Every sentence struck Liora like a blade, slicing deep and leaving wounds she knew would never truly heal.
For a heartbeat, she wondered if her ears had betrayed her—if her mind was simply refusing to accept what Kaelen had just hurled at her. The words echoed cruelly, heavy with malice, and she struggled to reconcile them with the man she had loved for most of her life.
How could someone who once swore to protect her speak with such venom?
She slowly lifted her head. What she saw made her chest seize.
Kaelen stood squarely in front of Marcella, his broad frame instinctively shielding her, his posture unmistakably defensive. That familiar stance was like a cruel mockery of the past. It dragged Liora straight back to her childhood—back to the days when Marcella’s mother, Aurelia, had clawed her way into the pack as a mistress, forcing Liora’s mother, Eveline, into the shadows. Back then, Liora had endured endless humiliation and quiet cruelty, while her father, Alaric, pretended not to see any of it.
And every single time, it had been Kaelen—living just beyond the boundary of their territory—who had come running.
He was the one who stood between her and the world, baring his fangs when others crossed the line. He had demanded fairness, pulled Liora into his arms when she cried, and whispered reassurance when she felt small and unwanted.
Whenever Liora doubted herself, Kaelen would cup her face and say with unwavering certainty,
“Liora, you’re the best person I know. If they don’t want you, then I do. No matter what happens, I’ll always be on your side. I’ll protect you.”
Those words had once been her anchor.
But time had a way of eroding even the strongest promises. The vows of their youth had faded into nothing but distant echoes, hollow and meaningless.
Now, the instinct to protect—the loyalty she once believed belonged to her—was being offered to Marcella instead. To the very person who had torn her world apart.
Liora tried to steady herself, to keep her spine straight and her pride intact, but the tears betrayed her, spilling freely no matter how hard she fought them. Her heart felt flayed open, raw and exposed, and for the first time, she couldn’t find a single word to defend herself.
Seeing her crumble like that seemed to shake Kaelen. His expression faltered, guilt flashing briefly across his features. His gaze avoided her eyes, drifting instead to her feet, where blood stained the floor.
“You’re injured?” he asked quietly.
Even now, after everything, he still couldn’t bring himself to be completely cold toward her.
Kaelen let out a low sigh, weariness and regret weighing down his voice. “Forget it. Let’s pretend tonight never happened. We were drunk. It was all nonsense. From tomorrow on—”
“There is no tomorrow for us,” Liora cut in, her voice barely audible.
“What?” Kaelen frowned.
He sensed it then—something had shifted irrevocably inside her. Something he hadn’t prepared for.
But the chaos of the night had drained him. His thoughts were tangled entirely around Marcella, leaving no space for Liora anymore.
Before he could speak again, a trembling sob broke through the tension.
“Sister… do you really hate me that much?” Marcella cried, her voice shaking. “Was sending me abroad not enough? Now you want to push me to my death too? Fine—if dying means I won’t be a burden to Brother Kaelen anymore, then I’ll do it!”
Her words detonated like thunder.
Liora hadn’t even finished processing them when Marcella suddenly turned and ran toward the road.
The streets were empty, the night thick with silence, but panic surged through Kaelen without warning. He didn’t hesitate—not even for a second. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, his only instinct to chase after her.
In his blind rush, he slammed into Liora.
She was thrown hard onto the ground. Sharp gravel tore into her already injured skin, pain flaring so violently it stole the breath from her lungs.
The impact, the exhaustion, the weight of everything she had endured—her strength finally gave out. She lay there, unable even to cry.
Ten years.
Ten years of love, devotion, and belief—wasted.
It had never been equal. Never mutual. A childhood bond could not compete with a love born of longing and regret. She had never stood a chance against the woman Kaelen had carried in his heart all along.
After what felt like an eternity, Liora forced herself upright. Gritting her teeth, she dragged her injured leg behind her as she made her way back to her room.
Inside, she cleaned the blood from her feet in silence. Then, without hesitation, she gathered the wedding decorations she had chosen so carefully—each piece once filled with hope—and threw them away.
Her eyes lingered on the wedding countdown hanging in the living room. She paused, her chest tightening.
Then she exhaled softly and tore off the word wedding.
In its place, she silently marked the days until she would leave.
There was so much to pack. She worked through the night, time blurring together, until exhaustion finally dragged her into an uneasy sleep around four in the morning.
Just three hours later, her phone rang sharply, ripping her from her dreams.
“Liora, are you awake?” Kaelen’s voice came through the line. “I ordered your favorite soup. I won’t be coming back today. Let’s postpone the wedding photoshoot. There’s an emergency at the company, and I can’t step away.”
Liora pressed her fingers to her aching temples, her throat dry and sore. “Okay,” she replied simply.
Her immediate agreement—and perhaps the quiet sorrow she failed to conceal—seemed to unsettle him. Kaelen hesitated, his tone softening, as though he sensed the distance growing between them… and didn’t know how to close it.
