It reminded of the reason my mother died of heartbreak. The day my mother learned my father had a hidden mistress and another pup, something inside her broke. She stopped eating, stopped talking, started scratching at her own skin until she bled.
I was eight when they took her to the psychiatric wing. Her empty eyes looked at me one last time. One day, she walked into the sea wearing pearls and never returned. They called it an “accident.”
Gwyneth moved into our home the next week. Took my room. Called my mother “that unstable woman.”
When I was ten, she accused me of pushing her down the stairs. My father slapped me in front of everyone. I should have walked away. Should have yelled. But I stood in Gareth’s doorway, frozen, as he finally noticed me.
He didn’t even flinch. He stood up slowly, grabbed his clothes, and dressed without shame like I was nothing but a low-rank Beta who forgot to knock.
“Even if I’m your warrior … you should knock before entering, Lady Freya,” he dryly said.
Lady Freya. As if he didn’t know every detail of my life. As if he hadn’t held me on the bathroom floor when I lost my mother’s castle in court and cried until I couldn’t breathe. He picked up his sketchbook carefully, wiping it like it was something precious.
I swallowed my pain and said, “Tomorrow is an event I’m organizing. You will follow me as my warrior.”
“Will Lady Gwyneth attend?”
My heart tore apart.
“W-What? It’s a tribute for my mother … for her death anniversary! Why would I invite her?!”
Gareth’s expression darkened instantly, not out of respect for my mother. But it was because I insulted Gwyneth.
“Follow me tomorrow. That is an order,” I said, turning away as my throat burned.
Then, just loud enough for me to hear, he murmured, “She’s still chasing me… thinks one night in my bed changed anything. It’s pathetic.”
I stopped. Gareth didn’t know I heard. He didn’t care if I had.
To him, I was nothing but a stepping stone. I left the door wide open behind me.
Let the cold wind sweep in. Let the truth settle over everything. My story in this pack was ending.
And I was walking away from the chaos.
The next evening, Gareth waited at the bottom of the stone staircase in the pack hall. His hand stretched out, as he always did, expecting me to take it. But I didn’t.