Night had settled over the packhouse, shadows pooling in the corners of Clarisse’s room. She closed the door behind her and slipped in a pair of noise-canceling earplugs, blocking out the muffled music and laughter drifting up from the celebration below. The choice was made—she would accept the arranged mateship with a powerful Alpha—but leaving the Diamond Pack wasn’t something she could do on a whim. There were tasks to finish, details to organize, all without alerting anyone to her plans.
She moved to the tall window, her fingers tracing the edges of the glass as she gazed out over the forest stretching beyond the pack’s boundaries. Hours passed as she completed everything she could, meticulously checking and rechecking each duty. Satisfied at last, she stretched and removed her earplugs, letting the quiet of the night fill her senses.
Just then, her phone vibrated on the desk. A message from Lira.
“Why don’t you ever react to my stories?”
A moment later, another popped up: “Oops! That was sent by mistake. Don’t be mad, Clarisse?”
Clarisse smirked faintly, sensing the veiled jab beneath the casual tone. Lira wanted her attention; that much was obvious. Curiosity nudged her, and she tapped open Lira’s pack stories, letting the images spill across her screen.
The first showed Lira bathed in gifts, Paul’s presence evident beside her. Her grin was wide, eyes sparkling with false innocence, hands cradling the subtle swell of her belly. She wore a soft pink maternity gown, delicate and flowing, the fabric catching the light like petals in a breeze. Paul stood close, arm protectively around her waist, his expression tender.
The next images detailed the gifts he had given her: a silver pendant carved in the shape of a crescent moon cradling a tiny wolf pup, a symbol for their unborn child; plush baby blankets embroidered with the pack’s crest; a hand-carved wooden cradle, sturdy and elegant.
The final image froze Clarisse’s gaze: Lira standing beneath the Alpha’s arm, the caption reading, “Feeling so loved as we prepare for our little miracle!”
A familiar bitterness rose, sharp and burning, but Clarisse suppressed it. Let Lira have him and all the pomp if that’s what Paul wanted. In a week, none of this would matter; it would all be irrelevant.
She tapped a heart emoji onto the story, an ironic smile flickering across her face. From that moment forward, Paul and Lira, and the life they were building together, would hold no power over her.
The next morning, she wrapped up her responsibilities at the pack’s intelligence office, making sure every report and record was in perfect order. When she returned home, she opened the box containing photographs from years spent with Paul. She ran her fingers over the worn edges and faded faces: snapshots of shared adventures, their first shifting ceremonies, holidays and family gatherings. Each image a memory of a past she no longer belonged to.
With a steadying breath, she carried the stack to the old stone fireplace. One by one, she placed each photograph onto the flames. The edges curled and blackened, releasing a thin, acrid smoke before collapsing into ash.
Just as the last photo slipped into the fire, Paul entered. His motion was swift, almost predatory, and he froze at the sight of the burning memories. His eyes flashed with shock, anger, and disbelief as he crossed the room in a heartbeat, seizing her wrist.
“Clarisse, what are you doing?” he demanded, voice low and dangerous, eyes darting from her to the fire.
He reached for a half-burned photograph, instinctively trying to save it, but pulled his hand back as the flames hissed and seared his fingers.
“They were our memories,” he growled, a heat creeping into his eyes as his voice cracked. “All of them, gone in seconds!”
Clarisse met his gaze calmly, slipping her wrist free from his grip. “They’re just memories, Paul. Things that belong in the past. It’s time to move on.”
Paul’s glare softened slightly, replaced by a flicker of doubt, a quiet struggle between anger and confusion. He looked unsettled, but she could sense it—this moment wouldn’t last. One day, he would choose Lira over her again, leaving their shared history behind, yet here he was, clinging to the charred remnants of a few photographs. The irony made her lips twitch in suppressed amusement.
Instead of laughing, she lifted her chin, grounding herself in the certainty of her decision. She was doing the right thing.
Her thoughts drifted briefly, imagining the moment Paul would discover the arranged mateship that awaited her. How would he react when he realized she was choosing a future that no longer included him? That choice would finally close the door on what they had once shared—and she felt a strange mixture of liberation and sorrow at the thought.
