Chapter 5- The Power of Silence

My phone vibrated again—Andre’s name flashing across the screen like a virus I couldn't delete fast enough.

I sighed and answered anyway, pulse steady.

“Where the hell are you?” he snapped, his voice sharp with rage.

Not regret. Not grief. Just pure entitlement.

I stared at the blank wall in front of me. My hands stayed calm. My heart didn’t race.

“Goodbye, Andre,” I said, cold as stone.

“Don’t you dare hang up on me—”

I pressed the red button and ended the call. I didn’t flinch.

No second chances. No goodbye kisses. Just silence.

And this time, it felt good. It felt final.

—

Andre stared at his phone in disbelief. His jaw tightened slightly.

Then his thumbs moved fast, typing furiously with shaking fingers.

> "Lara, my grandfather has returned. You will attend the Pack Council's meeting. Do not embarrass me. Do not disgrace this pack."

He stared at the screen, watching.

Three dots appeared. His heart lifted for a moment.

Then they vanished.

No reply came. No message arrived. Just silence.

He frowned and dialed her number again.

Straight to voicemail. His eyes narrowed.

He tried again. His breath came faster.

Still voicemail. No tone, no sound, no Lara.

He kept trying. Again. Again. Again.

Still nothing.

The silence was beginning to sting like acid.

She had never ignored him before. Never like this.

He didn’t get silence from Lara. He got surrender. He got tears.

But now?

Now he got nothing.

It had stretched into two days—silence, and nothing from Lara. Andre paced the hallway, each step echoing like a war drum.

From upstairs, whispers floated down like smoke.

Two housekeepers stood by the linen closet, talking in hushed voices.

“I swear, she’s replaced him already,” one whispered.

“Replaced? With who?” the second asked, stunned.

“That Alpha from Northeastern Alliance—Derek Gold. She was at the gala with him.”

Andre froze, mid-step. His head turned sharply.

Replaced?

He stepped into view, his eyes flashing. “What did you just say?”

The women flinched. One fumbled with her phone and held it out.

“It’s online￾ Alpha. Everyone’s seen it by now.”

Andre grabbed the phone with tight fingers.

There she was.

Lara. Draped in black silk. A soft glow around her.

Derek Gold’s hand rested gently around her waist.

She wasn’t just posing.

She was smiling. Glowing. Free.

Not the broken version of her he had left behind.

CRACK!

He hurled the phone to the marble floor. It exploded into fragments.

He stomped once. Then again. Glass crunched beneath his heel.

The maids shrieked and stumbled away, pale with fear.

His chest heaved. His fists curled at his sides.

This wasn’t just silence anymore.

This was rebellion. This was war.

Andre was still seething when his phone rang again. His hand jerked.

The screen flashed—Grandfather.

“Explain this,” the old Alpha barked before Andre could speak.

A photo flashed through the call—Lara and Derek Gold.

“She hasn’t answered a single call,” the elder snapped. “Her line’s disconnected. Her Luna bond remains intact. But she is gone.”

Andre swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “She’s￾ preparing for the council meeting.”

“Don’t lie to me,” the old man growled. “If she doesn’t show at the council meeting, the entire pack will burn you alive.”

The line went dead. Andre stood still, phone dangling in his hand.

He stared at the floor. Then he moved fast—dialing again.

Voicemail.

He tried her second number. Then a third.

Still nothing. His fingers trembled.

He messaged her again, face flushed with frustration.

> "You will show up. You have to."

Still nothing.

He paced in circles like a caged wolf, muttering under his breath.

“Lara, don’t you dare ruin this￾”

Behind him, a quiet voice broke through. “Andre?”

Tasha stood in the doorway. She clutched Dylan’s blanket to her chest.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered, voice shaky.

“You haven’t looked at me the same since Lara left.”

Andre didn’t respond. His face stayed blank. His eyes never met hers.

“Maybe I should leave,” Tasha said. “Take Dylan back to my father’s house.”

Andre finally turned toward her. His movements were slow, practiced.

He placed a hand on her cheek and forced a soft smile.

“Lara made her choice,” he said slowly. “But this is your home now.”

Tasha blinked. Her shoulders relaxed slightly. “You mean it?”

He nodded once, lying through clenched teeth. “I do.”

He didn’t.

He just needed quiet. He just needed time.

Not when Lara’s silence was screaming louder than anything Tasha could say.

—

Later that night, Andre drove without thinking—just endless roads and rage.

His hands tightened on the wheel. His knuckles turned white.

He didn’t realize where he was until traffic slowed near downtown.

Then he saw her.

Black dress. Flowing hair. Standing beneath the warm glow of a restaurant window.

His heart stopped. He hit the brakes hard.

“Lara!” he called, throwing open the door and stepping into the street.

She turned.

Wrong eyes. Wrong face. Not her.

Just a stranger. A total stranger.

Andre froze on the sidewalk, wind cutting through his coat.

His breath hitched. His legs locked in place.

He was losing his mind.

Seeing her in strangers. Chasing her in ghosts.

---

The Pack Council Hall buzzed with tension and whispers.

Andre arrived late, dressed in black, Tasha and Dylan by his side.

All eyes turned to them. Mouths opened. Judgments flew like knives.

“That’s not our Luna.”

“Where is Lady Lara?”

“She’s still carrying his child? Shameless.”

Tasha’s face went pale. Her grip on Dylan tightened.

Andre kept walking. His expression didn’t shift. But his heartbeat thundered.

Then came the voice that sliced through it all.

“Where is Lara?” his grandfather snapped, storming toward him.

Andre swallowed, his throat thick. “She’s on her way,” he said tightly.

“You’re lying,” the old Alpha hissed. “She hasn’t replied to me either.”

Andre’s jaw clenched. His fists trembled.

Before anyone could speak further, the doors swung open again.

A courier entered the hall, carrying two plain boxes.

“Delivery for the Pack Council,” he announced loudly.

The crowd went still.

“From Lady Lara,” the courier added before stepping back.

The elder approached slowly, lifting the first lid.

Gasps tore through the room like lightning.

Inside lay the Castellano family Luna collar—polished. Pristine. Final.

Returned.

Publicly. Without a single word.

Tasha staggered back. Her knees buckled. She almost dropped Dylan.

“No,” Andre whispered. “She wouldn’t￾ she couldn’t—”

But she had.

The second box held a single letter.

The elder unfolded it, eyes scanning each word in heavy silence.

Then he stopped reading.

He didn’t speak.

He just looked up at Andre—eyes full of quiet disappointment.