Asher and Kieran didn’t surrender that easily. Watching the last of those memories turn to smoke shook them more than they expected. Two wolves who had already chosen wrong were suddenly desperate to claw back what they had burned.

Asher was the first to speak. He scratched at the back of his neck, eyes avoiding mine like a guilty child caught red-handed.

“Aurora… let’s go eat somewhere. Anywhere. It’s on us.”

Kieran stepped forward too, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

“Our place. The one you like. Just for tonight. One meal, okay? Let us… try to fix something.”

I didn’t answer right away. I only dipped my chin in a slow, silent agreement. Somewhere deep inside, my wolf already knew—this would be the final illusion we’d ever share.

---

We drove through the city in Asher’s black luxury car, the engine purring softly while the silence inside pressed hard against my ears. No one spoke. Even the wolves inside us seemed uneasy.

Then Kieran’s phone vibrated.

He checked the screen, face tightening.

“It’s her.”

The way his voice changed told me everything before he even picked up.

“Veyla? What’s happening?”

Her shrill panic exploded through the speakers.

“The lights went out! Someone got inside the house! I heard something—I think there’s a thief! I’m scared, Kieran—please, come now!”

Asher’s jaw flexed sharply. He threw me one quick look before turning cold again.

“Get out of the car, Aurora.”

I stared at him, stunned. “What did you just say?”

“We’re going to her,” he snapped. “You’re not coming.”

Before I could speak again, the door was already open. Strong hands shoved me out into the rain-soaked street. Water drenched my hair instantly, my dress clinging to my skin like ice.

They didn’t wait.

The car sped off, red taillights bleeding into the darkness as thunder rolled overhead.

I stood there, rain washing down my face like mockery, mascara streaking like war paint.

And then—

I smiled.

Not because it hurt less.

But because now I understood what this really was.

That dinner wasn’t reconciliation.

It was the burial of everything they thought they still owned. And they had walked into their own funeral without noticing the scent of death.

---

Three blocks later, I gave up on the heels. Satin wasn’t meant for floods and broken roads. My feet were blistered raw, so I slipped them off and held them by the straps as I walked barefoot through the rain-slick pavement.

My dress stuck heavy against my legs. Cold air chewed at my skin. Every breath burned.

Cars passed. Slowed. Looked. Then sped away.

Not one stopped.

They saw me. I know they did. A soaked she-wolf walking alone at night was too strange not to notice. But they avoided me anyway—like people always do when they don’t want to get involved with someone bleeding in real time.

I didn’t cry.

I turned into an alley I thought would cut across to the main road faster. I hoped maybe I’d catch a taxi at the other end. Or collapse under a streetlight and wait for the world to decide whether I deserved saving.

But shortcuts don’t shorten pain.

He stepped out from behind a trash bin, hood pulled low, rain dripping from his sleeves. Metal flashed in his hand. Too late to run. I heard him shout—something about my bag, my phone, money. I didn’t care.

I fought anyway.

I bit. I kicked. I clawed. I screamed until my throat burned raw.

That’s when the blade went in.

Once—straight into my stomach.

Again—lower.

A third time—when I tried to crawl away.

The pain burned white-hot, then numbed into something terrifyingly cold. My body collapsed. The pavement pressed against my cheek like a final goodbye.

Then—

Headlights.

A car screeching to a stop.

A door slamming.

Someone shouting my name.

Strong arms lifting me from the ground.

I tried to speak. Tried to ask them to call my aunt. Tried to apologize for missing the cookies I promised to bring. But my mouth wouldn’t move. The world fractured into noise and light.

And then—

I saw him.

Those eyes.

The same stranger from the ocean.

The man who pulled me from the black water after Asher shoved me from the yacht. The one I had convinced myself was only a hallucination born from suffocation.

But he was real.

He held me against his chest, his white shirt staining dark with rain and blood. His grip was steady. Unshaking.

“Stay with me, Aurora,” he said quietly, authority woven into every word. “You’re not dying here. Not tonight.”

“Who…” My voice barely existed. “Who are you?”

His lips lifted just slightly.

“Ronan.”

---

He disappeared again the same way powerful men always do—without spectacle. A nurse called his name. He answered. And then he was gone before I could thank him.

I spent seven days in that hospital.

Tubes in my arms. Stitches across my abdomen. Silence where my heart used to scream.

No visitors came.

No calls.

Not even from my mother. I asked the nurses not to tell her. There was no point. I needed the loneliness to finish its work inside me. I needed to feel the last fragile piece of hope die completely.

On the day of my discharge, pale and dressed in thin cotton, I stepped into the hallway—

—and ran straight into them.

Veyla was on a stretcher, wrists wrapped in blood-soaked bandages, face ruined with makeup streaked like tragedy. She wailed as if the world were ending. Asher held her hand like she was made of glass. Kieran followed close behind, carrying her things like a loyal servant.

They passed me in the corridor.

Then stopped.

Asher looked at me like he’d seen a ghost.

Kieran looked like he’d been struck across the face.

“Aurora…?” Asher whispered.

I glanced down at the IV tape still stuck to my hand. The nurses hadn’t even finished packing my things yet.

“You’re… here?” Kieran asked weakly.

“You were in the hospital?” Asher stepped toward me instinctively.

I stepped back.

A broken laugh slipped from my chest. “A week,” I said quietly. “I was here for a week. Bleeding. Healing. Trying to stay alive. And none of you even noticed I was missing.”

They stood there speechless.

And just like always—

Veyla screamed again.

They turned to her without hesitation.

And I turned away without regret.

Barefoot.

Still aching.

But finally—

free.

The pack apartment was swallowed in darkness when I returned. No lamps glowing. No welcoming heat. Just thick, unmoving air and the sour, decaying scent of something forgotten in the sink. I didn’t bother searching for the switch. I let my bag slide from my shoulder and hit the floor with a dull thud, then shut the door behind me with my heel. The echo felt too loud in the stillness, like the walls were listening.

I didn’t change out of my clothes. The hospital gown was still clinging beneath my hoodie, thin fabric brushing against the fresh wrappings around my ribs. I didn’t care. My body moved on autopilot until I reached the couch, then gave out completely. I fell forward, facedown, arms hanging uselessly over the edge as if my bones had turned to water. The bandages pulled against my skin, stinging, but fatigue crushed the pain into something distant and tolerable.

Sleep took me without mercy.

And sleep, as always, was cruel. Because dreams never lie—not when the heart is still too afraid to speak the truth aloud.

I don’t know how long passed. Hours, maybe. I woke with my throat dry and my limbs heavy, blinking against the dark as my senses slowly sharpened.

Then I heard it.

Metal striking metal.

Soft at first. Then clear.

The unmistakable sound of cooking.

I pushed myself upright with effort, my body cold and aching as if I’d been abandoned in the snow. Bare feet met the floor and carried me toward the noise. For a second, I wondered if I was still dreaming—if the TV had somehow turned on by itself, or if someone had broken in. But when I rounded the corner into the kitchen, reality stood waiting.

Asher was at the stove.

The Alpha of our pack moved with familiar authority even in something as ordinary as cooking, his broad shoulders relaxed as he flipped a steak in a sizzling pan. The scent of seared meat filled the air. Kieran stood nearby at the counter, slicing vegetables with quiet precision, every movement neat and controlled. The dining table was already prepared—plates aligned, cutlery placed perfectly, glasses waiting. Even the napkins were folded.

Like I had never left.

Like nothing had happened.

Both of them looked up when they noticed me standing there.

Asher spoke first, his voice casual, almost puzzled. “We thought you were staying at your aunt’s place,” he said, as if that explained why they were acting like this was just another ordinary night. “Didn’t want to wake you if you were resting.”

Kieran’s grip tightened slightly around the knife. His gaze flicked to the floor, then back to me. “We… didn’t know you were hospitalized,” he murmured.

I said nothing.

I simply walked past them and took a seat at the table. I didn’t reach for the food.

Asher frowned, turned off the burner, and set the pan aside. “You need to eat,” he said. “You just got out of the infirmary.”

That was when I finally lifted my eyes to him.

My voice was steady. Emotionless. “You didn’t come looking for me for an entire week.”

The silence that followed felt violent.

Even the air seemed to freeze, thick enough to choke on. No one moved. No one spoke.

Then the doorbell rang.

Both of them turned instantly.

Kieran moved first.

When he opened the door, Veyla stood there beneath the dim hallway light.

She looked small and breakable, wrapped in soft fabric, her wrists hidden beneath delicate sleeves where fresh white bandages peeked through. Her skin was pale, her eyes wide and glassy, like a porcelain doll that had been cracked but not completely shattered yet.

The moment they saw her, everything changed.

Asher crossed the room in two quick strides and lifted her into his arms like she weighed nothing at all. He carried her inside and placed her gently on the couch, his forehead nearly touching hers as he brushed her hair back with shaking fingers. “You shouldn’t be walking around,” he said softly. “What if something happened to you?”

“I was alone in the hospital room,” she whispered, her voice trembling just enough to sound fragile. She looked up at him as if clinging to his soul. “I kept thinking… what if I never woke up again? What if I opened my eyes and no one was there this time? I got scared. I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

Concern poured over his scent immediately.

He leaned closer, but she weakly lifted a hand. “If it’s too much trouble, I can go back,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” Asher replied without hesitation. “You should’ve called earlier. We’ll take care of you.”

Kieran stood behind him, hesitant for only a moment before saying quietly, “We’ll return to the hospital after we check on Aurora. And then we’ll stay with you tonight.”

I never responded.

Instead, I reached for my fork and began to eat.

The steak was overcooked around the edges and still raw in the middle. Dry. Tough. Bitter. I hated the taste immediately—but I chewed anyway. Every bite felt like swallowing dust and regret and something dead. I forced it down because stopping would mean they’d notice.

He cooked steak.

The one thing I hated most.

They didn’t even remember.

A laugh left my throat before I could stop it—small, sharp, nearly silent. I washed it down with water. Across the room, Asher and Kieran were already pulling a chair for her, adjusting pillows behind her back, urging her to eat carefully, like she might shatter if she moved too fast. She accepted their attention without resistance. Every so often, her gaze flicked toward me.

And every glance said the same thing.

You lost.

My phone vibrated on the table.

I looked down.

Mom.

More than a dozen photos followed—wedding gowns in lace and satin, heavy with beading and stitched with dreams that no longer felt like mine. Grand trains. Flowing veils. I scrolled numbly until one stopped me. A soft off-the-shoulder satin dress with a cinched waist and layered ruffles.

Before I could second-guess myself, I called her.

She answered on the third ring, her voice warm with excitement. “Aurora, sweetheart, did you see the dresses? I think the third would suit you wonderfully. Though if your fiancé prefers—”

“I love it,” I cut in quickly, forcing brightness into every word. “The third one is perfect. I can already see myself in it. I’m really… excited.”

She went still for a moment. “Oh,” she said softly. “I’m so glad. I knew you’d find one you liked. You always had good taste for classic styles.”

I smiled even though she couldn’t see it. “Yeah. I think it’s beautiful. I’m really looking forward to my wedding.”

Across the room, movement stilled.

I didn’t look.

“How much longer will you be there?” she asked.

“Just one more week,” I replied. “Then I’ll come home.”

“That’s good. Everything here is almost ready.”

The call ended.

The moment I lowered my phone, I felt it.

That charged quiet.

Heavy. Watchful.

I lifted my head.

Asher and Kieran were staring at me. Veyla’s fork hung suspended halfway to her lips. Her expression was still soft, still fragile—but her eyes had sharpened.

Asher moved first.

His voice was low and dangerous. “Wedding?”

Kieran stepped beside him, tension tight in his frame. “What wedding?”