Chapter 4

For three days straight, I was like a walking corpse. I didn't eat. I didn't drink.

The death of my child had taken my soul with it.

Ethan didn't call once. The only sign he existed was Sophie's constant stream of social media posts — their cozy meals, their matching outfits, their weekend getaways.

Each post was a blade between my ribs.

On the third day, the door to my room opened. Ethan walked in.

Looking at the man who had killed my child, I wanted to lunge at him and tear his throat out. But I didn't even have the strength to lift my arm.

He didn't say a word. He just pulled a bank card from his pocket and held it out to me.

I looked at it, cold. "What's this supposed to mean?"

He stood over me, looking down. "There's three million on it. Part of it covers whatever you spent on Sophie's tuition over the years. Don't hold it over her head anymore — she's sensitive, and her pride can't take it."

He paused, then continued. "The rest is compensation. For you."

"Sophie's pregnant. I'm the father. I can't just abandon her. But I promise — once the baby is born, I'll cut things off with her for good."

"I know I've wronged you. But the child is innocent. So please — until she delivers, don't do anything to hurt her or the baby."

The word "baby" hit me like a knife through the chest.

I had just lost my baby. Did he have any idea what that did to a mother?

And now my own mate was standing here asking me to show kindness to the other woman. To protect her child. While mine was gone.

What about my baby? My baby hadn't even had a chance to be born — and it was dead.

I didn't take the card. Ethan read it as defiance.

His face hardened. "Vivian, I'm trying to be reasonable here. Don't make this difficult. Sophie has already forgiven you for what you did to her baby. What more do you want?"

"Are you trying to push her to the edge? Is that what you want?"

My face was chalk-white. I had no color left, no strength left. I moved my cracked lips and forced out a single sentence. "Fine. You can go."

I couldn't stand the sight of him for one more second.

Something in my expression must have unsettled him, because his tone softened. "Vivian, what's wrong with you?"

But before I could answer, his phone rang. I heard a woman's voice sobbing on the other end. Ethan's face shifted to panic in an instant.

He glanced at me on the bed, warred with himself for all of two seconds, then spoke into the phone. "I know. I'm on my way."

He hung up and gave me an awkward look. "Get some rest. Sophie's not feeling well — I need to go check on her. I'll be back soon."

Then he walked out the door without looking back.

The room was empty again. Just me.

But I didn't feel sad. If anything, I felt a strange kind of peace.

In that moment, I knew — I was done. The love was dead.

Ethan never came back. Not that day. Not the next.

I checked myself out of the hospital, took a cab back to the house — the place I used to call home.

I pushed open the door. Every inch of it was filled with traces of the life Ethan and I had built together. In the corner sat the wedding dress I'd had made for the Mating Ceremony. Once, it had been my greatest hope. Now it was nothing but a joke.

I packed a single suitcase with only my own things. I booked the next flight out.

Before I left, I sat down and wrote a letter. No anger. No accusations. Just four words:

"The Mating Ceremony is off."

I placed it on the kitchen counter, slipped off the ring he'd given me, set it on top of the letter, and walked out the door.

The cold night air hit my face. For the first time in weeks, I could breathe.

At the airport, I shut down the mind-link and turned off my phone — severing every connection to him.

The plane took off. Below me, the lights of the pack territory shrank to nothing.

Goodbye, the pack I'd called home for twenty-eight years.

Goodbye, Ethan.