. I followed them. They had no idea I was trailing behind, keeping my distance as they left the restaurant together. The drive wasn’t long. My heart pounded harder with every turn they took. And then— They arrived at her house. My breath caught in my throat as I watched from the shadows. Othello stepped out of his car first, opening the door for her, ever the gentleman. Melanie looked up at him, her face filled with something I once believed was meant only for me. And then it happened. She grabbed his face and kissed him. Not just a kiss. A desperate, hungry kiss. And he kissed her back. I felt like I had been punched in the gut. But it wasn’t over. Right there, in the doorway of her house, their hands started roaming. His lips trailed down her neck, and she arched against him, moaning softly. I covered my mouth, biting down on my lip to stop the sob that threatened to escape. Othello lifted her up, carrying her inside as their mouths crashed together, filled with a passion I hadn’t seen from him in years. And then—the door shut. Locking me out. I stood there, motionless, as my world shattered all over again. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. All I could do was watch as my husband—the man who had sworn loyalty to me—devoured another woman in front of my eyes.

I didn’t know how long I stood there, frozen in place, my entire body numb. The cold night air bit at my skin, but I couldn’t feel anything past the searing pain in my chest. Othello was inside. With her. With Melanie. My vision blurred as the last of my strength crumbled. I stumbled back, gripping the car door for support, my breath coming in shallow gasps. I wanted to scream. To break something. To tear apart everything in my path. But what would that change? Othello had already made his choice. A bitter laugh bubbled in my throat, but it sounded more like a broken sob. I wiped at my face, but the tears wouldn’t stop. I had spent five years believing in him. Loving him. Devoting everything to him. And now, here I was. Standing in the shadows. Watching the man I called my husband betray me like I was nothing. Like I had been the mistake all along. My hands trembled as I reached for my phone, my fingers barely steady enough to dial the number. It rang once. Twice. Then a deep voice answered. “Amelia?” The moment I heard my father’s voice, the last of my composure snapped. My throat tightened, and I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to breathe through the suffocating pain. “Dad…” My voice cracked, barely above a whisper. There was a pause on the other end. Then, his tone sharpened. “What happened?” I squeezed my eyes shut. I had always been strong in front of him. Always been the daughter who never broke. But not tonight. “I’m done.” My voice trembled, but there was no hesitation in my words. “I’m severing the bond. I’m rejecting Othello.” Silence. Then, a slow exhale. “Are you sure?” I let out a shaky breath, my grip tightening around the phone. I thought of all the nights Othello held me in his arms, whispering promises I now knew were nothing but lies. I thought of the way he looked at Melanie tonight—like she was his and he had never stopped loving her. I thought of the message on his phone. Melanie’s husband is dead. She’s coming back. She’s looking for you. A fresh wave of pain clawed at my chest, but beneath it, something else burned. Anger. Resolve. I would not be the woman who stayed. I would not be the fool who waited for a man who never truly belonged to me. I lifted my chin, my voice steady this time. “I’m sure.” My father didn’t question me again. Instead, his voice turned cold. “Then come home.” I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “I will.” Then, without another word, I ended the call. I stared at the phone in my hand, my chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. This was it. This was the moment I finally chose myself. I cast one last glance at Melanie’s house. Then, without another word, I turned and walked away. I drove home in silence, my hands gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. My heart felt hollow, my chest aching with every breath. The moment I stepped inside the house—the home I had built with him—the weight of everything crashed down on me. My knees almost buckled, but I caught myself. No. I wouldn’t break now. I stormed upstairs, shoving open the closet doors. My hands shook as I yanked out clothes, tossing them into my suitcase without care. The tears had stopped somewhere along the drive, but now they returned, hot and relentless, blurring my vision. I wiped at my face angrily, forcing myself to move faster. Every dress he bought me, every piece of jewelry he gifted with sweet words—I ripped them away. The bracelet he clasped around my wrist on our anniversary? Gone. The perfume he loved on me? Thrown into the bin. Useless. Meaningless. Just like our marriage. My fingers grazed over a silk scarf he once wrapped around my neck as he kissed me breathless. I clenched my jaw and shoved it deep into the suitcase, not even bothering to fold it. Then, my eyes landed on it. The wedding ring. His token of our bond as mates. The symbol of the love I once believed in. Then, my eyes landed on the wedding ring. His token of our bond. Our so-called mate connection. I stared at it, my breath uneven. This ring had once meant everything. It symbolized love, devotion—forever. But forever had been a lie. With a shaky breath, I gripped the ring and yanked it off my finger. My chest ached as I held it between my fingers, a part of me hesitating. But then I remembered. Melanie’s husband is dead. She’s coming back. She’s looking for you. The pain in my chest sharpened. My vision blurred. And then—without another thought—I threw it into the trash bin. A strangled sob tore from my throat, but I forced it down, wiping my face with trembling hands. No more tears. No more begging. No more waiting. Two suitcases sat at the door, packed and ready. My entire life with Othello—five years of love, devotion, and blind faith—reduced to nothing but luggage. I glanced at the clock. 3:47 AM. I hadn't slept. I couldn’t sleep. Not when my mind kept replaying the way he held her. The way he kissed her. I sat on the couch, staring at the front door, waiting. The house was eerily quiet, the ticking of the clock the only sound filling the empty space. My fingers dug into my palms as the hours passed, the darkness outside slowly giving way to dawn. And then, the door opened. Othello walked in like a perfect, faithful husband coming home to his loving wife. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, but he looked normal. Relaxed. Like he hadn’t just spent the night with her. "Amelia," he said with a small smile, stepping forward. "I was going to wake you up with breakfast. But you're already up."

I stared at him. This man. My husband. My mate. He had spent the night with Melanie. Held her. Kissed her. Loved her. And now he stood before me, acting like he hadn't just destroyed me. My hands clenched at my sides. My throat burned, but I forced my voice to stay even. "Othello." My voice was hoarse from all the crying. His smile faltered slightly. "Have you been crying?" He stepped closer, reaching for me. "What's wrong?" I flinched back before he could touch me. For the first time in five years, I didn’t want his hands on me. Then Othello’s gaze drifted past me, and the moment his eyes landed on the suitcase by the door, confusion flickered across his face. His brows furrowed, and then his eyes snapped back to me. His gaze dropped to my hand—where my wedding ring should have been. His entire body tensed. "Where’s your ring?" His voice was low, cautious. I didn’t answer. His confusion quickly turned to panic. He grabbed my shoulders, his grip firm, shaking me slightly. "Amelia, where are you going? What the hell is this?" Still, I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I was afraid that if I spoke now, my voice would break. That I would fall apart all over again. "Amelia," he growled, his grip tightening. "Say something!" I met his gaze, and for the first time, I felt nothing. No love. No warmth. Just a dull, empty ache. "I’m severing the bond, Othello," I whispered. "I’m rejecting you." His entire body froze. Then, in the blink of an eye, his expression twisted with fury. "Take that back," he snarled, his voice laced with raw anger. "You’re not rejecting me. You can’t reject me!" "I can," I said, my voice calm, steady. "And I will." "NO!" His roar echoed through the room as his hands tightened on me, shaking me harder. "You don’t mean that! You’re just upset!" I forced out a bitter laugh. "Upset?" My voice cracked, but I held my ground. "You think I’m just upset?" His nostrils flared. "Damn right, you are! And you’re not thinking straight!" I shook my head slowly, a mirthless smile stretching my lips. "No, Othello. For the first time in five years, I am thinking straight." His breathing was harsh, uneven. Desperate. "You’re my wife, my mate. You can’t just throw everything away!" "You threw it away first," I whispered. Before I could react, he grabbed my face and crushed his lips against mine. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was raw, desperate—an attempt to control me, to make me forget, to own me. But I wasn’t his anymore. I shoved him back with all the strength I had, and when he staggered, I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. The sharp crack echoed through the room. His head snapped to the side, and for the first time, he froze. Breathing hard, I wiped my lips with the back of my hand, my chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. "Don’t you dare touch me," I hissed. Othello slowly turned his head back to me, his cheek already reddening from the slap. His eyes darkened, but he didn’t say a word. I swallowed hard, my throat burning. "I know, Othello," I said quietly. His brows furrowed. "Know what?" My lips trembled, but I forced the words out. "I know you slept with her." Silence. His face paled slightly, but I didn’t give him the chance to speak. "I know you were with Melanie last night, I know what you said about me," I continued, my voice steady despite the raw pain tearing through my chest. "The same woman who ruined my wedding. The same woman who stole my fiancé before. And now, she’s stolen you too." Othello said nothing. He just stood there, staring at me, his lips pressed into a thin line. And that silence… That silence told me everything. I grabbed my suitcase, my hands trembling as I dragged them down the stairs. My chest felt tight, my breathing uneven, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. If I stayed a second longer, I might break. Just as I reached the front door, Othello’s phone rang. I didn’t care. I shouldn’t care. But then I heard him answer. "Melanie?" I froze. Bitter laughter threatened to spill from my lips, but I clenched my jaw. Of course. Even now, even after everything, she was still the first thing on his mind. Not me. Not his mate. Her. I gripped my suitcase tighter and stepped outside. Othello didn’t stop me. He didn’t chase after me. He just… let me go. That hurt more than anything. I threw my things into the car, started the engine, and drove off. The morning sun was bright, but all I felt was cold. My wolf whimpered inside me, torn between grief and rage. She wanted to turn back, to tear Melanie apart, to force Othello to see me, to make him hurt the way he hurt us. But I was done. I had already lost too much to that woman. I wasn’t losing myself, too. By the time I reached my father’s packhouse, exhaustion settled deep in my bones. The guards at the gate immediately straightened. "Alpha Sinclair," one of them said before pressing his earpiece. "The Luna has returned." Not for long, I wanted to say. The front doors burst open before I could even take another step. My father, Alpha Donovan Sinclair, stood there, his expression unreadable. But the moment his eyes met mine, the tension in his shoulders loosened. "Amelia." I didn’t hold back. I ran straight into his arms, my body shaking as I broke down.