Her head tilted slightly, her sharp gaze studying my face as if piecing together a puzzle.
"I’ve been meaning to say this since we first met—don’t you think we look strikingly alike, little sister?" she said, her voice dripping with mockery.
Shock rippled through me, and my breath caught in my throat. My eyes darted to the nearby mirror, unable to stop myself from comparing us. At first glance, the resemblance was undeniable — the same hair, the same eyes, even the tilt of her jaw mirrored mine.
Humiliation and fury churned in my gut. It had always stung to know I was nothing but a substitute in Damien’s life. But realizing I had been groomed to look like Kaia, the real object of his affection, shattered something deeper inside me.
Under her triumphant gaze, I felt my composure crack. My wolf stirred uneasily, sensing my distress. Unable to bear her presence any longer, I turned and fled.
Back in the private dining room, the warmth of my colleagues gradually thawed my icy blood. Their laughter and kind words almost helped me forget the sting of Kaia’s taunt. But just as I began to set the encounter aside, the door swung open with a forceful thud.
Damien stood there, his eyes scanning the room until they locked onto mine. For a moment, he froze, his expression a storm of restrained fury. Without a word, he clenched his fists and barked my name, demanding I follow him outside.
Confused, I obeyed, only to be met with a sharp slap in the dimly lit corridor.
It was the first time he had ever hit me.
I stared at him, disbelief and hurt coursing through me. But there was no guilt in his eyes, no regret—only raw anger.
"Why did you push Kaia?" he growled. "You knew she had a twisted ankle! I told you I’d explain everything when we got back, but you couldn’t wait, could you?"
The sting of his words hurt almost as much as the slap.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kaia hobbling toward us. Her shirt was rumpled and stained, her movements deliberately slow and pitiful. As I opened my mouth to defend myself, she suddenly stumbled and fell with an exaggerated gasp.
Damien immediately pushed past me to reach her, cradling her trembling form in his arms. His touch was tender, his voice filled with concern.
"I told you I’d bring her over to apologize," he said to Kaia. "Why did you leave the room?"
Kaia shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "It’s not a big deal. She didn’t mean to hurt me. Don’t be so hard on her," she whispered, her words a feigned plea for mercy.
Her gaze flicked at me, but her tone softened as she added, "If her brother finds out you hit her, it might hurt the alliance between you two."
At the mention of my brother, Kirst, Damien’s expression faltered briefly, but his resolve quickly returned.
"Her brother entrusted her to me," he said firmly. "It’s my responsibility to correct her when she’s wrong."
A bitter laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. "Wrong? What exactly did I do wrong, Damien? Even in a pack trial, there’s evidence before passing judgment. But here you are, convicting me without proof. Is this how you lead your pack?"
His jaw tightened, his fists clenched. "There were no cameras in the restroom, Thalia. You knew that and thought you could get away with it."
I stared at him, stunned by his blind conviction. "No cameras?" I scoffed. "Then how can you be so sure it was me?"
"Why would Kaia lie?" he snapped. "She’s not that kind of person."
"And I am?" My voice trembled with the bitterness of betrayal.
Seven years. Seven years I had stood by Damien’s side, through every storm and triumph. Yet in the face of Kaia’s tears, all those years meant nothing. Her word alone outweighed everything we had built.
Realizing there was no point in arguing further, I turned away. "Believe whatever you want," I muttered, my voice hollow.
Damien’s angry voice followed me as I walked away, ordering me to stay. But I didn’t look back. The mark of his slap still burned on my cheek, a cruel reminder of my place in his world.
Returning to the dining room wasn’t an option. I didn’t want to ruin the mood for my colleagues, who had been nothing but kind to me. Instead, I went to the front desk, settled the bill, and sent them a message:
"Something urgent came up. Enjoy the meal and drinks—it’s on me."
With that, I left, the weight of the night pressing heavily on my shoulders.
Dragging my tired body back to the home I’d shared with Damien for seven years, I stopped and took a long, somber look at the place that had once been my sanctuary.
It was almost laughable now. Back then, I’d been so sure I would spend my life here with him. Now, that belief felt like a cruel joke.
Every corner of the house carried memories of us, moments that should have been comforting. Instead, they sliced through me like a thousand knives, each one sharper than the last.
The pain was unbearable because deep down, I knew this home was never truly meant for me. Damien had designed it for someone else, a shadow of the person he thought I should be.
I was never enough, never quite what he wanted, and staying here was just a way to hurt myself.
It was time to leave.
The decision to go had already been made. Accepting the bond marriage proposal from the neighboring pack meant I had to start over anyway. But I’d delayed, hoping Damien might give me a reason to stay.
Instead, he chose to abandon me as my anchor.
That night, I found a large cardboard box and began the painful process of erasing every trace of what we’d once had.
I packed away the slippers with the "wolf and moon" motif that symbolized our bond, the mugs that fit together like puzzle pieces, and the keychains that buzzed when they sensed each other nearby. Damien had always said those trinkets would remind me of his love, especially when he was away.
At the time, I’d been so happy to have them. They made me feel secure, like no matter where he was, our bond was unbreakable. But now, those same items feel meaningless, their promises hollow.
Then came the photos and portraits. Each one was a snapshot of our lives—vacations, birthdays, lazy mornings in bed. We were smiling at most of them, some taken candidly, looking like the perfect pair. They had once been proof of our bond, a testament to the love I thought we shared.
Now, they only made me sick. Looking at them felt like a cruel joke, a reminder of how blind I’d been to the cracks forming between us.
None of it mattered anymore.
Damien hadn’t returned in over two weeks.
In his absence, I threw myself into work. Designing gowns and dresses for the pack’s ceremony kept my mind occupied, at least during the day. At night, I packed away our memories, each item pulling me deeper into the heartbreak until I cried myself numb.
Eventually, the sharp edge of the pain dulled into a quiet acceptance. I stripped the house of everything that once made it feel warm and inviting. Even the furniture I had lovingly chosen was replaced, leaving the space cold and minimalist, just black and white, like the day I first moved in.
The night before my departure, I considered calling Damien one last time. Maybe I needed closure, or maybe I just wanted him to fight for me, to give me a reason to hold on. But every time I dialed his number, he rejected the call.
Finally, a message came through: If you haven’t admitted your mistake and apologized to Kaia, there’s nothing left for us to discuss.
I stared at the words, my lips twisting into a bitter smile. Even after everything, he still blamed me. He hadn’t once asked for my side of the story. Seven years together, and he dismissed me so easily.
If that’s how he felt, then there was nothing more to say.
At dawn, I packed my suitcase and walked out of the house that had once been my safe haven. For the first time in weeks, I felt relief, stronger than any sorrow still lingering in my heart.
While waiting to board my flight, my phone buzzed with birthday messages. I’d forgotten it was my birthday. In the past, Damien would have been the first to greet me, with a surprise planned for the day.
This year, his silence was louder than ever.
The messages were kind—some wished me happiness, others success, and a few who knew about the bond marriage wished me luck with my new mate. I replied to them all, one by one, before turning off my phone.
As the plane took off, I gazed out at the sunrise breaking over the horizon and made a silent promise.
I would find happiness again.
This time, it wouldn’t depend on anyone else.
