14

“Make a bowl of alcohol detox soup. Bring it upstairs.”

Two minutes later, Declan appeared on the second-floor balcony. His figure was upright, his Alpha aura pressing down on the air like cold fog. He looked down and gave an order in a flat tone that could not be defied.

The pain from the earlier impact had turned into numbness. The wound on Zara’s skin might be small, but the wound in her chest was far deeper. She didn’t argue, didn’t complain either. 

Without saying a word, Zara went into the kitchen, turned on the stove, and began preparing the warm soup the Pack members usually used to ease the effects of liquor and stabilize the blood.

The scent of broth, ginger, and dried wolfsbane leaves filled the room.

After she finished cooking, Zara carried the bowl upstairs and stopped in front of Declan’s room.

But just as her hand was about to push the door, a woman’s voice came from inside weak, hoarse, yet unmistakable.

Marina.

Zara froze for two seconds.

Marina’s scent also seeped through the crack under the door: sweet, sharp, like wildflowers crushed too long in someone’s palm. A scent that some of the Jordan Pack elders had once called the scent of a “future Luna.”

Zara held her breath, then set the soup down on the floor, right in front of the door. She knocked softly, forcing her voice to remain steady.

“I left the soup outside,” she said briefly.

“Mm.” Declan’s reply sounded flat cold, neat, leaving no room for questions.

Inside the room, Marina began to regain consciousness. She lifted her head, looking around like someone who had just woken from a nightmare. Her eyes blinked several times, trying to adjust to the light.

“Where am I?” she murmured.

“You drank too much,” Declan said, his voice still calm. “You also threw your house keys into the river. So I had no choice but to bring you here first.”

Marina pressed her temple, her face tightening as she fought the pounding in her head. She remembered fragments of what happened: the cold streets of Rodrigo Pack, the windy riverbank, bottles being passed from hand to hand and the bitter laugh that had escaped her own lips.

They had driven around the city earlier. At first, it was only to make sure Marina got home safely. But somehow, the conversation shifted into memories about the past, about things that had never truly ended.

Marina said there was alcohol in the car. She wanted to sit by the river for a moment, just to “calm down.”

Declan had wanted to refuse.

But Marina looked fragile, her eyes reflecting a sadness too similar to an old wound. Declan no matter how hard he seemed on the outside still carried guilt that had never completely died out.

 After all, even though what separated them back then had been the pressure of the Jordan Pack and Pack rules, Declan knew part of the fault had also been his.

So he stayed with her.

He knew Marina couldn’t handle alcohol. But he hadn’t expected her tolerance to be that bad. After only two glasses, Marina was already unsteady. By the second glass, she lost consciousness completely.

Declan intended to take her home. But in her drunken state, Marina only laughed and threw her house key into the river like it was a game.

In that condition, Declan couldn’t leave Marina alone at a hotel. He also didn’t know the code to Marina’s door. So the only choice left was to bring Marina back to his own house.

“Sorry for troubling you,” Marina finally said, trying to smile. One hand still held her head.

Declan shook his head slightly. “It’s fine.”

Then he added in a warning tone, “But you really can’t drink. Next time be careful. Don’t-”

Declan let the sentence hang.

But Marina understood. She looked at him with eyes that were gentle, yet full of meaning. “You worry about me?”

Declan pressed his lips together. He didn’t confirm it, didn’t deny it either. He only stayed silent that always made people guess.

Marina chuckled softly and leaned a little closer. “Relax. I never drink like this in front of other men.”

She paused, deliberately emphasizing her words.

“I just feel safe when I’m with you. Because you used to be the person I loved.”

The sentence slipped out slowly, but sharply. Like nails scratching skin without drawing blood.

Marina glanced at Declan’s face, trying to read his reaction. And when she saw no irritation on him, Marina’s smile widened. She lifted her hand, about to touch Declan’s face like she used to, when she still believed Declan belonged to her.

But before her fingers could touch his skin, Declan stood up.

His movement was calm, but firm. His Alpha aura hardened like a wall.

Marina’s hand only brushed Declan’s shirt fabric, then stopped in midair.

“Good, then,” Declan said. “The soup is ready. I’ll go get it.”

Marina stared at Declan’s broad back as he walked toward the door. Her smile slowly faded. Something unsettled in her chest.

Declan was always like this.

Every time she thought there was a gap for her to get close again, he closed it politely yet with a firmness that hurt. As if Declan didn’t hate her, but also would never let her in again.

Marina knew Declan’s tolerance and attention weren’t because of love. It was guilt. Because of a past that still wasn’t finished.

Back then, Marina had been so sure that with time, she could use that guilt as a path to make Declan’s feelings grow again.

And she had always underestimated Zara.

In her eyes, Zara was just a woman without fangs, without status, without pure Pack blood, only a partner chosen because of circumstances. Marina believed that sooner or later, Declan would reject Zara.

But lately Marina had started to feel something changing.

Something was slipping out of her control.

Not only about Declan.

But about Zara.

There was a new scent on Zara, a scent that was beginning to cling to this house. A scent Marina couldn’t drive away with nothing but smiles and memories.

Two hours later, Zara heard Declan’s footsteps coming out of the room next door.

Steady, measured. Down the stairs to the lower floor, then stopping in the study.

Zara didn’t want to know what happened during those two hours.

She also didn’t want to torture herself by imagining it.

She only stared at the thin folder in her hands, a fresh reject agreement. The contents were clear, she would leave without taking anything. No house, no money, no claims, no status.

As if she had never been part of Declan’s life.

Zara drew a slow breath, holding herself together so her chest wouldn’t shatter.

Then she walked down to the lower floor, stopped in front of the study door, and knocked softly.