Chapter 17 – Whispers of Strength

The mornings came too quickly now. Ella woke to the sound of rain against the cabin roof, the steady tapping was like impatient fingers reminding her that another day had already begun, it didn’t care whether she was ready for it or not.

Beside her, the bed was empty. Cole had left before dawn again, the faint trace of his scent still lingered on the sheets, sharp and bitter with whiskey. She slowly sat up, clutching the blanket around her shoulders, her body heavy but her mind was at alert. The silence of the cabin pressed down on her chest, it was thicker than the mist curling outside the window.

She just sat there for a long time, staring at the faint outline of the wolf Marcus had carved for her. Although it’s been years now. Cub, was what he calls her. The word used to mean warmth before, even sounding like she belonged her but all it reminded her of, is what she wasn’t and perhaps will never be.

Still, she managed to swing her legs over the bed, forcing her feet to the floor. Her vow from the previous night still burned in her chest like a hidden ember: she refuse to break or bend.

By midmorning, she was walking through the pack’s main grounds, on her arms were a woven basket, urges filled with herbs Mara had asked her to collect from the greenhouse. Before she could reach the center of the compound, The chatter of wolves reached her ears. Laughter here, the scrape of training swords there, the steady hum of a community bound together by blood and by bond.

Her steps slowed when she finally heard it—the sudden hush that fell immediately she appeared, followed by the too-loud whispers.

“That’s her—the human Luna.”

“Can you believe the Alpha’s son is stuck with her?”

“She won’t last. Not with Sasha still in the picture.”

Like nettles, the words pricked at her skin like nettles. She kept her chin high, her pace steady. She refused to let them see her falter.

Her dress hem brushed on damp grass as she passed, the basket steady on her arm though her fingers gripped its handle too tight. When she finally turned a corner and the voices faded, she released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Don’t listen to the things they say.”

Ella looked up. Mia leaned casually against the fence near the greenhouse, her dark eyes sharp and protective as it had ever been. She pushed away from the post and strode over, plucking a leaf from the basket before Ella could protest.

“Half of them are just being jealous,” Mia muttered, chewing thoughtfully on the leaf. “The other half are total idiots. Either way, you’re still here. That should count for something.”

Ella managed a small smile. “Sometimes it feels like it’s by accident that I’m actually here.”

Mia shook her head, her voice firm. “In this pack, accidents don’t survive. You’re tougher than they’ll ever give you credit for but it something you should be ware of. Your strength and resilience.”

The words were a lifeline, pulling Ella back from the edge of doubt. She nodded, tucking the reassurance deep inside.

The greenhouse smelled of damp soil and mint. Mara warmly greeted Ella, she pressed her hands over Ella’s hands as she accepted the basket from her. Her kindness always felt like sunlight through clouds, soft and unexpected.

“You have steady hands,” Mara said as Ella helped her separate the herbs into jars. “Steadier than most wolves I have come to know. Perhaps that’s why the Moon Goddess chose you.”

Ella said just nothing, though her throat tightened. Lately, the Goddesses choices felt cruel.

After the work was all done, Ella drifted toward the river. The water flowed quick and clear, the surface rippling with the reflection of the trees above. She sat on the bank, pulling her sketchbook from her bag. Her pencil danced across the page, shaping wildflowers and curling vines. Each line make her feel steady, the silence inside were filled with shadows.

The sketches were her refuge, the one place Sasha’s voice couldn’t reach.

Or so she had thought.

The sound of heels on stone made her stiffen. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Well, well, well ” Sasha drawled, her tone smooth as silk stretched over a blade. “If it isn’t our own little Luna, playing pretend by the river.”

Ella closed her book gently, not rising. “Sasha.”

“Don’t you get tired of it?” Sasha stepped closer, her perfume cloying, her smile sharp. “Walking around like you actually belong, when everyone knows you don’t. Cole—” her lips curved in triumph “— he still comes to me. He always will. There is nothing you can do to change that.”

Ella’s stomach twisted inside, but she kept her face steady. She looked up, meeting Sasha’s eyes with quiet steadiness. “If you’re so sure of him, why are you out here trying your possible best to convince me?”

For the briefest second, Sasha’s smile faltered. Then her laughter rang out, brittle and cruel. “It’s only a matter of time but very soon, You’ll break. You little human.”

She swept away, leaving Ella alone with the echo of her words.

Ella pressed her palms against her knees, grounding herself. She refuse to give Sasha the satisfaction of seeing her tears. Instead, she opened her sketchbook again, her pencil digging harder into the paper than before.

That night, back in the cabin, Ella lit a single candle. The flame flickered against the walls, softening in the shadows. Cole sat across the room, a glass in his hand, his gaze distant. Since dawn, He hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to her.

Ella didn’t try to bridge the gap. Not tonight. She didn’t have the strength to hear his cruel words.

Instead, she sketched by the candlelight, her pencil scratching steadily. She felt his eyes on her once, twice. There were quick glances, almost guilty ones. But she kept all her focus on the page, louder than any words, her silence spoke.

Inside, her vow solidified into something sharper. She could not control Cole’s choices, or Sasha’s venom, or the whispers of the pack. But what she could definitely control is herself—her own strength, her dignity, her will to endure all the hardship being thrown at her.

And in that quiet, she realized something that Sasha would never be able to get: breaking wasn’t the only path left to her. She could bend, she could endure, and in the silence she would grow stronger.

As the candle burned low, Ella whispered to herself, barely audible: “You will not break.”

And for the first time since the wedding, she believed those words.