Chapter 2
At the Drakemere Pack’s Elder Council meeting, Marcus Sutherland finally
responded to me, but only after confirming that it was indeed me who had made the call.
“Nadia,” his voice echoed in the room, sharp as ice, cutting through the oppressive silence. “Three years ago, you did everything in your power to protect that worthless
Alpha Roland. You blocked me at every turn, severed all ties between us, and even forced me to leave the Northern Pack Alliance. And now, suddenly, you’ve changed your mind?”
A bitter, mocking laugh escaped his lips. “What’s the matter? Things didn’t go your way?”
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The room fell deathly silent, not a single Elder daring to breathe too loudly.
After all, in the Southern Pack Alliance, two dominant Packs reigned supreme–Amavorn Pack and Drakemere Pack. Everyone knew Marcus and I had grown up together, and most believed that we were fated to be
mates.
When I moved to the Northern Pack Alliance alone for university seven years ago, Marcus followed me there. He thrived, building his business empire to staggering heights. But three years ago, he abruptly returned to the Southern Pack Alliance. Rumors swirled that he came back heartbroken and unwilling to look back.
Now, standing amidst his biting sarcasm, I kept my voice as calm as still water. “Yeah, well, it’s hard telling decent people apart
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from assholes sometimes.”
Marcus let out a sharp, disdainful laugh. that sliced through the tension in the air like steel.
I understood his meaning, and I didn’t ask further. “Forget it,” I said evenly, suppressing any quiver in my tone. “Pretend I never made this call.”
I was about to hang up when his voice cut through like iron, deep and commanding.
“Wait! Don’t you dare.”
The suffocating tension in the room thickened, his next words carried on a current of sheer resolve. “Unblock me. Everything–your accounts, our ties. And send me your address.”
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“Give me one month,” he repeated, his confidence filling the space like thunderclouds. “I’ll come to Rhoskar Pack myself to bring you back. This time, Nadia, there’s no room for you to change your mind.”
Something about his unwavering self–assurance drew a chuckle out of me, hollow and tinged with disbelief. “Fine.”
Later in Roland’s estate library, I locked two important documents inside the safe: my resignation letter and the mate bond termination agreement we had both signed.
Then I took out a glass jar filled with ashes -the remnants of ninety–nine burned love letters.
One by one, I fed the fireplace with old photographs of us together. Every trace
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of him in this villa–I purged it without hesitation.
As the flames danced in my vision, their brilliance eventually dimmed, mirroring my fading love for him. Each smoldering ember marked the death of another hope. The jar had filled to the brim, and so had my despair.
When Roland returned home and entered the library, the lingering scent of smoke wrinkled his nose in irritation.
“What were you burning?” he asked, his tone clipped.
I shifted slightly to block his line of sight. “Just some old papers,” I replied coolly, unflinching.
Roland’s frown deepened as he caught sight of some burnt fragments–likely remnants
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of photographs. He stepped closer, his curiosity piqued.
Before he could get further, though, a voice interrupted–a soft, trembling, tearful tone spilling into the corridor like honey laced with malice.
At once, Roland turned and rushed toward the sound. I quickly packed up my things and followed behind.
The moment I entered the grand hall, I saw him gently kissing Brianna’s fingertips, his gaze brimming with concern.
“Nadia, I’m so sorry” Brianna said sweetly, her voice dripping with innocence. “I didn’t mean to disturb you so late…”
She glanced down at her hand, her lips trembling as though recalling the trauma.
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“It’s just that picture on the wall… the frame was hanging too low, and my finger got cut on the edge. It’s really so dangerous.”
My wolf scoffed inside me–a sneering, feral laugh. The wedding photograph had hung there untouched for years without incident. And now, suddenly, it injured her? Convenient. Dramatic. The problem wasn’t the frame–it was the image within.
Before I could respond, Roland cut me off. “She’s right. That photograph is troublesome. Nadia, take it down and store it
in the archives.”
When his back was turned, Brianna shot me a smug, victorious smile–a silent declaration of war.
Roland may no longer hold my love, but it didn’t mean I’d let Brianna walk all over me.
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“The storage room’s already full,” I said steadily, holding my ground. “No room for it.”
My refusal made Roland’s jaw tighten.
And Brianna, ever the performer, clutched her barely grazed hand as though it were mangled beyond recognition. With a whimper like that of a helpless kitten, she whimpered dramatically.
“Oh… it hurts, Roland… it really hurts so much.”
That was all it took for Roland to lash out at me. “Enough! Just burn the damn photograph!”
