But it had to be done. I couldn’t stay here any longer, surrounded by the ghosts of what could have been. I had to leave—leave this house, this pack, and the man who had never truly been mine.
Dragging my suitcase down the stairs, I froze as I came face-to-face with Caspian. He was carrying Ophelia, her arms wrapped around his neck as if she belonged there. His face, usually so cold and distant, was etched with concern as he brushed past me without so much as a glance, treating me like a stranger in my own home.
I had grown used to this. With Ophelia around, I was nothing more than a shadow, invisible to him.
But now, as the finality of my decision settled in, my mind felt clearer than it had in years. If it had been Ophelia who became his mate, she would have been the Luna of the Bloodvenom Pack by now. And yet, it was me—me, who had given him the power to become Alpha. And still, he never declared me as his Luna. I was nothing more than a placeholder, a name on paper, and nothing in his heart.
Caspian stopped abruptly, his gaze finally falling to the suitcase at my feet. His voice was cold, as it had always been. "Claire Laurentia, is this just another one of your dramatic stunts?"
Ophelia, nestled comfortably in his arms, looked up at me with feigned innocence. "Claire, I twisted my ankle, and since Caspian said the Bloodvenom Pack was close by, he brought me here to take care of it. You don't mind, do you?"
A twisted ankle—that was all it took for him to rush to her side, to carry her as if she were made of glass. I watched as Caspian gently settled her on the sofa, his hands careful as he placed an ice pack on her foot. His tenderness was a knife in my chest, twisting with every gentle touch he gave her.
And now, they were together again, weren’t they? He must have visited her at the Shadow Crest Pack, bonding with her, ensuring she was always happy, while I and our son remained nothing more than an afterthought.
I remembered the time a rogue attack in the woods had left me with a broken leg. Desperate and in pain, I had reached out to him through our mind link, hoping for some shred of concern. His response had been as cold as ice, "A broken leg isn't life or death. You already escaped the rogue. Why bother me?"
That was when I knew—Caspian never cared. Even though his wolf must have sensed that his mate was in danger, he remained indifferent.