chapter three

Ashley

My boyfriend is screwing someone. That someone is my best friend.

What the actual fuck? I literally took an hour and thirty-minute drive to meet him, thinking his parents were mad at him, and all the while he was just fucking my stupid best friend. My breath catches in my throat, I blink hard, shaking my head furiously... this happens in movies, not real life. Phil couldn't have faked what we had. Zoe can't just stab me in the back like that. I've known her since I was in preschool.

I lurch forward, resting my hands against my knees as I feel the woods around me spin. It feels like my lungs have been cut off from oxygen, each breath heavy and labored. I can feel my wolf's pain—who has still refused to speak to me. Her whimpers echo in my head, low and painful, and I shut my eyes.

Rage boils in my stomach till it spreads through my body and I lose control of my actions. I stomp toward the door, not giving a fuck if they hear me or not. In fact, let them. One angry jerk of the door handle and it flies open.

I mean, I knew they were inside, I heard their voices, but the sight of them is enough to twist my stomach. The moment the door flies open, Zoe yelps and scrambles off Phil's naked frame to grab her clothes.

Phil just stares at me, eyes as wide as saucers, before he looks away, guilt just settling on his features. When she faces me, her features turn hard; lips in angry pout as she glares at me, probably mad I interrupted their sex.

"What the hell? Phil? How long has this been going on?" My voice comes out raspy as I turn to face him, flinging my arms in the air as I shake my head. I suck on my lower lip as I look around. My eyes, for once, don't feel like a faulty tap, and I'm grateful. Seems like I cried a year's worth already.

Phil's brown eyes meet mine, those same ones I used to love staring at me—they're narrowed into slits and he's glaring at me like I'm the asshole between us.

"I'll answer that for you." Zoe has a proud smirk, her chin tipped in the air with arms folded over her bra.

"I hope your fragile heart can handle it though. I'm sure you have a lot of questions, and I'll answer them. Firstly, Phil and I have been in a relationship for five months. Yeah," she blows on her manicured nails and flashes a cheeky grin at me.

"And yeah, about yesterday," she places a hand over her chest and lets out a fake shudder, "it just had to happen. You see, if I didn't get you out of the way, you were going to end up Luna... Phil was going to become Alpha and his parents were really rooting for you. Your pristine image needed an itsy-bitsy tarnishing. You really didn't leave us with any choice." Zoe's voice makes me want to turn her face into a construction site. We'll see if Phil would love her when I'm done.

My fingers twitch as I roll them into a fist, the urge to get physical stirring within me, but I didn't train to become a Luna to embarrass myself further. Zoe's eyes flicker to my hands and her smirk deepens, a glint of amusement and challenge in them. She puffs her chest and arches a thin brow.

I won't fall for this. I know how dramatic Zoe is. The story could get worse if I so much as touched her, and that’s the last thing I need.

I ignore her.

"What the fuck, Philip! Are you just going to stand there and act clueless? What type of sick fucker are you? Why didn't you just dump me and date her? I would have been with my mate by now. Everyone would have gotten what they wanted!" I can't control the shout that rips from my throat; it's the only way I can stop myself from ripping his neck off his shoulders.

Philip rolls his eyes and lets out a loud groan. "Do you think I had a choice? I had to choose what was best for Zoe and me. If I dumped you for her, you would have been the victim, my parents would be mad. The media would have had a field day with something that juicy, so it had to happen at your expense. Sorry, not sorry." He shrugs, wrapping an arm around Zoe's shoulders.

I've never been so speechless in my life. Goddess, I never realized how selfish Philip Warren is. I was a pawn in his and Zoe's sick game. I know Zoe used to call him Mr. Hot Pants, but I never thought too deep into it. I never read too much into how Zoe went extra each time she knew Philip was around. I ignored the way he and Zoe looked more like a couple than I did with him each time we hung out as a trio and they butted me out of conversations.

I'm not gonna lie. This hurts like shit. Eighteen shouldn't feel this way, but here I am. Without a single word, I turn and leave the house.

I fucking hate both of them.

Mom was right about Philip. Everything is a game. He and Zoe won this round, but guess who's winning the next?

Me!

******

I've been in my room for four days now, counting down the days until I have to leave, which is around ten at night. Olga has been the only one to check up on me, and by checking up I mean forcing me to eat. My mom came once with a doctor to check if I was pregnant and to carry out other tests for the "warrior academy," with a scowl plastered on her face throughout.

My eyes deceived me the other day when I said I must have exhausted my tears, since there's a wastebasket full of used toilet paper by the corner.

My room door creaks and before I'm able to compose myself, I see my mom inside. For someone who knows everything about being a Luna, it's a wonder she never knocks.

I pull the covers higher and groan.

"Get up!" she orders, barely sparing me a glance. Her nose is crinkled as she eyes my messy room.

"All your papers are ready and you're to leave... I got you this." She stretches a bag to me. "It's everything you'll need. You'll go by the name Astrid Monroe. There's a scent mask in there in case you meet anyone you know. You're to use it every day, reapply it every seven hours—five after strenuous activities." Her gaze finally lands on me, and her scowl softens into concern, but it disappears as fast as it came.

"Also clean up, because I've called some stylists over to do something about your appearance." With that, she trots off.

"Astrid Monroe," I test the name and I like it, odd as it is. Maybe things won't be that bad.

The evening flies by with travel preparations that make me forget about my problems temporarily. New scentless clothes for me to pick, my hair is dyed back to its original copper shade—a color I've had to change because Mom didn't like it—my straight hair is washed, extensions removed, and restyled in its usual curly texture. Gray contacts replace my blue eyes. When I look into the mirror, it's like I'm seeing someone else. I'm seeing Astrid Monroe.

The maids pack my new clothes into new suitcases and we drive to the airport. I think it's safe to say I won't miss a single soul, and I'm excited to be away.

Mom doesn't say much during the drive, and even when we arrive at the airport, she's too busy answering business calls to reply.

Before heading deeper into into the terminal, she gives me a short hug and whispers, "Stay low-key and don't screw this up. This is your last chance. Bye."