Chapter 2

I staggered back to the Alpha's villa, but I had no intention of dying here.

I just wanted to gather my belongings.

As it turned out, there was nothing left to gather.

I returned to what was once my room, only to find it had long been converted into a storage closet.

My desk was shoved into a corner, covered in a thick layer of dust.

The weapon schematics and picture frames I had once carefully collected were all carelessly tossed into a cardboard box.

Only the bed remained in its original spot, but the sheets had been replaced with coarse gray linen.

There was also a battered iron box containing the only birthday gift Valeria had ever given me: a cheap wolf-fang necklace.

I sat on the edge of the bed and brushed the dust from the desktop. My fingers stopped when they touched a picture frame.

It was a photo from my eighteenth birthday ceremony. In it, I was wearing a crisp white shirt, and my eyes still held a spark of light.

Now, that same face was ashen, and my eyes held nothing but a dead stillness.

Even Silas's armory was four or five times larger than this storage room.

Only Silas's cast-offs were ever tossed in here.

The suite meant for me, her mate, had been converted into Silas's private training room two years ago.

It had the best equipment and the most comfortable environment.

And I had been banished to this windowless closet.

The sudden ring of my phone shattered my thoughts.

"Hello, this is the Angel's Bay Memorial Grove." A gentle female voice came through the line. "Mr. Rowan, are you still interested in the crystal crypt you inquired about? If you place a deposit now, we can hold it for you for seven days. Otherwise, it will be offered to other clients."

It was the resting place I had looked at a month ago.

Encircled by pure moonstones, the large crystal casket glittered under the moonlight. A place where a shattered soul could find eternal peace.

It was the final home I had dreamed of.

One hundred thousand dollars.

I glanced at the few hundred dollars in my wallet and paused. "No, that won't be necessary. Thank you."

A wolf who couldn't afford treatment for his Soul-Decay certainly couldn't afford a proper death.

Just as I hung up, the sound of the door opening made me look up.

Valeria walked in.

She was used to the faint, crisp scent that permeated the villa: the unique blend of fir and moonlight that belonged to her mate.

Now, the dead air in the room triggered a primal sense of wrongness, of loss.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she took a deep breath, trying to catch that familiar scent.

But there was nothing. Only dust and the smell of rust.

Valeria quickly suppressed the feeling of unease. "What was that on the phone about a crypt?" she asked, her eyes cold.

"Rowan, I've told you before," her voice was like ice. "Stop playing the victim to get sympathy. Do you find this funny?"

I didn't want to say anything, but the words tumbled out instinctually. "Valeria, I wasn't..."

"You weren't what?" she cut me off, her tone hardening. "There's nothing to talk about. You will not take what belongs to Silas. Some things were never meant for you."

My eyes burned, and I fought to keep the tears back.

She was saying the celebration, the position as her mate, and even her love, all belonged to Silas.

But what about the things that were supposed to be mine? Had she forgotten all of them?

I lifted my head and looked her straight in the eye. "I just want to ask you one question. My eighteenth birthday ceremony. Do you remember it?"

Valeria's expression froze for a second. Her gaze drifted involuntarily to the photograph on the desk.

But she quickly looked away. "What are you trying to say?" she said coldly.

"That day, you promised we would have the grandest marking ceremony," I said, my voice soft. "But later, you said I was too weak, unworthy to stand beside you."

"So?" Valeria's tone grew impatient.

"And then, you forgot my nineteenth, twentieth, and twenty-first birthdays," I continued. "But you remembered every single one of Silas's anniversaries."

"Rowan!" Valeria spun around. "That's enough! You're always making a big deal out of nothing, so pathetically weak! If you weren't so fragile and sensitive, maybe I wouldn't have to overlook you."

I looked at her cold eyes, at the chillingly unfamiliar aura she radiated.

So, in her eyes, my very existence was a mistake.

My love, my devotion, my pain—all of it was a mistake.

I said quietly, "You're right, Valeria. I'm not good enough for you."

I turned away, no longer looking at her.

"The documents are in the second drawer on the left. There's something in there for you. Don't open it for three days."

She said nothing, just turned and left.

The clock struck midnight, and the room fell back into dead silence.

I held the worn-out picture frame, feeling my life slip away, bit by bit.

Two days left.