Beyond My Alphas Betrayal My Luna My Son My Regret

My boyfriend, Damien, chose a Vegas trip with his toxic best friend, Branden, over our relationship, ignoring my ultimatum that if he walked out, we were over. He walked.

A week later, he was back, dangling a designer handbag as a peace offering. But while he was partying, I was in the ER with a severe, stress-induced anxiety attack.

The final blow came when I saw Damien had 'liked' Branden' s social media post mocking my pain.

He stood outside my apartment, laughing with Branden, calling me "dramatic" and "clingy," completely unaware I had already packed his entire life into boxes.

"What... what is all this, Cecil?" he stammered, his face turning from shock to rage as he saw his belongings ready for the movers. "What have you done?"

I looked him dead in the eye, my voice cold and steady. "We're over, Damien. So, are these boxes going to your place, or to Branden's?"

Chapter 1

My phone buzzed on the counter, a sound that used to bring a flutter to my chest. Now, it just felt like a dull thud against my eardrums. It was him, of course. Damien. Barely a week since he chose a Vegas trip with Branden over our relationship. Barely a week since I told him, if he walked out that door, we were over. He walked.

The message was simple, almost dismissive.

Damien: Hey, I' m back. Guess who' s got a surprise for you?

A surprise. I scoffed, a dry, humorless sound that scraped in my throat. He always thought he could fix things with a trinket, a grand gesture that cost money but not effort.

Another message popped up, an image this time. It was a picture of a sleek, black designer handbag, the exact one I' d admired in a shop window months ago. I remember pointing it out to him, hinting at it for my birthday, which he promptly forgot. He' d just laughed then, said it was too expensive. Now, it was his peace offering. A bribe.

My phone rang, a video call. I let it ring. He tried again. And again. Finally, a voicemail notification. I tapped it open, bracing myself for the inevitable.

"Cecil? Pick up the damn phone," Damien' s voice boomed, already laced with irritation. He sounded tired, maybe hungover, but definitely annoyed. "Where are you? I' ve been calling. Are you still being dramatic about that stupid trip?"

He sighed dramatically, a sound I knew too well. It was his way of implying I was the unreasonable one, the burden.

"Look, I got you something special," he continued, his voice shifting, trying for an affectionate tone that felt completely hollow. "That bag you wanted. The expensive one. See? I think about you. I' m waiting outside. Branden' s with me, we just landed. He' s going to drop me off. We were thinking of grabbing some food after I see you."

His voice cut out abruptly, followed by the click of the disconnect. He hadn't even bothered to properly end the message. Just hung up when he was done talking. Just like always.

I looked around the living room. Everything was neatly stacked: his collection of vintage vinyl, his oversized gaming chair, the stack of books he never read. All packed in boxes, labeled meticulously. My hands had moved with a methodical, almost surgical precision as I' d sorted through our shared life. Each item a tiny memory, now just an object to be relocated.

A strange calm settled over me. It wasn' t happiness, not exactly. It was more like the quiet after a storm, when the damage is done but the air feels clear, breathable again. I clicked back to his image, the designer bag. I took a screenshot.

Then, I opened my messaging app, found his contact, and sent him the screenshot. Below it, I typed a single, direct question.

Cecil: Do you really think this is what it takes?

I waited. No immediate reply. Of course not. He was probably still outside, expecting me to rush down, tearfully grateful for his grand gesture.

Cecil: Damien, we' re over. I sent it. Just for good measure.