Mireya’s POV
I stopped cold the instant my feet crossed into the packhouse courtyard.
The smell hit me first—thick, acrid smoke that burned my lungs far worse than any open flame ever could. My heart slammed violently against my ribs as my gaze locked onto the fire pit in the center of the yard. Burning cloth. Charred pages. Broken trinkets thrown together without care.
My belongings.
My entire life reduced to embers.
“No… no, please…” I staggered forward, the word tearing out of my throat like it had been ripped from me.
One of the omegas stood a few steps away, clutching a metal bucket so tightly her knuckles had gone white. She looked sick with guilt, like a child caught doing something unforgivable. “L–Luna—” she started, then visibly swallowed and corrected herself, “Mireya. I’m so sorry. Lady Marcella ordered it. She said… she said your scent was too strong on your things. That she didn’t want it lingering once she left with Alpha Darius.”
Something vicious curled inside my chest. My wolf growled low and furious, but I forced my jaw to lock shut. I refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing me break any further.
I dropped to my knees, yanked the bucket from the omega’s hands, and hurled the water onto the flames with every ounce of strength left in my body. Steam exploded into the air with an angry hiss as the fire resisted, embers glowing stubbornly before finally dying.
Coughing, eyes stinging, I clawed through what remained. My movements were frantic, desperate. I dragged half-burned clothes from the pile, only for the fabric to crumble and dissolve in my hands. Blackened books split apart when I touched them. My journals—filled with years of thoughts, fears, hopes—were nothing but soggy ash. Ceremony dresses. Healer’s aprons. Keepsakes I’d once believed I would pass down someday.
All gone.
“Oh, Moon Goddess…” My voice broke into a whisper as tears blurred everything.
Then I saw them.
The letters.
The ones Darius had written to me when our bond was still new, when his words were gentle and full of promises. Letters that convinced me I was chosen. Cherished. Safe.
I reached for one with shaking fingers, but it fell apart the moment I lifted it. Only a single fragment remained intact. One sentence, barely spared by the flames:
I will always stay with you.
The cruelty of it sliced deeper than the fire ever could.
I pressed the scrap to my chest as tears soaked into it. My wolf whimpered painfully, curling inward. For a split second—just a heartbeat—I thought I saw him. The younger Darius. The one who used to smile softly at me. He crouched in my vision, fingertips brushing the ruined letters, touching the gifts he once gave with sincerity.
Then a strange sensation rushed through me.
A faint green light surged beneath my skin, racing along my veins and pooling at my wrist. It flickered like a fragile spark, glowing for a breath longer than before—then vanished.
My entire body trembled, overwhelmed by grief, fury, longing, and something dangerously close to hatred.
“That’s enough,” I whispered hoarsely. “I won’t do this anymore.”
Later that night, I sat on the bare floor of what little remained of my room and typed a message to my brother with shaking hands.
I’m leaving at dawn. Meet me at the border. Please.
Theo replied almost immediately. I’ll be there.
Relief flooded me—followed closely by dread. Leaving meant surrendering every dream I had once built here. It meant accepting that I was no longer Luna, no longer a wife, no longer part of Deathwell Pack. My wolf shifted restlessly, reminding me that leaving also meant staying alive.
My plan was simple: rise before anyone else, slip away unseen, and never look back.
But plans, I’d learned, rarely survive the night.
Sometime before dawn, I woke with my head pounding violently, my vision blurred and burning like grit had been poured into my eyes. My throat felt raw and dry, so I forced myself up and headed toward the kitchen for water.
I didn’t make it far.
Soft sounds drifted down the hallway—low, broken noises that made my stomach drop. At first they were distant, almost indistinct. Then clearer. Too clear.
They came from the Alpha’s chambers.
The door was partially open.
I didn’t want to hear it. I begged myself not to listen. But my wolf’s heightened senses betrayed me, dragging every sound painfully into focus.
Marcella’s voice slipped into the air, breathless and sharp. “Darius… Darius…”
And then his voice—once warm when it spoke my name—now guttural, careless. The sounds he made were raw, animalistic, and then his words shattered something final inside me.
“I got sick of Mireya being dull in bed,” he muttered between breaths. “She was never enough. Not like you.”
Marcella laughed, light and cruel.
“And her child,” Darius continued coldly. “I’m relieved it didn’t live. I didn’t want that cursed blood. This baby—our baby—will be flawless.”
Their laughter tangled with the sounds of their bodies moving together.
My stomach lurched violently. I slapped a hand over my mouth to silence the sob threatening to escape, but tears poured freely down my face. Inside, my wolf screamed—howling for violence, for revenge, for blood.
I couldn’t answer her.
I was too shattered.
I stumbled backward, each step heavier than the last, my heart pounding like it wanted to tear free and flee on its own.
When I reached the main hall, my eyes locked onto the enormous portrait hanging proudly on the wall. Darius and I, painted in eternal smiles, looking blessed and untouchable.
I stared at the woman in the painting—hopeful, trusting, blind.
My hands shook as I grabbed a knife from the nearby table. My wolf surged, urging me on. I didn’t resist.
With one decisive motion, I slashed a brutal X across the canvas, ripping through our painted faces. The tearing sound echoed sharply, almost soothing—like the last breath of something that should have died long ago.
I let the knife fall and stood there, staring at the ruined image while Marcella’s distant moans drifted through the halls.
“Goodbye,” I whispered.
With nothing left to lose, I walked out of the packhouse carrying only my phone and the clothes I wore. My wolf pressed close, lending me what strength she had left. Each step away felt like breaking another shackle.
The night air was cold—but it tasted like freedom.
At the border, headlights cut through the darkness.
Theo’s car.
He stepped out the moment he saw me, worry flooding his face. “Mireya,” he breathed, pulling me into his arms. “Gods… you look destroyed.”
I buried my face against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of family. Safety. “I can’t stay here,” I whispered. “Please. Get me out.”
“I’ve got you,” he said firmly. “You’re leaving this nightmare behind.”
I looked back once—just once—at the towering packhouse walls, looming under the moonlight, hiding the laughter of two traitors who thought they had won.
They hadn’t.
Because for the first time in years, I was choosing myself.
And one day, when I returned—strong, whole, unbroken—they would regret every word, every laugh, every betrayal they had carved into me.
With that vow burning silently in my chest, I climbed into Theo’s car and never looked back.
