Rosalie
The following morning, I returned to the Winterfang Packhouse.
Nothing about the mansion had changed. It still stood grand and distant, untouched by grief as if it had no memory of what it had taken from me. The guards lowered their heads when I passed, their gazes briefly catching on the black dress I wore and the exhaustion etched into my face. None of them tried to stop me.
I moved through the corridors at a steady pace, my heels striking the marble floors that once gave me a sense of belonging. Now, every echo felt чуж—like I was trespassing in a place that no longer recognized me. The servants averted their eyes as I passed. I heard murmurs behind me, but no one was brave enough to speak directly.
I went straight to the bedroom. No—his room now.
I packed only what I needed. A single suitcase. A few sets of clothing. Important documents. And Julian’s small shirt, folded with care that felt more like pain than tenderness. The moment I held it, something sharp twisted inside my chest again.
By the time I finished, the afternoon light had already shifted when Cedric stepped inside.
We stopped a few steps apart.
His eyes flicked briefly to the suitcase, then settled on me.
“So you’re finally bringing Julian home?” he asked.
I swallowed hard and gave a small nod.
Yes… I was bringing him home. Just not in the way he believed.
“Don’t forget,” Cedric added casually, loosening his tie as though we were discussing something ordinary, “let him visit his brother. Aiden’s surgery went well.”
Brother.
The word scraped against my ears like something corrosive. The ease with which he said it—almost proud—made my stomach turn.
He had mobilized everything overnight for Aiden. Called in favors, reached across territories, moved through every Alpha connection he had. But when Julian was dying, he had shut me out. Suspended my access. Blocked my calls. Left me to beg alone.
“I will,” I answered quietly.
Because there was nothing else left to say.
He walked past me without another glance.
I remained still long after he left, something dark and heavy settling deeper in my chest. The anger that had once burned now felt infinite—no longer sharp, but consuming.
The journey to Ashmoon Pack stretched for hours, though time barely registered to me. The urn rested in my lap the entire ride. I held it close, as if I could still feel Julian asleep against me the way he used to—his small body warm, his head tucked into my chest during long drives.
I wore black. Not as a choice, but as truth.
When the gates of Ashmoon Pack finally opened, something inside me shifted violently.
Memories rushed in all at once—running through these lands as a child, laughing with my brother, training under the watchful eyes of warriors who once treated me like family. I had left all of this behind for Cedric. For a life that turned into this.
The guards stiffened when I stepped out. Their attention dropped immediately to the urn in my hands. Shock rippled across their faces.
No one stopped me.
No one dared.
By the time I reached the main residence, I wasn’t surprised to find them already waiting.
My mother stood at the entrance, her hand covering her mouth. My father looked as though the ground beneath him had given way. And Cyrus—now Alpha Cyrus—stared at the urn like it might vanish if he blinked too long.
“Rosalie…” my mother whispered, broken.
I couldn’t trust my voice. So I stepped forward and placed the urn carefully on the table in the center of the hall.
“This is Julian,” I said.
Silence swallowed the room whole.
Then my mother collapsed into sobs. My father’s fists clenched until his knuckles went white. Cyrus stepped forward slowly, his voice low and shaking with restrained fury.
“What the fuck happened?”
So I told them everything.
The accident. Vivian behind the wheel. Cedric believing her without question. The hospital bills I couldn’t pay. The blocked calls. The rehabilitation center. Aiden. The bone marrow request. The betrayal before my wedding. The miscarriage I never even knew I had.
I didn’t cry once.
When I finished, the air felt suffocating.
Cyrus struck the table hard. “Winterfang will answer for this.”
My father’s Alpha presence surged, heavy and suffocating. “We will call a council. This is grounds for war.”
My mother wiped her tears away, her voice trembling with rage. “He let his own son die.”
War. Blood. Revenge.
For a fleeting moment, it almost felt right. Easy, even.
But I was too tired for war.
“I’m exhausted,” I said quietly.
All eyes turned to me.
“I don’t want a pack war.”
Cyrus frowned sharply. “Rosalie—”
“I’m going to divorce him,” I continued. “And I’ll deal with them myself.”
My father studied me carefully, as if searching for something unspoken. “What are you planning?”
I hesitated before answering.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, looking at them both. “For leaving. I should have listened. I should have married the Alpha of the Frostfang Pack instead of him.”
The memory tightened my throat.
Years ago, they had arranged a political union for me with the Alpha of the Frostfang Pack. Everyone called him a monster—cold, ruthless, inhuman in the way he ruled.
I had been young. Terrified. So I ran. I chose Cedric instead, thinking it was love.
“And now?” Cyrus asked more carefully.
I met his gaze.
“If he still agrees… I’ll marry him this time.”
My mother inhaled sharply.
“Rosalie, are you certain?” Cyrus pressed.
I nodded slowly, eyes drifting toward the cloudy sky beyond the window.
“I have a plan,” I said. “And if it means marrying the Frostfang Alpha, I’ll do it.”
For Julian. For the child I lost. For the version of myself I buried long ago.
“Please arrange a funeral for Julian,” I added. “On the final day, I’ll return—divorced.”
A heavy silence followed.
Then my father gave a single nod.
“We will honor him properly.”
For the first time since everything shattered, I felt something close to relief.
My son would finally be acknowledged.
I returned to Winterfang the next day.
The packhouse felt even colder than before, as if it had grown used to my absence already.
That afternoon, the mail arrived. Among the stack of documents was the envelope I had been waiting for.
Divorce papers.
Official. Final. Sealed.
I stared at the signature line where Cedric’s name sat beside mine.
Rosalie Ashbourne.
Not for long.
I folded the papers carefully and walked toward his office.
The door was slightly ajar. His voice carried from inside.
“Yes, I’ll go see Aiden after this,” he said. “Make sure he takes his medication.”
Always Aiden.
He ended the call and looked up when I entered.
“What is it?” he asked impatiently. “Make it quick. I’m heading out to see Aiden.”
I stayed silent for a moment, studying him.
The man who once promised me forever without hesitation could barely look at me now.
“This is a document from the rehabilitation center that needs your signature,” I said evenly, holding up the papers. “Just sign it quickly. I have to return it.”
He clicked his tongue. “Tsk. Give it here.”
I stepped forward and placed the papers on his desk.
He didn’t read them. Not a single line. He signed where I indicated without pause.
No questions. No hesitation. No care.
He pushed them back toward me.
“There,” he said. “Anything else?”
I picked them up and glanced at the ink drying across his name.
Alpha Cedric Ashbourne.
My soon-to-be ex-husband.
“No,” I said quietly. “That’s all.”
I turned and walked out, closing the door behind me.
He never realized what he had just signed.
He was too focused on being a father to the child of the woman he never truly let go of.
