Asher and Kieran didn’t surrender that easily. Watching the last of those memories turn to smoke shook them more than they expected. Two wolves who had already chosen wrong were suddenly desperate to claw back what they had burned.
Asher was the first to speak. He scratched at the back of his neck, eyes avoiding mine like a guilty child caught red-handed.
“Aurora… let’s go eat somewhere. Anywhere. It’s on us.”
Kieran stepped forward too, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
“Our place. The one you like. Just for tonight. One meal, okay? Let us… try to fix something.”
I didn’t answer right away. I only dipped my chin in a slow, silent agreement. Somewhere deep inside, my wolf already knew—this would be the final illusion we’d ever share.
---
We drove through the city in Asher’s black luxury car, the engine purring softly while the silence inside pressed hard against my ears. No one spoke. Even the wolves inside us seemed uneasy.
Then Kieran’s phone vibrated.
He checked the screen, face tightening.
“It’s her.”
The way his voice changed told me everything before he even picked up.
“Veyla? What’s happening?”
Her shrill panic exploded through the speakers.
“The lights went out! Someone got inside the house! I heard something—I think there’s a thief! I’m scared, Kieran—please, come now!”
Asher’s jaw flexed sharply. He threw me one quick look before turning cold again.
“Get out of the car, Aurora.”
I stared at him, stunned. “What did you just say?”
“We’re going to her,” he snapped. “You’re not coming.”
Before I could speak again, the door was already open. Strong hands shoved me out into the rain-soaked street. Water drenched my hair instantly, my dress clinging to my skin like ice.
They didn’t wait.
The car sped off, red taillights bleeding into the darkness as thunder rolled overhead.
I stood there, rain washing down my face like mockery, mascara streaking like war paint.
And then—
I smiled.
Not because it hurt less.
But because now I understood what this really was.
That dinner wasn’t reconciliation.
It was the burial of everything they thought they still owned. And they had walked into their own funeral without noticing the scent of death.
---
Three blocks later, I gave up on the heels. Satin wasn’t meant for floods and broken roads. My feet were blistered raw, so I slipped them off and held them by the straps as I walked barefoot through the rain-slick pavement.
My dress stuck heavy against my legs. Cold air chewed at my skin. Every breath burned.
Cars passed. Slowed. Looked. Then sped away.
Not one stopped.
They saw me. I know they did. A soaked she-wolf walking alone at night was too strange not to notice. But they avoided me anyway—like people always do when they don’t want to get involved with someone bleeding in real time.
I didn’t cry.
I turned into an alley I thought would cut across to the main road faster. I hoped maybe I’d catch a taxi at the other end. Or collapse under a streetlight and wait for the world to decide whether I deserved saving.
But shortcuts don’t shorten pain.
He stepped out from behind a trash bin, hood pulled low, rain dripping from his sleeves. Metal flashed in his hand. Too late to run. I heard him shout—something about my bag, my phone, money. I didn’t care.
I fought anyway.
I bit. I kicked. I clawed. I screamed until my throat burned raw.
That’s when the blade went in.
Once—straight into my stomach.
Again—lower.
A third time—when I tried to crawl away.
The pain burned white-hot, then numbed into something terrifyingly cold. My body collapsed. The pavement pressed against my cheek like a final goodbye.
Then—
Headlights.
A car screeching to a stop.
A door slamming.
Someone shouting my name.
Strong arms lifting me from the ground.
I tried to speak. Tried to ask them to call my aunt. Tried to apologize for missing the cookies I promised to bring. But my mouth wouldn’t move. The world fractured into noise and light.
And then—
I saw him.
Those eyes.
The same stranger from the ocean.
The man who pulled me from the black water after Asher shoved me from the yacht. The one I had convinced myself was only a hallucination born from suffocation.
But he was real.
He held me against his chest, his white shirt staining dark with rain and blood. His grip was steady. Unshaking.
“Stay with me, Aurora,” he said quietly, authority woven into every word. “You’re not dying here. Not tonight.”
“Who…” My voice barely existed. “Who are you?”
His lips lifted just slightly.
“Ronan.”
---
He disappeared again the same way powerful men always do—without spectacle. A nurse called his name. He answered. And then he was gone before I could thank him.
I spent seven days in that hospital.
Tubes in my arms. Stitches across my abdomen. Silence where my heart used to scream.
No visitors came.
No calls.
Not even from my mother. I asked the nurses not to tell her. There was no point. I needed the loneliness to finish its work inside me. I needed to feel the last fragile piece of hope die completely.
On the day of my discharge, pale and dressed in thin cotton, I stepped into the hallway—
—and ran straight into them.
Veyla was on a stretcher, wrists wrapped in blood-soaked bandages, face ruined with makeup streaked like tragedy. She wailed as if the world were ending. Asher held her hand like she was made of glass. Kieran followed close behind, carrying her things like a loyal servant.
They passed me in the corridor.
Then stopped.
Asher looked at me like he’d seen a ghost.
Kieran looked like he’d been struck across the face.
“Aurora…?” Asher whispered.
I glanced down at the IV tape still stuck to my hand. The nurses hadn’t even finished packing my things yet.
“You’re… here?” Kieran asked weakly.
“You were in the hospital?” Asher stepped toward me instinctively.
I stepped back.
A broken laugh slipped from my chest. “A week,” I said quietly. “I was here for a week. Bleeding. Healing. Trying to stay alive. And none of you even noticed I was missing.”
They stood there speechless.
And just like always—
Veyla screamed again.
They turned to her without hesitation.
And I turned away without regret.
Barefoot.
Still aching.
But finally—
free.
