Adriana knew how dangerous tenderness could be.

If she allowed herself to soften now—if she clung to this small flicker of warmth—her resolve to leave the territory might crumble.

She inhaled slowly, steadying herself.

“Well,” she said lightly, forcing a teasing tone, “you’re the Alpha everyone has to schedule weeks in advance just to consult. Now you’re personally tending to me for free. I should feel honored. Most wolves can’t even get a proper appointment with you.”

Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Nathanie’s hands paused for the briefest moment. His brows drew together faintly, as if he sensed something beneath her words.

Was she mocking him?

The thought irritated him more than he expected.

He suppressed the feeling and resumed applying the liniment, his fingers firm but controlled as he worked around the swelling.

Only after he finished rubbing the first layer into her skin did he finally speak.

“Olivia’s place was broken into last night,” he said, voice calm. “I’ve arranged for her to stay here for a while. Just until things settle.”

Adriana’s body went still.

So that was it.

The unusual patience earlier. The missing key. The guest room that had been freshly cleaned.

None of it had been spontaneous.

He had already planned everything.

And only now was he informing her.

A quiet understanding settled over her chest like frost.

She considered objecting. For a split second, she imagined asking why he hadn’t discussed it with her first.

But what would that change?

“It’s your territory,” she replied after a moment, her tone even. “Handle it however you see fit.”

Her compliance seemed to dissolve whatever explanation he had prepared. The tension in his shoulders eased.

“You’re not bothered?” he asked, almost cautiously.

She met his gaze.

“No.”

The answer came easily.

Relief flickered across his face. He rose to his feet and placed the bottle of liniment beside her.

“Reapply it gently in about half an hour,” he instructed. “I’ll go sit with Olivia. She’s downstairs alone.”

Of course she was.

“I’ll come back later,” he added.

Adriana nodded faintly.

Inside, she marked another tally.

He had received reassurance. That was enough. He could leave without guilt.

He reached the door and grasped the handle.

Then he paused and glanced back.

“Adriana,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, “Olivia is sensitive. Try not to behave so coldly around her next time. She might misunderstand.”

She blinked.

So that was it.

Her quiet retreat upstairs had been impolite.

Should she have stayed and shared their leftovers instead?

Her fingers tightened around the liniment bottle until her knuckles paled.

Still, she forced her lips into a polite curve.

“I understand,” she replied softly. “Please apologize to her for me.”

That seemed to satisfy him.

He gave a small nod and left.

The door closed with a soft click.

The moment the sound echoed through the room, her composure shattered.

Tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them.

This was the wolf she had loved for three years.

Her chosen mate.

And yet, not once had she truly occupied the center of his heart.

The throbbing in her ankle was nothing compared to the ache spreading through her chest. It felt as if her ribs were caving inward, crushing something fragile beneath them.

When the time came to apply the liniment again, she did it herself.

She didn’t expect him to return.

Downstairs, faint laughter drifted up the staircase—light, easy, intimate.

She lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling in the dim room, feeling colder than the night air outside.

Eventually, thirst forced her to move.

She pushed herself upright and made her way downstairs, gripping the railing as she descended.

Each step sent a dull wave of pain up her leg.

When she reached the kitchen and approached the water dispenser, she automatically reached for her usual cup.

It wasn’t there.

In its place sat a new porcelain mug—delicate, unfamiliar.

She didn’t need to ask whose it was.

The porcelain cup sitting on the counter wasn’t random.

It was part of a matching pair.

One identical to the one Nathanie used every morning.

“Adriana… I’m really sorry,” Olivia said softly, lifting the new cup with both hands. “I dropped yours earlier by accident. It shattered. If you don’t mind, you can use mine for now.”

She smiled in that sweet, harmless way she had perfected over the years.

Adriana looked at the cup without expression.

She didn’t answer.

Nathanie, however, spoke up before she could.

“Olivia, don’t worry about it,” he said casually. “It’s just a cup. There are dozens in this house.”

Just a cup.

Adriana’s fingers curled at her sides.

That cup had not been ordinary.

It was the one they had used during their engagement ritual—the one they had raised together before the elders when their bond was announced. She had washed it herself every time. Kept it carefully on the highest shelf.

To her, it had meant something.

To him, it was replaceable.

“It’s fine,” she said after a moment, her tone light. “I’ll grab a disposable one.”

She poured herself some water, drank quietly, then returned upstairs without another word.

Once inside the bedroom, she sat on the edge of the bed, her thoughts circling back to the transfer application tucked away in her drawer.

The urgency inside her sharpened.

If Nathanie refused to sign off on it as Alpha, the Council wouldn’t approve her departure.

She needed to understand exactly where he stood.

“Why are you still up?”

His voice came from the doorway, pulling her from her thoughts.

She quickly lifted her phone to her ear, as if she had been in the middle of a conversation.

“Mm. Alright. I’ll ask him about it for you,” she said into the empty line before lowering the device.

Then she looked at Nathanie casually. “You’re not asleep either. My ankle’s throbbing, so I was talking to someone from the infirmary to pass the time.”

At the mention of her injury, something flickered across his face.

He seemed to recall, belatedly, that he had said he would reapply the liniment.

Without commenting on it, he stepped forward and pulled back the blanket, inspecting her ankle again.

“The swelling’s gone down,” he observed. “Another few days of rest and it’ll be fine.”

Then his gaze shifted to her phone.

“Who were you speaking to?” he asked lightly. “You sounded pretty relaxed.”

Adriana tightened her grip on the device.

If he had looked closely, he would have noticed the dark screen—no call in progress.

“Dr. Donovan,” she replied smoothly. “Everyone’s been talking about the overseas relief program. He was asking if you’d heard any updates.”

Nathanie nodded, not questioning her.

The program had indeed been a frequent topic at the infirmary. The initial volunteer numbers hadn’t met the quota, so the application window had been extended.

“It’s not a short deployment,” he said thoughtfully. “But it’s useful for wolves who need credentials. Returning with international experience makes them stand out.”

Adriana listened quietly, her heart steady despite the tension building inside her.

“And what do you think?” she asked carefully.

He didn’t hesitate.

“You don’t need it,” he said flatly. “By the time you’d finish a term abroad, I could’ve already secured a higher position for you here.”

There it was.

The refusal she had expected.

She exhaled softly, lowering her gaze.

Of course.

In his mind, her path should always run parallel to his.

An old memory surfaced unbidden.

In the past, when their arguments had spiraled, Nathanie’s temper had sometimes crossed lines. And afterward—perhaps out of guilt—he would soften, offering concessions to smooth things over.

There had been one night in particular.

Olivia had called, saying she’d cut her hand while preparing dinner. It was minor—barely more than a scratch.

Adriana had asked Nathanie to stay.

“Can’t someone else handle it?” she had said then, exhausted from her own shift. “It’s just a small wound.”

He had gone anyway.

But before he left, the argument had escalated.

And when he returned later that night, anger still simmering beneath his calm exterior, he had struck her across the face.

“If you hadn’t delayed me,” he had snapped, “Olivia wouldn’t have gotten hurt at all.”

The words still rang clearly in her memory.

As if she had been the cause.

As if Olivia’s every misfortune could be traced back to her.

Sitting now in the dim bedroom, Adriana looked at the wolf she had once believed was her future.

And she wondered, not for the first time, how she had convinced herself that this was love.

In the past, whenever their arguments stretched into cold silence, it was always Nathanie who yielded first.

After a few days of ignoring each other, he would eventually soften, writing a brief apology note just to bring things back to normal. Back then, Adriana had taken those gestures to heart. She had believed the effort meant he cared.

Now, she understood something else.

If a signed apology could once mend their relationship, perhaps a signature could also end it.

“I don’t need you arranging my future,” she said lightly, a hint of challenge in her voice. “If I’m going to move up in rank, I’ll do it with my own abilities.”

Nathanie let out a low laugh, clearly amused. To him, she sounded like a stubborn pup trying to prove herself.

“Suit yourself,” he replied lazily as he reclined against the headboard. “Saves me the trouble. Just don’t come whining to me when no one notices your so-called talent. You might regret being so proud.”

His tone was teasing, but beneath it lay something colder.

Adriana heard it clearly.

She held his gaze. “I won’t come to you. In fact, there’s something I want you to sign.”

His brow lifted. “Sign what?”

Without answering immediately, she stood and walked to the desk. Her movements were steady, though her palms were damp.

She took out a blank sheet and began writing carefully:

From this moment forward, Adriana Whitmore and Nathanie Reed shall maintain clear boundaries. Adriana assumes full responsibility for all her decisions and actions. Under no circumstances will her affairs involve or implicate any individual or authority. All consequences shall be borne solely by Adriana Whitmore.

Signed: Nathanie Reed.

When she finished, she brought the paper to him along with a pen.

Her hands trembled slightly as she placed them on the bedside table.

“Sign it.”

Nathanie didn’t reach for it immediately. His eyes narrowed as he studied her.

There was something different about her tonight—something he couldn’t quite define.

“Why?” he asked evenly.

She met his gaze without flinching.

“What? Are you backing out already? Or are you afraid you’ll end up interfering behind my back?”

She knew exactly where to press.

Nathanie had always been sensitive about his pride.

As expected, his expression darkened.

“Have you forgotten who brought you into this territory’s infirmary?” he said sharply. “Without me, you’d still be in some remote settlement treating injured farmers and rogues. Don’t overestimate yourself.”

The words cut deep.

For a brief moment, it felt like something lodged in her throat.

But she forced herself to remain calm.

“Then prove it,” she replied coolly. “Sign. Let’s see whether I ever need you.”

Her defiance seemed to dissolve his lingering doubts.

With a faint scoff, he grabbed the pen.

“Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll watch how long this independence lasts.”

He signed his name in one swift stroke.

The sound of pen against paper felt louder than it should have.

Adriana watched the ink settle.

A quiet sense of relief spread through her chest.

Carefully, she folded the document and slipped it into her pocket as though it were something precious.

She didn’t say the words aloud, but they echoed in her mind.

This is the last thing I’ll ever ask of you.

That signature wasn’t an apology.

It was her release.

---

The next morning, Adriana rose before dawn.

The letter was still in her coat pocket, and for the first time in weeks, she felt something close to lightness.

She dressed quietly and stepped outside toward Nathanie’s car, intending to take her usual place in the passenger seat.

The window rolled down.

Olivia’s face appeared instead, bright and smiling.

“Adriana, sorry,” Olivia said sweetly. “I get motion sickness if I sit in the back. I have to take the front seat.”

Her tone was innocent. Almost playful.

Adriana paused.

She knew for a fact Olivia had never had issues riding in the back. They had traveled together many times before.

If anyone had struggled with motion sickness, it had always been Adriana.

That was why she typically sat in front.

But today, Olivia occupied that seat effortlessly, as though it had always belonged to her.

As though she had every right to claim it.