Chapter 3

But this time, Joe’s eyes darted away, his tone strangely stiff.

“After what happened last time… you know my parents’ health isn’t great. If they see you again, it’ll only stimulate them.”

He hesitated, voice softening as if trying to soothe me.

“Don’t take it the wrong way. I’ll talk to them about the engagement. Emma grew up under their roof, so of course they’re closer to her. Once things settle down… they’ll stop holding grudges.”

I watched as he walked away with her, a dull ache spreading in my chest until even swallowing tasted like blood.

Five years. That’s all it took for Joe to forget the love he once swore to me, the vows that no one would ever hurt me.

He’d forgotten them all—forgotten me—and even pushed me into the flames himself, leaving me to suffer alone in that hospital bed.

After countless rejections, I finally understood who Joe had been waiting for all along.

Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes, falling one by one onto the cold floor.

I wiped my face and drew in a deep breath.

Back at the villa, I started packing my things. Five years together had left traces of us everywhere.

I used to believe—foolishly—that he loved me.

The paintings in our home were all ones I’d picked out. He once told me he wanted a pup with me, that we’d take our little one on adventures, run through the forests under the moonlight.

But before we could even have a pup, he’d already stopped loving me.

I worked so hard that I always stayed up until midnight, which caused me constant headaches. Joe found out, and no matter where he was on a business trip, he never forgot to remind me to sleep. He would talk to me on the phone until I fell asleep.

Sometimes the pain was so severe as if it could kill me. Joe felt heartbreaking seeing me suffer. So, he learned massage from the Pack Doctor and gave me a massage when I had a headache.

Now everything blurred, fading like a memory that no longer belonged to me.

He used to notice every glance of mine—whenever my eyes lingered on something, he’d secretly buy it, awkward but full of love.

“I don’t ever want you to have to ask,” he once said, kissing my cheek and ruffling my hair, his voice gentle as he buried his face against my neck.

I don’t know when it started…

but somewhere along the way, Joe grew tired of us.

The first time I proposed to Joe, he smiled and said we were too young—that marrying too early would only make us grow tired of each other like every other couple.

The second time, I had everything prepared—a surprise, candles, the necklace he once said he loved on me. But before I could walk into the room, I overheard him talking to his friends.

“I’m bored of Carol. The spark’s gone. But she is good to me, yeah, I just can’t break up with her.”

“A girl proposing to a guy—shouldn’t she realize by now that I don’t love her?”

The last time...

I gave everything I had. I stood in front of his parents, humbling myself, saying I wanted to marry Joe. I told them I didn’t care about the Smith family’s fortune, didn’t want the Luna title. I only want to be his wife.

But his sister Emma—the one he’d grown up with though they shared no blood—was there that day. The moment when she heard my proposal, she threw a tantrum due to jealousy.

Now, all of it is over. I’ve finally let go.

Every photo I ever took of Joe over the past five years—I tore them all into pieces.

Even the love letter he wrote me, the only one, I burned to ashes with a lighter.

He didn’t message me once that following week, he was waiting for me to give in.

While I had moved my luggage out of his villa long before he noticed.

He probably thought I was throwing another tantrum, so he didn’t bother to check.

But as time went on… it seemed he started to remember I existed.

Three days before I returned to the Blood Moon Pack—our fifth anniversary—Joe finally called.

“Carol,” he said softly, “our five-year anniversary’s coming up. I booked the Quiet Sparrow Gallery, and dinner at your favorite steakhouse. We should talk.”

As his voice faded, a text appeared on my screen. It was the address.

That gallery was where we first met. We’d both reached for the same painting at the same time, even shared the same thoughts about it.

Back then, I’d foolishly believed it was Luna’s blessing. My heart had raced so wildly I thought it would burst—convinced that Joe was my fate mate for life.