Selene Valen’s paws curled around the edge of the polished wooden desk as she watched the documents before her. Two agreements, neatly stacked, bearing the seal of the Law of the Shifter Council. One would dissolve her marriage to Ronan Draven, Alpha of the Ironfang Pack; the other would release her from her position as his second-in-command.
“I want both signed,” she said evenly, her golden eyes sharp, unwavering. “I am done with him, and with the pack’s politics that tie me to him.”
The council’s attorney, an older shifter with streaks of silver in his fur, gave her a measured look. “Selene… your bond with Ronan isn’t something to sever lightly. You’ve shared three cycles together, not just as mates, but as pack leaders. I advise caution.”
Selene’s jaw tightened. Three years as Ronan’s lieutenant, three years as his mate in name only, and now, finally, she saw the truth with crystal clarity.
A moon ago, she had been kidnapped during a border patrol, taken by rogue hunters who demanded a ransom from Ronan. She had clawed and bit her way out, barely escaping the icy river the hunters had thrown her into. The shiver of near-death still lingered in her bones. And while she bled and shivered under the cold stars, she had known that Ronan—her mate—was not hunting for her. He was elsewhere, not worried, not calling, not coming.
He had been with Lyra—her younger sister by blood, though the pack had always raised her as the true heiress of the Ironfang legacy. Lyra, the one who had been Ronan’s true mate from the first moon cycle, now returned to claim what was always hers.
Selene had loved him. Foolishly. But she had promised herself long ago that when her patience ran out, she would leave. Tonight, she would take that step.
“I’ve made my decision,” Selene told the attorney, letting her claws lightly tap the parchment. “Ronan won’t object. Not in the slightest.”
The older shifter sighed. “Very well. But be mindful… breaking bonds is more than legal. It’s ritual, and it leaves marks that last lifetimes.”
Selene only nodded. She had known all along. Not once had Ronan truly loved her. He had married her to appease the pack council and cover the scandal of Lyra’s temporary absence. He had smiled at her, held her hand, called her mate—but it had been hollow, a mask to pacify everyone but himself.
Tonight, Selene would strip that mask away.
—
The moon hung low over the Ironfang estate when Selene returned. The villa’s great hall shimmered under lantern light, but the warmth could not reach her frozen heart. Ronan was in the kitchen, apron tied haphazardly, moving with a grace that belonged only to a natural predator.
He had always been meticulous, even obsessive, about cleanliness. She remembered the first full moon of their union: he had sniffed the kitchen mid-meal and muttered, “Does this hut double as a den for scavengers?”
Now, he was preparing the meal, and Selene noted the plate before her. Bitter moss stew. Her eyes narrowed. Lyra’s favorite. Selene’s allergies to the ingredients had never once deterred him, not even when she had whispered caution.
Ronan’s deep voice broke her thoughts. “Selene, you said patrol was quiet tonight. Why are you back so late?”
She forced a light tone, shrugging. “New recruits needed guidance. I was finalizing the training rituals.”
He gave a slow nod, accepting the explanation without question. To him, she was always dutiful, never defiant, never more than an obedient second-in-command.
“Dinner’s ready. Come eat.”
She seated herself, forcing composure as he placed the bitter moss stew before her. “I remember you liked this,” he said, smiling faintly. “Made it specially.”
Selene’s chest tightened. He was not speaking to her but to Lyra. Three years of marriage, and he still didn’t notice the simplest truths. Not her tastes. Not her presence.
“Avy?” he asked, misnaming her with a casual familiarity. “Why aren’t you eating?”
Selene slid the two agreements from her satchel. “Dinner can wait. These need your signature.”
Ronan frowned, clearly annoyed. “Business during meals? What could be urgent?”
Before she could answer, his communicator buzzed. He moved to hide the screen, but she caught the name flashing in silver runes: Lyra.
With a sharp step to the balcony, he answered, ignoring the clatter of utensils hitting the floor. A shard of glass nicked Selene’s finger, and a thin line of blood marked the tile. She ignored it. She had ignored far worse.
Fifteen minutes passed before he returned, coat in hand. “I have an errand tonight. Won’t be back for dinner.”
“You haven’t signed the agreements,” she reminded him quietly.
He scowled, clearly thinking her unreasonable, yet still, he flipped the pages and signed. “There. Satisfied?”
Selene looked at the scrawled marks—her freedom contained in ink—and nodded. “Go.”
He left without another glance, as if her presence were a shadow in the villa.
Selene closed her eyes and drew a slow breath. For three years, she had hoped he would see her. That he might care. But she had been a fool. Ronan had always loved Lyra—the true heiress, the one raised to hold his heart.
Twenty-five moons ago, a midwife had mistakenly swapped their cradles. Selene had been raised by a loyal servant of the pack, while Lyra grew as the pampered heir. When the truth emerged, Selene’s pack elders had warned her: keep Lyra’s identity hidden, or the packs would turn on you.
And now, Lyra had returned, and Ronan had betrayed her completely, leaking private rites and memories to disgrace her, to force her away without question.
Selene’s paws trembled slightly as she opened her pack journal. Three years of devotion, patience, and hope were chronicled here. The rogues’ threats, the betrayal, the hollow smiles—all counted as 99 separate wounds to her spirit. Tonight, she would write the hundredth.
She packed the documents, the journal, and a talisman given by her mother into a sealed box. Placing it carefully in the vault beneath her room, she let herself feel the weight of finality.
Finally, she picked up the communicator she hadn’t touched in years. Her voice, low and deliberate, cut through the silence.
“Kael… my separation period ends with the next full moon. Be ready to take me away.”
Her heart thrummed with anticipation. For the first time in years, Selene felt a flicker of hope. A life beyond betrayal awaited, and she was finally ready to step toward it.
Selene Valen leaned against the balcony railing, staring at the moon’s reflection across the frozen river. Three years of deception, of hollow affection, had finally ended last night. The agreements were signed, the rituals complete, and the freedom she had longed for was finally hers.
Her communicator vibrated softly, drawing her attention. She knew immediately who it was.
“Selene,” Kael’s voice came low, sharp, and threaded with concern, “you’re not messing with me, are you?”
She stayed silent, letting him speak first.
“I’ve been chasing you for as long as you’ve been tied to that… Ronan. Cold as the northern wind for years, and now suddenly, you’re calling me? What changed?”
Selene exhaled slowly. “Nothing’s changed. I’m simply… done with him. That’s all.”
There was a pause on the other end. Then Kael’s voice, firm and commanding, cut through. “Good. One month. That’s all I give you. After that… I’m taking you away, Selene.”
The line went dead. Selene allowed herself a small, wry smile. Kael had not changed. And neither had her resolve.
—
The morning light filtered into her quarters, painting the polished floors with gold. Selene had barely begun organizing her things when a soft knock came at the door.
“Come in,” she said, her voice steady.
The door creaked open, and a small, familiar figure stepped inside—Lyssa, Kael’s younger cousin. She was barely sixteen moons old, but sharp-eyed and clever, raised under the same Ironfang roof.
“Selene… um, I hope you don’t mind,” Lyssa said softly, her golden eyes wide. “But Aunt Maris asked if I could stay here for a while. My family is out patrolling territories tonight, and the house is… empty.”
Selene tilted her head, studying the girl. “And you just walked in without asking first?”
Lyssa flushed but didn’t step back. “I… I didn’t think anyone would mind. Aunt Maris said it was alright if you agreed.”
Selene let out a long breath. She understood the game—another member of the pack being swept into her sphere, testing her patience. But after everything with Ronan and Lyra, she felt a flicker of amusement rather than irritation.
“You’ll stay,” she said finally. “The east wing—your room faces the rising sun. You’ll need warmth, and the fire’s easy to light. Do not touch anything marked private. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lyssa replied quickly, almost bouncing on her paws with relief.
Selene’s gaze softened. She had spent years obeying rules, being invisible, but she wasn’t about to be cruel to someone smaller, someone innocent in all this pack politics. “Good. You may unpack your things.”
As Lyssa set down her small satchel and began arranging her few possessions, Selene noticed the girl glancing around nervously. “You know,” Selene said gently, “the pack may be full of shadows, but not everyone will betray you. Not everyone is like Ronan or Lyra.”
Lyssa’s head lifted, eyes shining. “I… I’m glad I’m staying here. With you.”
A faint smile curved Selene’s lips. This was new territory—taking responsibility for someone, offering protection without obligation. And yet, it felt… right.
From the balcony, the cool wind carried the faint scent of Ronan leaving for his errand, his presence still lingering like a shadow. Selene ignored it. She had survived him, survived his betrayal, and now she could welcome someone else into her life without fear.
“By the way,” Lyssa said after a pause, tilting her head, “I heard… you’re separating from Ronan.”
Selene’s golden eyes sharpened, though her expression remained calm. “I am. The bonds are broken. Nothing he does now matters to me.”
Lyssa nodded, a flicker of respect passing over her features. “I… I think that’s brave. You’re brave.”
Selene glanced at her, and for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself a genuine smile. “And so are you, Lyssa. Don’t let the pack’s politics make you afraid.”
—
Later that evening, Kael’s call returned to her mind. She had heard his warning, his possessive edge. One month. Then he would claim what was his.
She walked to the balcony again, eyes tracing the frozen treeline beyond the estate. The night was quiet, but her thoughts roared inside her mind. She had survived hunters, betrayal, and hollow promises. One month was nothing compared to the freedom she had fought for.
A knock at the balcony door made her jump. Lyssa peeked in, holding a small lantern.
“Selene… dinner’s ready,” she said softly. “I know you’ve been busy, but you should eat.”
Selene shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
Lyssa hesitated, then smiled faintly. “It’s alright. I’ll eat, then. And… don’t worry. I’ll make sure the house is safe while you… you decide what to do next.”
Selene’s heart warmed. Responsibility, care, protection—they weren’t things she had allowed herself in years. But tonight, in the soft glow of the lantern, she realized that this life, this freedom, was hers to claim.
The full moon was approaching. Kael’s promise hung in her mind, but for now, she had her own choices to make. One step at a time, one night at a time, Selene could finally breathe.
For the first time in years, she did not feel like a shadow. She felt like herself.
Even after three cycles of being bound to Ronan, Selene and the Alpha didn’t always share the same den.
Ronan had said he preferred the solitude of the main bed, that having another shifter beside him disturbed his sleep.
Selene understood—he hadn’t wanted her there. Not truly.
She also knew he had always been careful with Lyra, keeping appearances and ensuring no one questioned her status as the true heir. When Selene accepted her own absence without complaint, it seemed to unsettle him, if only slightly.
“Very well,” she had said lightly. “I’ll remove my things. There’s little left worth keeping.”
The moment she spoke, Ronan had instinctively opened his mouth, a protest almost on his lips—but Lyra stepped in before he could.
“Thank you, Selene,” Lyra said, voice soft, eyes shining with what seemed like gratitude.
Selene did not answer. She bent and began lifting her belongings into a woven crate, muscles straining under the weight.
Her paw slipped across a shard of glass—a remnant of shattered ceremonial crystal from weeks prior. She fell hard, knee scraping against the floor, the sting burning deep into her bone. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, and for a long moment, trembled silently on the cold stone.
Ronan didn’t see her fall. Lyra had already led him away, chattering quietly as if to remind him she was the one to protect.
Selene lay still, allowing the pain to seep in. For years, she had done all the work unseen, all the heavy lifting, all the bleeding, and no one had noticed. She had been the dutiful second-in-command, the mate in name only, the shadow in Ronan’s life.
Now, she was free—but the memory of being overlooked, disregarded, stung as sharply as the wound on her knee.
It took the better part of the morning to sort through her things. By the time the sun reached the zenith, the crates were stacked outside, ready for the pack courier to carry away.
“You don’t have to throw so much away,” Ronan said finally, his voice carrying across the hall. “Lyra’s only staying temporarily. Once she leaves, the items could go back inside. Why waste them?”
“They’re old,” Selene said, her voice even, unshaken. “They’ve served their purpose. It’s time to let them go.”
Ronan’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying her. He had always known her to be practical, frugal, even frigidly sensible. He knew she did not waste. Yet something about her calm, deliberate tone unnerved him.
“They’ve been with me a long time,” she added softly, almost to herself. “Sometimes you need space to make room for the new.”
A subtle flicker crossed Ronan’s expression, quickly hidden. He had no rebuttal.
“There’s a council gathering tonight,” he said, shifting the conversation. “The leaders will be present. You will attend, as a former lieutenant. Lyra too.”
Selene’s paws itched to refuse, but she said nothing. She had learned long ago that silence could be the most powerful answer.
“You will represent yourself,” he added, voice firm. “And you will not embarrass the pack.”
Selene simply nodded. One final duty before she stepped fully out of his shadow.
—
Night fell, and the council hall was ablaze with lanterns and torches, the scents of roasted meats and burning pine filling the air. Shifters from neighboring territories had gathered, their eyes sharp and movements precise.
Selene stood at the back, quietly observing, while Ronan and Lyra took center stage. The whispers had already begun—old alliances, rivalries, and the subtle ways power shifted with a glance or gesture.
Ronan presented Lyra first, as expected, and the council nodded politely. Her status as the rightful heiress was clear. Then he gestured to Selene.
“The former second-in-command,” he said evenly, “is here to observe the proceedings.”
The words were carefully neutral, yet every syllable cut. Selene felt it in her bones—the distance he maintained, the lack of acknowledgment for the years she had given.
She swallowed the sting and straightened, letting her posture radiate calm authority. Years of subservience had ended. She would not crumble, not in front of this audience.
Her ears caught whispers of admiration, curiosity, and envy. Some recognized the quiet power that still clung to her, despite the bond-breaking rituals. Others simply noted the disappearance of the Alpha’s mate from the equation.
The pain in her knee had dulled, replaced by a sharper awareness: she had survived this life. She had endured betrayal and loss, and she had emerged unbroken.
As the council proceedings began, Selene moved to a quiet corner. There, out of sight, she allowed herself a single breath of relief. The road ahead would be long, but for the first time in three cycles, she walked it on her own terms.
The moonlight outside the high windows shimmered on her golden fur. Freedom had a weight, and it pressed pleasantly against her chest.
Finally, she permitted a small, sly smile. One day soon, Kael would arrive. And then, she would truly step into a life of her choosing.
The pain came suddenly, sharp as a claw, twisting low in Selene’s belly. She hadn’t shifted, she hadn’t even come into heat this cycle—so why did it burn so much, as though silver had touched her skin?
She pushed off the velvet bench in the gallery and staggered toward the door of the restricted corridor. When her fingers curled around the bronze handle, it didn’t move. Locked. From the outside.
Then came the voice she dreaded—cool, honeyed, and barbed—sliding under the door like smoke.
“Poor little Beta bride,” Lyra Moonshadow purred. “How does it feel, living on scraps of someone else’s love?”
Selene’s vision blurred. She braced herself on the doorframe, panting.
“Ronan’s always been mine,” Lyra went on, her voice rising with a cruel little laugh. “From the very first moon. Now that I’ve returned to the Ironfang Pack, you’re just an intruder. And you still had the gall to show up at this ceremony tonight, trying to steal my light?”
Selene gritted her teeth, sweat cooling on her brow. Her voice came out thin but steady.
“If you want him, take him. I’m finished fighting for a mate who won’t fight for me.”
A scoff. “You think I’d believe that?”
“You took my mother’s place in the Alpha’s heart. Now you want my bond too? You’re pathetic. Stay in there. No one’s coming.”
Selene heard something scrape on the other side—Lyra dragging a heavy sign across the threshold. “Restricted Area. Do Not Enter” in bold red letters.
Tonight’s conclave had strict rules: no phones, no photos, no magic recordings. All personal devices had been collected at the door. Even a wolf in trouble would go unheard in this wing.
Selene’s claws half?slid out before she forced them back, but the cramps were like hot chains across her stomach. Her knees buckled. She slid to the stone floor, leaning against the cold wall. Her hands trembled as she beat at the door.
“Please… somebody…” her voice cracked, echoing against the empty corridor. “Help me…”
But no one came. Any wolf who might have walked by would see the red warning sign and turn away.
Time blurred. The pain deepened until even her enhanced senses dulled. The cold crept in through her thin ceremonial dress. Finally, darkness rose up and pulled her under.
—
On the main floor, the conclave dragged on. When the last sacred artifact was unveiled and the chants faded, Ronan Draven realized Selene had not returned. A faint furrow appeared between his brows.
Beside him, Lyra tilted her head, her eyes wide and innocent. “Alpha Ronan,” she murmured sweetly, “do you think she left because I took her seat at your side? I didn’t mean to upset her…”
“You’re the rightful daughter of the Moonshadow line,” Ronan said flatly. “You think a secretary should sit where you belong?” He exhaled sharply. “Forget it. Selene’s been too proud lately. A night alone might cool her temper.”
Lyra’s lips curled when he turned away, her thoughts a victorious hiss: Selene Valen, you never learn. You couldn’t win my mother’s favor; you won’t win my mate’s either.
That night Selene did not return to the packhouse. Ronan never asked again.
—
The next morning, when a cleaning omega opened the sealed chamber during her rounds, she nearly dropped her bucket.
Curled in the corner, drenched and trembling, lay Selene. Her gown clung to her like wet parchment; her skin had gone pale as moonlight.
“By the goddess—Miss, how did you get locked in here?” the omega cried, rushing to her. “You’re freezing. Should I fetch the healer?”
Selene’s lashes fluttered. She pressed her palms to the floor, forcing her body upright inch by inch. “No… thank you. I’ll manage.”
The cramps had faded to a dull ache, but the cold had seeped into her bones. She’d really thought Ronan might come looking for her.
But clearly, she’d overestimated herself again.
She remembered how, when Lyra once went missing for only ten minutes as a pup, Ronan had nearly summoned the entire patrol in a panic. And now, after an entire night without word, he hadn’t even raised a howl for his bonded mate.
So this is the difference, Selene thought, steadying herself against the wall. The difference between love and indifference.
Step by step she left the chamber, the omega hovering behind her but not daring to question an Alpha’s wife. Outside, she flagged down a pack?run carriage to the edge of the territory.
At last she was given her confiscated phone back. The screen lit up. Not a single message from Ronan.
Instead, there were several from Kael Ralston.
[Selene, I can’t wait a full moon. One week. I’m coming to get you in one week.]
Selene closed her eyes. For the first time in hours, warmth flickered in her chest—a faint ember against the frost.
Selene’s paws trembled as she read Kael’s message. A warmth she hadn’t felt in years flickered in her chest.
[Understood. One week is enough.]
One week. Not a full moon, not a whole cycle—just a week. After that, she would be gone from Ronan, from the Ironfang Pack, and finally free of the betrayal that had marked every heartbeat of the past three years.
She slipped back into the villa, the corridors eerily quiet. The sight that met her in the sitting hall made her blood run cold.
Lyra lounged on the couch, reclining in a silk gown—Selene’s gown. Her fingers drummed casually against the armrest, a predatory gleam in her eyes.
The sound of the door opening caught her attention. Lyra’s sneer sharpened. “Back already? You look like the aftermath of a hunt gone wrong.”
Slowly, she rose, tilting Selene’s chin with a possessive, mocking grace. “Look at you—pale as the moonlight. Anyone would think you’d nearly died.”
Lyra leaned closer, whispering in Selene’s ear, her voice a venomous caress. “Last night… with Ronan, he said he only feels like an Alpha with me. Said you lie there like a sleeping pup—completely useless.”
Selene’s golden eyes narrowed, and with a swift motion, her paw met Lyra’s cheek.
“Lyra,” she hissed, teeth bared, “know your place. I am still Ronan’s mate. You are nothing but a pretender. Push me too far, and I will reveal every deceit you’ve spun in the pack. Everyone will see the truth of what you are—a wolf who uses others to claim what she cannot earn.”
Lyra laughed coldly, a sound that scraped against the stone walls. She raised her hands in mock surrender, but it was obvious—she had no intention of stopping.
Before Selene could react further, Ronan appeared, stepping out from the shadowed hallway. Lyra froze, knees weakening, and stumbled forward toward the nearest pillar.
Ronan’s reflexes were swift. He caught her just in time, his hold firm.
“Lyra, I invited you here. If anyone has a problem with you being present, they have a problem with me,” he barked, his voice sharp as a fang.
Selene pressed her lips together, a bitter, hollow smile crossing her face.
“Selene,” Ronan growled, glancing at her, “apologize to her.”
“I did nothing wrong. Nothing!” she snapped. “And Ronan, aren’t you even curious where I was last night?”
“Don’t care,” he cut her off, his amber eyes glinting with cold authority. “But you do not hurt Lyra! Apologize now, or face suspension from pack duties—until you submit.”
Selene realized then: in his eyes, she was just a loyal worker, a mate in name only. He believed a suspension would punish her—but she had long ceased to live for him. She had only endured for him.
Her chest tightened at the sight, but she held her dignity. Ronan turned, leading Lyra with him, leaving Selene behind.
Even the pack caretaker obeyed Ronan’s silent orders: do not feed her until she “admitted her mistakes.”
Selene’s amber eyes filled with tears, silent as she watched them go. This was the wolf she had once loved, the one she had trusted with her entire heart. Now, there was nothing left.
Days passed. She remained locked within the villa’s private wing, visited only by the caretaker three times a day with the same question: “Have you seen reason?” She said nothing, staring out the balcony at the forest beyond. She was counting. Five more days.
Her communicator buzzed constantly, but all of it came from Lyra—messages of mockery, reminders of her place, images of Ronan tending to Lyra, laughing with her, their closeness on display.
Selene did not cry. Her heart, which once ached for him, was now an empty den.
On the fourth day, her caretaker withheld all food as instructed. Selene drank only water, surviving on willpower alone. That evening, she ventured into the courtyard, her paws weak beneath her.
A young timber wolf dashed from the treeline, colliding into her. Normally, the wolf’s strength wouldn’t have mattered—but her body, deprived of nourishment, crumpled under the impact.
Pain seared through her belly, and instinct told her the truth: two moons ago, in a moment of rare intimacy, she and Ronan had shared a bond without protection. Now her womb protested violently.
Gritting her teeth, she begged the caretakers for assistance. The Alpha guarders leaped to her side, rushing her toward the healer’s den—but the forest path had been blocked.
“Miss Valen,” one guard stammered, “it’s Lyra’s celebration tonight. The roads through the pack territory are closed by Ronan’s orders. We cannot reach the healer quickly.”
Outside, the fireworks of the festival lit the sky, echoing through the hills. All for Lyra. All orchestrated by Ronan.
Selene collapsed against the forest floor, trembling. With the last of her strength, she ripped the silver band from her paw—her bond ring—and hurled it into the undergrowth.
Ronan. The pack. Their marriage. She wanted none of it anymore.
Selene awoke to the faint scent of medicinal herbs and the warmth of a low-burning fire. Her body felt weak, her muscles stiff, and a dull ache throbbed in her lower belly. Slowly, she realized she was no longer in her room at the Ironfang villa, but in the pack infirmary, tucked among soft blankets in a quiet chamber.
The healer, a silver-furred shifter with gentle eyes, knelt beside her. “Selene… you haven’t eaten or rested properly for days,” he said, his voice heavy with regret. “Your body could not carry the pup. I’m afraid… it didn’t survive. I’m truly sorry.”
Selene’s paw instinctively moved to her abdomen, feeling the emptiness where new life had begun. A sharp, stifled sorrow pierced her chest. She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall silently. Perhaps the pup had sensed the coldness surrounding her—the lies, the betrayals, the pack’s indifference—and chosen not to come into this world.
“You will need time to recover,” the healer continued. “Your mate should be here. He—”
Selene shook her head, cutting him off before he could speak her pain aloud. “Ronan is no longer my mate,” she said quietly, her voice flat. Then, almost to herself, she asked, “How soon can I leave?”
“Three days,” the healer replied. “After that, you should be strong enough to travel safely.”
Three days. Just enough time for Kael to come for her, just enough time for her to escape this life of empty promises and lies.
Before she could settle back into the blankets, the infirmary door swung open. Ronan stepped inside, his posture tense, amber eyes scanning her carefully. “Selene… what happened? Why are you here?”
She lifted her head slowly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I hadn’t eaten. My body gave out, and I collapsed.”
From the shadows at the door, Lyra’s sharp, mocking voice cut through. “Selene… you’ve always been fragile. How did you survive all this time in the field if you couldn’t even sustain yourself now?”
Ronan’s lips pressed into a thin line, though the sharpness in his gaze softened a fraction. “When did you become so stubborn?” he murmured. “Admitting weakness wouldn’t have killed you. If you felt ill… why not call for help?”
Selene’s jaw tightened. Call him? After all he had done—refusing her food, ignoring her pleas, indulging Lyra at every turn—what good would it have done to summon him? Humiliation and scorn, nothing more.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” she said calmly, her voice deceptively casual.
For a brief moment, she saw hesitation flicker in his eyes. Perhaps he realized, too late, how much he had overstepped. Over the following days, Ronan began appearing in the infirmary more often, his visits tentative and careful, yet hollow. His concern came too late, and Selene knew it.
When the healer finally released her, Selene immediately retrieved her communicator. Kael would come for her soon—he would finally take her away from everything that had brought nothing but pain.
Ronan noticed her focus. “Selene, who are you messaging?” he asked, stepping closer.
She instinctively moved it away, holding his gaze evenly. “Do you really need to read my private messages?”
He paused, then withdrew without another word. His care these days was born not of love, but guilt—and she did not let herself forget it.
Once the infirmary carriage deposited her at the villa, Ronan left without a backward glance. Selene moved through the empty halls like a ghost, careful to disturb nothing. She entered her private chamber, opened the hidden vault beneath her bed, and placed the infirmary’s report inside.
Then, she paused by the window, letting the sunlight warm her fur for a moment, and whispered into the quiet room:
“All that I carried, all that I hoped for… gone.”
She let the words linger, a silent acknowledgment of the life lost, and the life she was about to reclaim.
A divorce agreement, her resignation from the Ironfang leadership, the record of her lost pup, and a hundred chronicled betrayals. Each a mark of patience stretched beyond its limits. This was her ultimate farewell to Ronan—and to the life that had never been hers to claim.
Selene carefully packed her belongings, leaving the keys to the villa on the dining table. She wiped her paw print from the smart lock, erased every trace of herself from the villa’s records, and closed the door behind her.
Every memory, every trace of her presence in the Ironfang estate, had been wiped clean.
Selene took a slow, steady breath, feeling the weight of finality settle over her. The life she had known—full of deception, betrayal, and loss—was over.
And soon, Kael would arrive to take her away, to give her a future that truly belonged to her.
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