“Don’t cry, Marcella,” Kaelen murmured, his voice low and steady, the subtle rumble of his wolfish resonance calming the tension in the room. “Your sister understands. She won’t blame you for this.”
Around them, the others clustered, forming a semi-circle of reassurance. Voices rose in a chorus of encouragement, pointing at the camera’s screen, praising Marcella’s pose and attempting to lighten the mood with forced smiles. Their attention was singular, all focused on Marcella’s theatrics.
Liora, meanwhile, struggled to push herself upright from the cold floor. Her head throbbed with a dull ache, and a warm streak traced down her cheek. She dabbed at it with a tissue, the smear dark and unsettling. Blood? Tears? She couldn’t tell, and it hardly seemed to matter—no one else did.
Their laughter, the chatter, the clinking of coffee cups—all of it washed over her like a tide, drowning out her silent ache. She lowered herself onto her knees, feeling the emptiness of invisibility press against her chest.
Only when the bleeding finally stopped did Kaelen look her way, the camera swinging loosely in his hands as if he had just remembered she existed.
“The photo didn’t really capture your face,” he said absentmindedly, then squinted, a frown pulling at his brow. “Wait… Liora, what happened? Your face—”
Her chest tightened at the sharpness of his words. For all the blood and pain she had endured, their sole concern had been Marcella’s smile in the photo, her pose, her expression. A bitter sting of realization sliced through Liora: her presence had barely registered, not once.
“It’s nothing,” she said softly, the faintest smile curving her lips. “No need to redo the picture. It’s late—I’ll head back now.”
Her voice was quiet, resigned. The notion of a family photo had been erased from her heart long ago. With that, she turned and left without a sound, her shadow stretching long into the cool evening.
The walk back to Belmont Villa felt longer than usual. Each step weighed heavy, laden with resignation. Over the past few days, Liora had systematically drained the wedding room of warmth and festivity. Crimson banners and silver charms were stripped away, leaving a cold, impersonal shell that could have belonged to anyone.
Near the door, she discarded the tattered wedding dress, letting the fabric fall in a heap. Her suitcase lay ready; hands moved with mechanical precision, packing necessities and leaving behind relics of a past that had belonged more to Kaelen than to her. Each object was a shard of memory—a reminder that their years together were not hers to claim.
Memories were a cruel currency. She had no need for them anymore. Apart from what was essential, everything else would be left behind—a clean break, a fresh start.
By dawn, the first thin light stretched across the horizon. A knock echoed through the villa. The makeup artist had arrived. Liora, poised and determined, dressed herself elegantly, ready to meet the morning with composure.
Before she could finish, Kaelen appeared, his expression taut with urgency.
“The makeup artist for Marcella canceled at the last minute,” he said, words rushing out. “She’s been crying nonstop. Could yours help her first?”
Liora’s calm voice cut through the tension. “Of course. I’m not in a hurry.”
Kaelen hesitated, unused to such silent compliance from her. On a day like this, shouldn’t she have protested? Shed tears, demanded attention, made herself the center as Marcella would have? Instead, her indifference stung sharper than anger, a silent declaration that she no longer needed him—or the wedding.
The thought unsettled him, gnawing deep in his chest. What if she left today and never returned?
But the insistent voice of his father-in-law dragged him back to the moment.
“Liora, I’ll be back soon. This is the last time.”
Her lips curved in a faint, ironic smile. The last time—indeed. In just hours, she would be gone, leaving this land, this pack, and him behind.
Kaelen walked away, and Liora took a final survey of the room. Gifts, luxury handbags, designer dresses, sparkling jewels, and even toys and gadgets—all once tokens of affection—lay scattered. They had never truly been for her; every item had been chosen with Marcella in mind.
Determined, Liora set to work. Scissors sliced through fine silks and delicate lace. Hammers crashed into jeweled ornaments, shattering them beyond repair. Dolls and trinkets tumbled into the trash, their cheerful faces no longer mocking but freed from expectation.
Finally, she turned to her lunar calendar, the last page trembling in her hands. In her handwriting, a quiet, bittersweet testament:
"To wear the most beautiful wedding dress and marry the man I love most, Kaelen."
She let it fall to the floor, a faint, bitter smile touching her lips. The dress lay in tatters beside it, mirroring the man she had once believed she would cherish forever. With a surge of finality, she crumpled the page into a tight ball and hurled it across the room.
The eastern horizon flushed with the first light of dawn. Liora wiped away the last trace of tears, her fingers trembling briefly before steadying. She pulled back the heavy curtains, letting sunlight flood the space, illuminating the ruins she no longer cared to remember. The past, like yesterday’s shadows, held no claim on her.
Sliding on sunglasses, she stepped into the morning chill, hailed a cab, and headed to meet the media mogul her friend had introduced.
The meeting was brisk. Liora wasted no time on pleasantries. “I have an exclusive story guaranteed to go viral. How much are you willing to pay?”
The man raised an eyebrow. Slowly, he held up five fingers.
“If this involves Kaelen, I’m willing to pay this.”
“I’ll take five million,” Liora said evenly, “but on one condition: the story goes live across the entire network the moment the wedding begins.”
“Deal.”
She placed the bank card Kaelen had once given her beside the USB drive, its weight now a silent emblem of closure. No farewells, no hesitation—only resolve.
Boarding the plane, Liora left behind everything—memories, gifts, ties, and illusions. Only her determination remained, carrying her toward a new life among distant horizons and unclaimed futures.
