The truth was, I had grown to hate this place—this pack, this life. But more than that, I hated myself for still clinging to the remnants of what should have been. For still caring, still hoping that he might one day choose me. Yet even as I spoke those words, even as I declared my intent to end our bond, fear crept in.
What would I do if I left? Returning to the Bloodmoon Pack felt impossible—how could I face them after failing so spectacularly? They all expected me to be living the perfect life of a Luna, not this miserable existence where I was little more than a shadow in my own home.
I stood up abruptly, pushing the half-eaten cake away, and made my way to the kitchen. The maids tried to help, but I waved them off, packing up the untouched dishes myself.
Once everything was packed, I left the pack house, ignoring the stares and whispers that followed me. I made my way to the villa Haynes had given me as a wedding gift. It was a beautiful place, nestled in the west part of the Shadowveil territory, well-maintained and elegant. But I had never truly occupied it—after all, my place was supposed to be with him, in the pack house.
But now, as I stood in the doorway of the villa, I realized how much I needed this space. A place away from him, away from Leila.
I spent the night in silence, the villa echoing with the emptiness I felt inside. The bed was soft, the sheets cool against my skin, but I slept fitfully.
The next morning, I found a few messages on my phone, all from Haynes. He had realized I wasn’t at the pack house and was less than pleased.
[What the hell is wrong with you now?]
[I know you’re at the villa I gifted you. Come back when you’ve calmed down. Don’t test my patience, Aeliana.]
I stared at the messages, a strange sense of detachment washing over me. His words no longer held the power to hurt me like they once did. Instead, they felt…empty. Meaningless.
This wasn’t the first time he had chosen Leila over me, and it wouldn’t be the last. Whenever she needed him, he was there—without question, without hesitation. I had fought him on it before, questioned him, and argued until I was blue in the face. But nothing changed.
“You see our connection with malice because you’re overly looking for things to fight about,” he had said once, his voice dripping with frustration. As if I was the one to blame as if my feelings were the problem.