I slammed the door shut behind me, my breath coming in sharp gasps. My mind screamed at me to pack my bags, to leave, to walk away from the life I had built with Othello.
But I couldn’t. I stood frozen in the middle of my bedroom, hands gripping the edges of my suitcase. The tears came fast, blurring my vision, and I let them fall.
I had been here before—heartbroken, betrayed—but this was different. This wasn’t a man leaving me at the altar. This was five years of my life, my love, my loyalty—shattered in an instant.
I closed my eyes, and suddenly, I was back in those moments—those precious moments I had convinced myself were real.
"Othello, are you serious?" I laughed breathlessly as we ran under the full moon, our wolves racing side by side through the thick forest.
He shifted back effortlessly, standing before me in his human form, silver eyes glowing with warmth. "Of course, I’m serious. A beautiful Luna has to keep up with her handsome mate, right?"
I shifted back as well, catching my breath, my heart pounding—not from the run, but from the way he looked at me. Like I was his world.
"You always do this," I teased, nudging him. "Challenge me, push me. What if I get tired of it one day?"
He smirked, pulling me close, lips grazing my forehead. "Then I’ll just have to make you fall in love with me all over again."
I clutched my chest. Lies. All of it.
More memories crashed into me, unrelenting.
"Close your eyes," he whispered, his hands covering mine as we stood under the waterfall during the Wolf Moon. The cold water rushed around us, but I only felt the heat of his body pressed against mine.
"Why?" I asked, grinning.
"Because I have something for you."
I obeyed, and when I opened my eyes, he was holding a single white flower—small, delicate, yet somehow powerful.
"It’s called a Moon Tear," he murmured, tucking it behind my ear. "Rare. Just like you."
I laughed, shaking my head. "That’s so cheesy."
"Maybe. But it’s true."
Then he kissed me.
I let out a choked sob, fingers digging into the sheets. He made me feel like I was everything to him. And I had believed it.
But the worst memory—the one I had buried deep, refusing to acknowledge—came crashing down like a final blow.
I had been searching for my earrings, rifling through Othello’s wallet when I saw it. A small, white gold necklace with a wolf moon diamond pendant. I smiled, holding it up. "You kept my necklace?"
But when I turned to him, his face had darkened. In a flash, his hand had wrapped around my wrist, grip so tight it made me gasp.
"Take it off." His voice was low, dangerous.
I stared at him, confused. "Othello, what—"
"Now, Amelia."
I hesitated, and that was when I saw it—the raw fury in his eyes. The kind I had never seen before.
Fear coiled in my stomach. Slowly, I unclasped the necklace and set it down.
Just as quickly as his anger came, it vanished. He exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
"I’m sorry," he muttered. "I didn’t mean to—"
But he had meant it. And now, I knew why. That necklace wasn’t mine. It was hers. Melanie’s.
—
I let out a bitter laugh, wiping at my tears. "How could I have been so blind?" All these years, I thought he had chosen me. I thought I had won. But I was just a replacement.
I stood up, my decision clear. I wasn’t going to be someone’s second choice. Not again. Not ever.
I cried myself to sleep that night. My pillow was soaked, my chest felt hollow, and my mind refused to rest. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard his voice.
"I married Amelia because it was the logical choice."
"You think I was actually in love with her?"
I curled into myself, gripping the blanket like it could hold me together. But nothing could. I had lost again.
Sometime in the middle of the night, my phone rang. Groggy and drained, I reached for it. The name on the screen made my stomach twist—Adrian. Othello’s friend.
I hesitated before answering. "What?" My voice was hoarse.
He sighed. "Pick up your husband."
My heart clenched. "No."
"Amelia, do you really want the media to get to him first?"
I shut my eyes. I hated this. Hated that even after everything, I still had to clean up after him.
Dragging myself out of bed, I grabbed my coat and keys. When I arrived, Othello was a mess. Drunk, slumped against the bar counter, mumbling incoherently.
His friend helped me get him into the car. Othello reeked of alcohol, his shirt wrinkled, his usually perfect hair disheveled.
As I drove us home, his head lolled to the side, and then he whispered something that made my hands tighten around the steering wheel.
"Melanie..."
I swallowed hard, ignoring the way my chest ached.
"Why did you leave me?" His voice cracked. "Why did you choose that scumbag Drake over me?"
I felt sick. I wanted to slap him, shake him, scream at him. But instead, I did what I always did. I stayed silent. I brought him home. I cleaned him up. I put him to bed. I sat beside him, watching him sleep, hating how much I still loved him. Even when he was breaking me.
