Alice’s POV
I shut my bedroom door with care, easing it closed until the latch clicked softly into place.
The house had slipped into an uneasy quiet after the earlier frenzy. The air still carried the remnants of heat-driven wolves who had danced themselves breathless, the sharp scent of spilt alcohol, and the lingering smoke from moonlit ritual candles — all of it drifting faintly even up to the second floor.
I walked to the small side table, lifted a vinyl record, and placed it gently onto the turntable. A soft scratch cut through the silence, then the mellow rise of strings and hollow wind instruments poured through the room, swallowing what faint traces of noise still drifted upward from below.
This was my ritual for surviving nights in Hawthorn Pack territory: a locked door, a barrier of music, and the effort of pretending the world outside didn’t exist.
Now that I’d agreed to return to Plum Blossom and accept the marriage my parents arranged, I understood that leaving Hawthorn meant giving up my position. Being Alpha Kael’s war tactician had been the price I paid to remain here — my mind and claws in exchange for shelter.
But abandoning my duties without settling everything? That wasn’t something I could bring myself to do. Even if I no longer intended to stay, I wouldn’t leave chaos behind.
So I sat by the window as the day faded, watching the packhouses below light up one after another, and I began sorting through the work I needed to finish.
The pile of documents was thick: patrol schedules, border exchange logs, feeding routes, conflict reports. Tedious things, the kind no one ever noticed when they ran smoothly — yet became disasters the moment someone neglected them.
Hours slipped by. When I finally removed the vinyl from the turntable and pushed myself upright, my spine let out a satisfying crack.
The house below had gone silent. The party was over. The drunken shouts and laughter had faded into stillness.
For the first time that night, I truly allowed my shoulders to drop.
Leaning back on my bed, I picked up my phone and started scrolling absentmindedly, letting the quiet settle deep into my bones. Then, unexpectedly…
Tessa’s name popped onto my screen.
I tensed. My thumb hovered for a heartbeat before I opened the message.
“Why didn’t you react to my latest posts?”
I stared blankly at it.
A moment later came another:
“Sorry, Alli… I didn’t mean to send that. Please don’t be upset.”
A soft, humorless breath escaped me. Too transparent.
Still, curiosity tugged, and I tapped her profile to see what had her so desperate for my attention.
There it was — her birthday haul, photographed artfully on her dresser.
The jewelry glittered under warm light: a rare moon crystal from the Moon Forest, said to emit a glow only under a true full moon. Beside it lay a pristine enchanted bow, strung with actual moonstone beads that pulsed faintly with protective enchantments. There were stacks of luxurious furs as well — clearly the result of Weston’s relentless hunting, now shaped into coats soft enough to make any she-wolf sigh.
And in the center was Tessa herself, framed between Rylan and Weston, her arms looped comfortably through theirs, as if she’d always belonged in that spot.
Her caption gleamed with her signature saccharine charm:
“Feeling like a Luna today!”
I stared at the photo for a long, slow moment.
So that was it.
That was what she wanted me to see — what she wanted me to feel.
Once, that would’ve pierced straight into the softest parts of me. I would have felt jealousy like claws raking through my chest, convinced that I’d somehow failed to deserve what I thought was meant for me.
But now?
There was no ache. No longing. No sting.
Just stillness.
I tapped the heart icon. The tiny red glow beneath the photo was my quiet declaration:
I’m done.
I release everything.
They could choose her.
In truth, they already had.
The next morning, I stepped into my office with steady hands and slipped a folded letter of resignation into the top drawer of my desk. No dramatic announcement. No emotional plea.
When I walked out of the Alpha’s wing, I felt unexpectedly weightless.
Back home, I began to pack.
I started with the boxes shoved deep inside my closet — the ones holding pieces of my history with Rylan and Weston.
Photos of the three of us as children, grinning at the territorial border with mud streaked across our faces.
Pictures from adolescent years: us on horseback after winning tournaments, me clutching the flowers they gave.
Snapshots from our university breaks — all three traveling together, me asleep on Weston’s shoulder while Rylan captured the moment with a teasing smile.
There were gifts as well — necklaces, old novels, scrapbooks they’d meticulously created.
The memories were clear and sharp… but they no longer had the power to anchor me.
One by one, I carried the items to the fireplace. Flames swallowed them eagerly.
The golden letters on birthday cards shimmered once before curling into ash.
I didn’t flinch when footsteps approached from behind.
Rylan’s voice cut sharply through the crackling fire, trembling with anger.
“Alli. What the hell are you doing?”
I turned slightly, glancing at them from over my shoulder.
Both were there.
Rylan with clenched fists and a storm brewing behind his eyes.
Weston with disbelief carved into every line of his face.
“Nothing,” I said calmly. “They were starting to rot. Burning them seemed easier.”
Weston lunged forward, reaching for the stack still in my hand.
I flicked my wrist, sending the remaining photos fluttering straight into the flames.
The fire surged, devouring everything.
“No—!”
Weston’s fingers shot toward a burning edge, but the heat forced him to recoil, hissing as his skin reddened.
He stared at me, his voice cracking in disbelief.
“Mold or not, you didn’t have to destroy them! Those were our memories, Alli!”
I finally looked him dead in the eyes. And for a moment, I almost laughed — not out of joy, but because of the twisted irony.
Here I was: the living, breathing wolf who had stood beside them through every hardship, who had bled for them and loved them in silence…
and they had chosen again and again to wound me for the sake of someone as manipulative as Tessa.
Yet now, with nothing but old paper and trinkets going up in flames, they were the ones breaking.
How poetic.
Rylan said nothing, but his eyes remained locked on the ashes, tension pulling at the corners of his jaw.
I turned back to the fire, a faint, sharp-edged smile tugging at my lips.
I wondered what expression they’d wear…
when they learned the truth.
That I had chosen to leave Hawthorn.
To return to Plum Blossom.
To marry another wolf entirely.
What would they do then?
