Liora didn’t see any reason to waste words on Marcella. Calm and deliberate, she deleted the message, blocked her number, and opened her chat with Kaelen. The last conversation they’d shared had been over a week ago, and the silence since then weighed heavily.
As she scrolled through the thread, a familiar ache settled into her chest. Message after message stretched across the screen, each one carrying her thoughts, her heart laid bare. She had told him everything—from lofty dreams of leading her own pack lands someday, to trivial musings about her meals, even the way the wind smelled on a crisp morning. Every word a thread connecting them.
Kaelen’s replies were sparse, scattered like distant echoes in a den long abandoned. When he did answer, it was always about Marcella—her moods, her whims, her every fleeting desire. Liora felt the familiar thrum of betrayal press against her ribs, sharp and insistent.
For the first time in years, she didn’t want to reply. If her words would vanish into silence, what was the point of speaking at all?
She tucked her phone into her pocket, ready to leave it at that, when Kaelen’s name flashed across the screen. He was calling.
“Where are you?” His voice carried the low growl of worry, tinged with restrained reproach. “It’s late… why aren’t you home yet?”
Tonight, he had refused Marcella’s invitation, a rare deviation from his usual routine, intending to return early and spend time with Liora. But the den was empty when he arrived. She hadn’t answered his calls, hadn’t replied to his messages—and his worry had escalated to the edge of panic.
Liora glanced at the clock. Eight PM.
He had always been a wanderer of the night, returning at odd hours or disappearing entirely until the early dawn. Liora had waited countless nights, a single lantern burning in the corner of the den, the scent of simmering soup hanging faintly in the air. And if he returned drunk, she would rise from sleep, fighting exhaustion to tend him.
But what had Kaelen ever done for her in return?
She couldn’t remember a single gesture. Her patience frayed, and the words came out sharper than she intended.
“Can’t I have a life of my own?”
It was the first time she had ever dared speak to him this way.
A tense silence followed, broken only when his voice softened.
“Liora… I’ve missed you these past few days.”
“Tomorrow’s the ceremony,” she said quietly, her tone even. “I was just worried something might happen to you. Don’t get upset. Wait for me, alright? I’m coming to get you now.”
Within minutes, Kaelen pulled up outside in his car, a bouquet of fresh flowers in hand—a gesture she did not accept. Instead, she opened the passenger door, greeted by a faint scent that made her stomach twist. Nausea rolled over her, and she grabbed a tissue, opting to climb into the back seat rather than sit in the front beside him.
Kaelen, absorbed in his glowing phone screen, didn’t notice.
“Why’d you go to the amusement park?” he asked casually, barely lifting his gaze. “Finished with the ceremony preparations?”
“Pretty much,” Liora replied, her voice soft but detached.
Tomorrow, she would leave this den—and this territory—behind for good.
Kaelen chuckled lightly, almost to himself. “I remember you always wanted to ride the Ferris wheel. I’ll take you one day, make it unforgettable. I didn’t mean to interrupt your fun today, but my mother… she wants to see you.”
“It’s fine,” Liora said. “There will be plenty of time later.”
Her lifetime of wishes would be ticked off one by one, none of them tied to him.
Once Kaelen finished his messages, he started the car, and, as if unaware of the impact, played one of Marcella’s favorite songs. Liora’s gaze drifted to the familiar streets outside, the city she had grown up in. Neon signs flickered in harmony with the starlit sky, the lights dancing like silver and gold sparks across the dark canopy.
Yet the longer she looked, the more the wind stung her eyes, leaving them raw and damp.
By the time they arrived at the old family home, the dining table was already cluttered with leftovers. The housekeeper moved between dishes, quietly clearing the remnants of the day. Laughter and conversation floated through the den as parents from both sides mingled freely. Kaelen and Marcella sat at the center, their camaraderie effortless, filling the space with warmth that no longer included Liora.
She felt like a ghost in the room. Her form flickered in Kaelen’s peripheral vision, a lone silhouette he barely registered. Yet somewhere deep in his chest, a pulse skipped—a memory surfacing, fragile and sharp.
A promise he had made long ago, one he had vowed to never break: to shield this little she-wolf from sorrow, to never let her feel abandoned. A promise now resurrected, though far too late.
After a short pause, Kaelen signaled for someone to bring over a selection of dresses.
“Liora,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the low rumble of concern only a packmate—or alpha—could muster, “I know you’ve been swamped these past few days. I asked Marcella to pick out a dress for you to try. See if any of them suit your taste.”
Marcella’s voice chimed in, bright and teasing, as she leaned forward.
“Sis, don’t forget—I’m your bridesmate! We’ll be walking down the aisle side by side, and everyone will get to see how stunning we both are!”
Her father, ever the embodiment of pride and affection, ruffled Marcella’s hair, his smile warm and approving. Kaelen allowed himself a small grin at the familiar display of family affection, yet his eyes flicked toward Liora, scanning her reaction.
Liora, however, could barely tear her gaze from the dress in her hands. The fabric was faded and yellowed with age, the cheap material stretched and worn, a jagged tear ruining the chest. The dress looked like it had survived decades in a dusty attic rather than any modern bridal shop. It paled in comparison to Marcella’s bridesmaid dress—a figure-hugging fishtail with delicate lace that accentuated every curve, shimmering even in the soft room light. If anyone in the room looked like a bride, it was Marcella.
Marcella twirled in her dress, her delight bubbling up in every pirouette.
“It’s perfect! If only I had a crown… then it would be complete!”
Kaelen, ever quick with a response, leaned in, his tone teasing yet pointed. “That’s easy to arrange. Liora has a crown, right? She’s your older sister; I’m sure she wouldn’t mind lending it.”
His eyes shifted to Liora—but froze when they landed on the tattered gown she held.
“How did this happen?” His voice was low, edged with surprise.
Liora’s gaze flicked briefly toward Marcella, but Kaelen stepped protectively in front of her before she could speak.
“It must be some mistake at the shop,” he said firmly. “Marcella had nothing to do with this. I’ll have someone fix it immediately.”
Marcella, ever the actress, tilted her head and feigned concern, her tone sweet but laced with mockery.
“But it’s late now… the shops must be closed. Why not borrow something second-hand for the night? After all, haven’t you always said you wanted a simple wedding, Sis?”
All eyes turned to Liora. In a pack as influential and wealthy as theirs, finding a new dress would have been trivial. Yet here, everyone seemed content to let Liora compromise, as they always had—she’d been the one to shoulder inconvenience, the one expected to yield.
“It’s fine,” Liora said softly, her voice carrying a calm authority that belied her inner ache. “I wouldn’t want to trouble anyone. You all have your own matters. I’ll handle it myself.”
Her gentle smile passed through the room like sunlight cutting through fog, diffusing the tension entirely. The chatter resumed, laughter echoing off the walls, as if Liora’s quiet sacrifice had never been there.
Kaelen’s gaze lingered on her longer than anyone noticed, his chest tightening with the weight of understanding—he knew just how much this ceremony meant to her—but he was powerless. He feared the disappointment that might flash in her eyes, the sting he could not erase.
With a quiet exhale, he produced a sleek card from his pocket, offering it with a soft, unspoken reassurance.
“Don’t worry about the cost,” he said gently. “Whatever makes you happy—that’s what matters.”
Liora paused for a beat, the card feeling like a fragile bridge between them, then accepted it with a simple, final nod. Her quiet “thank you” lingered in the air, solid and unyielding. The line between them felt sharper now, a subtle, unspoken barrier.
Kaelen’s chest tightened; the words to cross it remained trapped.
Marcella’s sharp eyes caught the tension and, seizing her opportunity, pulled a camera from the bedroom.
“Let’s take a family photo now,” she suggested, her tone cheerful but calculating. “Tomorrow will be chaotic—this way, the pictures will turn out perfect.”
Kaelen didn’t hesitate, guiding Liora to the center. She stood there, calm and elegant, a stark contrast to the storm churning inside him.
As the shutter clicked, Marcella lunged forward suddenly, stepping between them. Liora lost her balance, stumbling forward.
“Liora!” Kaelen’s voice broke through instinctively, low and urgent. His body surged, muscles coiled to catch her—but Marcella’s theatrics intervened.
At that exact moment, Marcella burst into feigned tears. Kaelen froze. For three heartbeats, he hesitated—torn between the protective pull of his mate instincts and the sight of his “daughter’s” distress.
Then, as if compelled by the bond he shared with Marcella instead of Liora, he shifted his weight, leaving Liora to collide against the edge of the shelf. His hands caught Marcella instead, cradling her gently, wiping away the counterfeit tears with a tenderness that cut deep into Liora’s chest.
Liora pressed a hand to the edge of the shelf, the sting of splintered wood sharp against her palm, but it was nothing compared to the ache curling in her chest. Her wolf instincts roared in quiet fury, a suppressed growl in her chest as she watched him lavish care on the one he had always truly chosen.
The room buzzed with the laughter and chatter of everyone else, oblivious. But Liora felt the weight of the pack around her, of her place—or rather, her absence—in Kaelen’s heart, and the chill settled deep into her bones.
“Don’t cry, Marcella,” Kaelen murmured, his voice low and steady, the subtle rumble of his wolfish resonance calming the tension in the room. “Your sister understands. She won’t blame you for this.”
Around them, the others clustered, forming a semi-circle of reassurance. Voices rose in a chorus of encouragement, pointing at the camera’s screen, praising Marcella’s pose and attempting to lighten the mood with forced smiles. Their attention was singular, all focused on Marcella’s theatrics.
Liora, meanwhile, struggled to push herself upright from the cold floor. Her head throbbed with a dull ache, and a warm streak traced down her cheek. She dabbed at it with a tissue, the smear dark and unsettling. Blood? Tears? She couldn’t tell, and it hardly seemed to matter—no one else did.
Their laughter, the chatter, the clinking of coffee cups—all of it washed over her like a tide, drowning out her silent ache. She lowered herself onto her knees, feeling the emptiness of invisibility press against her chest.
Only when the bleeding finally stopped did Kaelen look her way, the camera swinging loosely in his hands as if he had just remembered she existed.
“The photo didn’t really capture your face,” he said absentmindedly, then squinted, a frown pulling at his brow. “Wait… Liora, what happened? Your face—”
Her chest tightened at the sharpness of his words. For all the blood and pain she had endured, their sole concern had been Marcella’s smile in the photo, her pose, her expression. A bitter sting of realization sliced through Liora: her presence had barely registered, not once.
“It’s nothing,” she said softly, the faintest smile curving her lips. “No need to redo the picture. It’s late—I’ll head back now.”
Her voice was quiet, resigned. The notion of a family photo had been erased from her heart long ago. With that, she turned and left without a sound, her shadow stretching long into the cool evening.
The walk back to Belmont Villa felt longer than usual. Each step weighed heavy, laden with resignation. Over the past few days, Liora had systematically drained the wedding room of warmth and festivity. Crimson banners and silver charms were stripped away, leaving a cold, impersonal shell that could have belonged to anyone.
Near the door, she discarded the tattered wedding dress, letting the fabric fall in a heap. Her suitcase lay ready; hands moved with mechanical precision, packing necessities and leaving behind relics of a past that had belonged more to Kaelen than to her. Each object was a shard of memory—a reminder that their years together were not hers to claim.
Memories were a cruel currency. She had no need for them anymore. Apart from what was essential, everything else would be left behind—a clean break, a fresh start.
By dawn, the first thin light stretched across the horizon. A knock echoed through the villa. The makeup artist had arrived. Liora, poised and determined, dressed herself elegantly, ready to meet the morning with composure.
Before she could finish, Kaelen appeared, his expression taut with urgency.
“The makeup artist for Marcella canceled at the last minute,” he said, words rushing out. “She’s been crying nonstop. Could yours help her first?”
Liora’s calm voice cut through the tension. “Of course. I’m not in a hurry.”
Kaelen hesitated, unused to such silent compliance from her. On a day like this, shouldn’t she have protested? Shed tears, demanded attention, made herself the center as Marcella would have? Instead, her indifference stung sharper than anger, a silent declaration that she no longer needed him—or the wedding.
The thought unsettled him, gnawing deep in his chest. What if she left today and never returned?
But the insistent voice of his father-in-law dragged him back to the moment.
“Liora, I’ll be back soon. This is the last time.”
Her lips curved in a faint, ironic smile. The last time—indeed. In just hours, she would be gone, leaving this land, this pack, and him behind.
Kaelen walked away, and Liora took a final survey of the room. Gifts, luxury handbags, designer dresses, sparkling jewels, and even toys and gadgets—all once tokens of affection—lay scattered. They had never truly been for her; every item had been chosen with Marcella in mind.
Determined, Liora set to work. Scissors sliced through fine silks and delicate lace. Hammers crashed into jeweled ornaments, shattering them beyond repair. Dolls and trinkets tumbled into the trash, their cheerful faces no longer mocking but freed from expectation.
Finally, she turned to her lunar calendar, the last page trembling in her hands. In her handwriting, a quiet, bittersweet testament:
"To wear the most beautiful wedding dress and marry the man I love most, Kaelen."
She let it fall to the floor, a faint, bitter smile touching her lips. The dress lay in tatters beside it, mirroring the man she had once believed she would cherish forever. With a surge of finality, she crumpled the page into a tight ball and hurled it across the room.
The eastern horizon flushed with the first light of dawn. Liora wiped away the last trace of tears, her fingers trembling briefly before steadying. She pulled back the heavy curtains, letting sunlight flood the space, illuminating the ruins she no longer cared to remember. The past, like yesterday’s shadows, held no claim on her.
Sliding on sunglasses, she stepped into the morning chill, hailed a cab, and headed to meet the media mogul her friend had introduced.
The meeting was brisk. Liora wasted no time on pleasantries. “I have an exclusive story guaranteed to go viral. How much are you willing to pay?”
The man raised an eyebrow. Slowly, he held up five fingers.
“If this involves Kaelen, I’m willing to pay this.”
“I’ll take five million,” Liora said evenly, “but on one condition: the story goes live across the entire network the moment the wedding begins.”
“Deal.”
She placed the bank card Kaelen had once given her beside the USB drive, its weight now a silent emblem of closure. No farewells, no hesitation—only resolve.
Boarding the plane, Liora left behind everything—memories, gifts, ties, and illusions. Only her determination remained, carrying her toward a new life among distant horizons and unclaimed futures.
