The bouquet wasn’t just flowers. It was packed with intoxicating spices. The rogue wolf and the shadow lynx went berserk because of that. It wasn’t an accident. It was planned. Deliberate. And he never noticed, never questioned, never even blinked while I almost died.
I clutched the second item, my hands shaking so hard the papers crumpled. It was my medical report from the hospital.
The miscarriage. My child. My baby. All because he chose Chiara. Again. Just like that night with the rogue wolves, when I was thrown into their cage, my body battered, freezing, suffocating, and he… he saved her instead of me.
He made me suffer through the silver whips for her apology show, and he let me bleed, thrash, nearly die, while she watched. And now I knew—he’d done it twice. Twice he’d indirectly killed a child I carried for him.
And the third thing… my chest tightened when I held the broken diamond ring. The one he picked himself in Africa five years ago, polished until it shined a million times.
A half-year of patience, a symbol of his devotion, he said. He said he’d love me forever, that I was the only one. That ring had meant everything. And now, it was nothing. He left it to remind me what love could look like when it was fake.
I whispered to myself, almost laughing bitterly, “Drake, it was you… it was all you.”
The helicopter’s roar cut through the sky and I squinted up, seeing a familiar face poking its head out.
“Aren’t you leaving, Alice?” Alaric called.
I hesitated a moment, then forced a smile through the burning pain in my chest. “Do you have a lighter, Alaric?”
He whistled and tossed a box down. “That’s all I got.”
“Good enough,” I said, gripping the match box tight. My fingers shook so badly, I thought I might drop it.
Step by step, I walked toward the glass house. Every step burned in my legs, every breath in my chest was heavy with memories of what once felt like home. The walls had seen laughter, music, warmth, and now… they’d see fire.
I thought about Drake. About his hands on me, soft and warm, the alpha that claimed me. About the nights I thought we shared something sacred. My throat hurt. My eyes burned. My heart felt like it had been hollowed out. And yet… I had to do this.
I held up the match, my other hand pressed to my neck where his mark had been. The imprint burned under my fingers. Pain shot through me, sharp and deep, and I gritted my teeth.