#Chapter 4: Refusing

(Evelyn’s POV)

“There is a car en route to pick you up,” the mindlink ended.  

For a moment, I stood frozen in place, staring blankly at the wall in front of me.

This was it. I was finally leaving.  

I turned slowly, my gaze drifting around the room.

It was spacious and luxurious, with soft lighting and elegant furnishings. The large bed with its neatly folded blankets, the little reading nook by the window, the shelves lined with books I had spent years collecting—it all looked perfect, but it was just a façade.  

This wasn’t my home. It never had been.  

The room was tucked away in a quiet corner of the pack house, far from Logan’s quarters.

I had spent three years here, alone and forgotten, like an unwanted guest. At first, I had tried to make it my sanctuary. I had arranged the furniture, added cozy cushions, and placed small trinkets around the room to make it feel like mine.  

But no matter how much effort I put into creating a home, it never felt like one.  

The memories in this room were suffocating.

I had cried myself to sleep on that bed more times than I could count.

I had sat by the window for hours, staring out at the pack grounds, wondering if Logan would ever look at me the way he looked at others.

I had spent countless nights convincing myself that if I worked harder, if I proved myself, he might finally see me as more than just a rogue.  

But now, as I stood here, all I felt was emptiness.  

I crossed the room to the closet and pulled out a small suitcase. My hands trembled as I unzipped it, the sound sharp in the stillness. I didn’t have much to pack—just a few sets of clothes, some personal documents, and a couple of sentimental items.  

On the desk sat the credit cards and jewelry Logan had given me over the years. I picked up one of the necklaces, letting the diamonds catch the light. It was beautiful, expensive, and utterly meaningless.  

I set it down with a quiet thud. I wouldn’t take anything he had given me. They weren’t mine anymore.  

As I folded my clothes and placed them neatly into the suitcase, I felt the weight of the past three years pressing down on me. Every moment of humiliation, every cold glance, every dismissive word—it all came rushing back.   

I was so lost in thought that I didn’t hear the door open until it slammed against the wall.  

“What time is it? Why haven’t you started cooking yet?”  

Logan’s mother, Aretha, stormed into the room, her voice sharp and accusing. She stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes narrowed into slits.  

“It’s almost noon!” she snapped, her tone dripping with irritation.  

I turned to face her, my stomach sinking. Of course, she couldn’t leave me in peace.  

Aretha had always been the one in charge of the pack house.

Even after Logan and I married, she refused to relinquish her role, claiming that I was unfit to manage anything. To her, I was nothing more than a rogue, an outsider who didn’t belong.  

From the moment I arrived, she made my life a living hell. She assigned me tasks meant for the lowest servants—cooking, cleaning, ironing clothes—insisting that it was to “train” me.

And Logan… he let her. He never questioned her, never defended me.  

“I won’t do this anymore,” I said, my voice sharp and steady.  

Logan’s mother’s eyes narrowed further, her lips curling into a sneer. “What are you talking about?”  

“I’m divorcing your son, Aretha,” I said, lifting my chin. “I don’t have to do anything for this pack anymore.”  

She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “A rogue like you, willing to divorce? Don’t make me laugh. Who do you think you’re challenging? You think you can walk away from your responsibilities?”  

Her words stung, but I refused to back down.  

“I’m leaving,” I said firmly, my hands tightening into fists at my sides.  

Her expression darkened, and she took a step closer, her voice rising. “Leaving? You think you can walk away after everything we’ve done for you? After all the work you’ve neglected? You don’t even have the skills to—”  

“What’s going on here?”  

Logan’s voice cut through her tirade. I turned to see him standing in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space. His dark eyes were cold, flicking between me and his mother.  

“She’s refusing to do her duties,” Aretha said quickly, her voice dripping with righteous indignation. “She has the audacity to call the work in the pack house ‘servant’s work.”  

Logan’s gaze shifted to me, his eyes narrowing. “Is that true?”  

“Yes,” I said, lifting my chin. “I won’t do the servant’s work anymore. I’m done.”  

His mother let out a derisive laugh. “Do you hear her? Such high ambitions for someone who can’t even do the simplest tasks!”  

Logan’s expression darkened as he looked back at me. “You can’t even handle basic responsibilities, and you couldn’t cure the wolfbane fever. What exactly have you been doing every day?”  

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. The anger and frustration that had been building inside me for years finally boiled over.  

I reached for the diamond ring on my finger—the one he had placed there three years ago, the one that had once symbolized a promise of love and partnership.  

“You want to know what I’ve been doing?” I said, my voice trembling with fury. I yanked the ring off my finger and held it up. “I’ve been surviving, Logan. That’s what I’ve been doing.”  

I threw the ring at him, the cold metal striking his chest before falling to the floor with a faint clink.  

For a moment, he just stared at me.  

I didn’t wait for a response. I grabbed my suitcase and turned toward the door, my heart pounding.  

I walked past him; I didn’t look back.  

Stepping outside, the cool air hit my face, and for the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe.  

A sleek, black luxury car was waiting at the edge of the driveway, its exterior gleaming in the sunlight. The sight of it was almost surreal—a stark contrast to the life I was leaving behind.  

The driver stepped out and opened the door, but before I could get in, the window rolled down.  

A handsome man leaned out, his dark hair neatly styled and his sharp features softened by an easy smile. His eyes sparkled with warmth and understanding, his presence a pleasant reminder that I wasn’t alone.  

“Finally separated from him?” he asked, his tone light but filled with quiet reassurance.