No Longer Fair To You Chapter 07
I called the Mating Center to ask about filing for divorce.
“Our records show your trial marriage period ends in a week, Ms. Colby,” the rep replied. “Are you absolutely sure you want to divorce your assigned werebeasts when it expires?”
“Not both of them,” I corrected. “Just Clayton. Anderson and I are making things official.”
He sighed. “Ms. Colby, please keep in mind that your compatibility with both men is exceptionally high. Past cases show that if either of them loses you, their future ruts will be incredibly difficult to endure. Without you there to soothe them, they could suffer severe psychological damage.”
I thought about how Clayton usually treated me.
During his rut, he’d cling to me, desperate for my attention and looking genuinely pitiful.
But the second his head cleared, he’d immediately pull away, putting as much physical distance between us as possible.
He always looked angry and ashamed, avoiding me completely.
I seriously doubted he’d have any trouble living without me.
The rep sighed again. “All right, we respect your decision. I’ll email you the necessary paperwork. Still, I strongly urge you to reconsider.
“Historically, almost all rejected werebeasts experience severe distress and panic, often resorting to self-harm during their ruts. We always hope for the best possible outcome.
“Whatever you decide, please come down to the Hall next Wednesday with your werebeasts to finalize either the divorce or the marriage.”
***
Later that evening at dinner, I noticed Anderson looking down.
When I looked closer, I saw why.
The sweater he’d worn out that morning now had a massive tear in it.
The edges of the rip were perfectly clean, like someone had sliced right through the fabric with a knife.
Clayton smirked, clearly amused by the whole thing. “Looks like I’m not the only one who thinks that sweater is ugly. Someone else obviously found it just as offensive.”
I ignored him.
My only concern was whether the blade had caught Anderson, too.
Panicking, I reached out to check his arms, but he gently caught my wrist and shook his head. “I’m not hurt,” he said apologetically. “I had an unexpected job to handle today and didn’t want to ruin the sweater, so I took it off. When I came back for it, I realized someone had cut it.”
Clayton immediately started in on him. “Come on, Andy. You ruined it yourself. No need to make up excuses.”
He paused, adding casually, “You really are incompetent, though. If someone gave me a sweater, I wouldn’t let anyone destroy it.”
He glanced my way, clearly gauging my reaction.
Anderson stayed quiet for a second before apologizing again, his voice heavy with guilt and sorrow.
I shook my head. A torn sweater could be fixed; it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s my fault,” I told him. “Beige is hard to keep clean anyway. I’ll knit you a black one tomorrow.
“That way, you won’t have to worry about getting it dirty, and I’ll make a few extras so you have backups.”
My face grew warm, and I dropped my voice. “I finally figured out how to knit that rabbit pattern. I’ll make it for you.”
A loud, sharp crack shattered the silence.
It came from across the table, right where Clayton was sitting.
The glass in his hand had shattered. Shards pressed into his palm, and a few drops of blood seeped from the cuts.
The smug smile had completely vanished from his face.
He stared at me with an intense, laser focus, looking furious enough to lunge right at me.
A wave of fear washed over me, and I shrank back, retreating behind Anderson.
Anderson shifted to shield me. His expression turned hard and cold. “Leave,” he ordered. “You’re scaring her.”
Clayton refused to back down. “Anderson, Ellie doesn’t belong exclusively to you.”
He used Anderson’s full name this time instead of his usual nickname, but he used my nickname, Ellie.
His expression darkened, and he enunciated every single word. “I am her husband, too.
“You have no right to tell me to stay away from her.”
