The night was quiet, the only sound in the packhouse being the faint ticking of a clock. Lily stepped out of the bathroom at exactly 11 p.m., her damp hair draped over her shoulders. Normally, this was when she would head to bed after her nightly alarm, but tonight, she walked straight to the study.
From his place on the couch, Dylan watched her go, his brows furrowing slightly. This wasn’t like her. Lily’s routines were as strict as her leadership. As the Alpha of the Silverclaw Pack, she prided herself on discipline and punctuality.
“Lily,” Dylan called softly, his voice low and cautious. She paused briefly in the doorway, turning only slightly toward him.
“What is it?”
“It’s late. Aren’t you going to bed?” His tone was careful, almost hesitant, as if afraid his question might push her away further.
She brushed him off with a wave of her hand. “I’ve got some pack business to finish. I’ll rest after I’m done.” Without waiting for his response, she disappeared into the study, closing the door halfway behind her.
Dylan sat there in silence, his sharp eyes locked on the sliver of light seeping through the crack in the door. He could hear the faint sound of her phone buzzing and the occasional soft laugh that escaped her. His chest tightened. It wasn’t pack business keeping her up—it was him. Oliver.
From where he sat, Dylan could see her, the faint smile on her lips and the way her fingers danced across her phone screen. That smile was like a knife twisting in his heart. In two years of being her fated mate, she had never smiled at him like that.
Dylan leaned back, exhaling deeply. For years, he’d held onto hope. He’d convinced himself that her coldness was just a barrier, one he could break through with time. But now, watching her smile for someone else, he knew the truth. Lily wasn’t incapable of love—she simply didn’t love him.
He whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the clock’s ticking. “She doesn’t want me. She never did.”
---
The next morning, Dylan woke early. He left the packhouse before dawn, walking to the nearest bakery in the neighboring town. By the time he returned, the sun was high, casting a golden glow over the Silverclaw Pack’s grounds.
Inside, Lily was already up, her hair tied in a loose ponytail. She sat at the dining table, scrolling through her phone, her expression unreadable. Dylan placed the bag of pastries on the table and sat across from her.
“I got breakfast,” he said simply.
“Thanks,” Lily replied, picking up a croissant without meeting his gaze. They ate in silence, the tension between them thick enough to choke on.
Halfway through the meal, Dylan broke the quiet. “It’s Saturday,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We were supposed to go to the neighboring territory today. Remember? For the festival.”
Lily paused mid-bite, her eyes flickering to him for the briefest moment. “Oh, right,” she said, her tone nonchalant. “I can’t make it. The Elders want to meet with me about pack strategy. It’s important.”
Dylan’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to nod. “Next time, then.”
“Yeah,” she said, standing and grabbing her coat. “Maybe next month. We’ll see.”
She didn’t notice the way his shoulders slumped slightly, nor did she catch the way his gaze lingered on her as she slipped on her boots. Just as she reached for the door, something caught her eye—a countdown calendar on the table, the number 15 circled in bold red.
“What’s this?” she asked, picking it up and frowning. “What happens in fifteen days?”
Dylan tore off the top page, revealing the number 14 underneath. “Just something important I’m preparing for,” he said casually, avoiding her eyes.
“Important?” she repeated, tilting her head slightly.
“Yeah.” He offered her a faint smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
Lily hesitated, her instincts prickling at his strange behavior, but she shook it off. “Alright. I’ll bring back some strawberry tarts later. See you.”
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Dylan alone in the quiet packhouse.
---
After finishing his breakfast, Dylan stood and began cleaning the packhouse quarters. As he worked, he gathered items into a bag—things he no longer needed, things that didn’t belong in a life he was leaving behind.
He picked up the couple’s aprons he’d bought for them during their first month together. They’d never been used. Next, he took down a set of paintings he’d chosen for her, ones that matched her preferences. Then, he pulled out an empty photo album, its pages still pristine, meant for pictures of them that were never taken.
As he packed each item, memories flooded his mind. He’d poured his heart into making this packhouse a home for them, a place where they could build a life together. But to Lily, it had always been just a place to sleep—a temporary dwelling, nothing more.
Dylan sat on the edge of the bed, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. Once he left, he knew Lily would likely move out. She might even build a new packhouse entirely. The life they had shared here, however empty, would be erased.
He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the bag of discarded items. “It’s for the best,” he murmured.
For the first time in years, he wasn’t clinging to hope. He wasn’t holding onto the dream of winning her love. Instead, he was letting go. And though it hurt, there was a strange sense of relief in the decision.
In fourteen days, he would leave. He would return to Crescent Pack and his family, finally free from the pain of being a fated mate who was never wanted. Lily might not even notice when he was gone, but that no longer mattered. For once, Dylan was choosing himself.
