The day Jaxson Harper, my childhood friend and the Beta of our pack, marked Monroe Lewis, a human, as his mate, I retreated into seclusion to master the Path of Detachment.

This path, once mastered, would not only elevate my power to its peak but also strip me of all emotions, freeing me from the shackles of love and heartbreak.

Later, Jaxson would stand before me, pleading, "Do you truly... not love me anymore? You once said you’d love me for eternity. Don’t you remember?"

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On the day of Jaxson’s marking ceremony, I stood silently among the crowd, watching as he and the delicate human woman knelt before Harmoni Castro, our Luna. Their scents intertwined—his, a familiar woodsy musk, and hers, a faint floral sweetness—signaling their bond to the pack. Whispers floated around me, questioning why Jaxson, who had grown up with me, had chosen a mere human over his childhood companion. Some even murmured about how he had defied our Luna’s wishes for the sake of this human.

Those around me voiced their indignation on my behalf, but I felt only a cold, searing ache in my chest. The years of friendship, the bond we had shared—it had all been overshadowed by the pull of her scent.

I raised my eyes to Jaxson, who stood radiant with joy, his aura flaring with pride as he smiled at his new mate. He was happy, content, and I could not deny the pain that twisted within me.

Jaxson, this is the last time I will suffer for you.

I had made my decision. The Path of Detachment would sever my ties to all emotions. No love, no hate, no longing or regret. I would be free.

As I stepped into the secluded training chamber, the faint echoes of celebration reached my ears. The heavy door closed behind me, muffling the distant call of “Mates, to your dens!”

The silence of the chamber enveloped me, and I took a deep breath, preparing to shed the last remnants of my heart.

I was born without a father, and my mother, Harmoni Castro, the Luna of our pack, treated me with cold indifference. The most frequent words she spoke to me were, “Have you trained today?”

She never cared about my life, my joys or sorrows—only my progress in training.

It wasn’t until I found a book on emotional detachment in her room that I understood. My mother wasn’t incapable of love; she had simply mastered the path of detachment. She didn’t understand what love was.

As I grew older, she demanded I follow the same path.

But by then, I had already met Jaxson Harper. His kindness and patience were a stark contrast to my mother’s coldness. The simple, genuine affection of a young werewolf had taken root in my heart, and I refused to become as emotionless as my mother.

So, while I outwardly obeyed her and trained in the path of detachment, I deliberately made a mistake when I was one step away from mastering it.

Now, I was just one move away from achieving complete emotional detachment.

I knelt on the training mat, feeling the dual sensations of searing heat and biting cold coursing through my body.

It felt as though my heart was being stripped bare, layer by layer—every thread of emotion, every ounce of love and hate, torn away until only raw, beating flesh remained.

I could almost hear it screaming in pain, as if those deeply rooted emotions were intertwined with my very being, their removal leaving me bloodied and raw.

A single tear slid down my cheek. When I opened my eyes again, I had mastered the path of detachment.

I took a deep breath, feeling my power surge to its peak. I knew I would perform well in the upcoming Pack Trials.

I straightened up and stepped out of the training room, only to be met by Cohen Powell, one of the Deltas in our pack, rushing toward me with a panicked expression.

“Thea, the Beta—Jaxson—he told me to tell you not to wander off these next few days. He said he’ll come to explain everything once he’s finished with his duties.”

Oh, I had almost forgotten. Today was the day Jaxson was performing the mark ceremony with his mate.

I shook my head, my voice distant and cool. “No need. I’ll be busy with training. I don’t have time for irrelevant matters.”

For me now, nothing mattered but training. Everything else was trivial.

As for those memories with Jaxson Harper, of course, I still remember them.

But now, they feel like watching a stranger’s life unfold—detached, distant, and entirely devoid of emotion.

My first encounter with Jaxson was as cliché as the plot of a cheap romance novel. As a young werewolf, I was often scolded by my mother, Harmoni Castro, the Luna, during pack training. I would hide behind the pack’s training grounds, tears streaming down my face, when Jaxson appeared.

He was the gentlest soul I had ever met. When I cried, he would softly wipe away my tears and whisper comforting words, telling me not to cry—that tears were for the weak. He said I was the bravest little girl he knew, and brave girls didn’t shed tears.

In a world where warmth was a rarity, Jaxson was like a beacon of light, and I was helplessly drawn to him.

Jaxson was a skilled fighter, his movements fluid and precise. When he trained, it was like watching a storm—controlled yet devastating. He often took the time to teach me combat techniques, patiently guiding my claws and correcting my stance. Even when I struggled to master the basics, he never lost his temper. Instead, he repeated the drills with me, over and over, until I got it right.

I trained tirelessly, not wanting to disappoint him. Late into the night, I would practice alone in the pack’s training grounds, determined to prove myself worthy of his patience and kindness. When I accidentally nicked myself with my claws or stumbled during a pack run, I bit back my tears.

Because Jaxson had told me I was brave. And brave girls didn’t cry.

But then, everything changed.

When he saw Monroe Lewis, his mate, in tears, his composure shattered. I heard his voice, soft and trembling with concern, as he comforted her. “Monroe, it’s okay to cry. I’m here for you.”

The words struck me like a blow. That same tenderness, that same reassurance, was no longer mine. It belonged to her now.

And in that moment, I realized something I had been too young to understand before—Jaxson’s kindness wasn’t unique to me. It was just who he was.

But by then, it was too late. I had already built my world around him, and when he walked away, it crumbled.

I didn’t cry. Not then. Because brave girls didn’t cry.

Even when it hurt.

Even when it still does.