Chapter 3

I told the maid to clean up the place. The photo frame was shattered beyond repair, so she asked if I wanted to throw it away.

I just stared at it for a long time before shaking my head.

After she was done, I got ready to head out to meet my friend, Alma Cooper. She had just returned from another pack and invited me to catch up over lunch.

We met at a fancy restaurant.

Soft music played in the background. As soon as Alma saw me, she pulled me into a warm hug.

When she stepped back, she gave me a once-over. Her eyes were filled with confusion. "You look so worn out. I thought your Alpha was taking good care of you."

I didn't say a word.

She picked up on it immediately. "He's not treating you right, is he?"

I changed the subject. "Let's not talk about him. It's been forever since we hung out."

Soon, the food arrived.

While eating, Alma launched into stories about her trip, complaining about the new werewolves she had met. She had me laughing halfway through my meal.

I had just picked up a piece of steak with my fork when my smile froze.

I had forgotten. This place was known for its cozy, romantic atmosphere. It was a favorite among couples.

Still, Samuel and Jill shouldn't have come here.

He pulled her chair out with all the charm of a textbook gentleman. She smiled sweetly and thanked him.

Their table was decked with crimson roses. The moonstone ring on Samuel's finger caught the light, sending a glare straight into my eyes.

Maybe I was staring too hard, for Samuel noticed.

The moment our eyes met, his lips curled into a smirk.

Then, right in front of me, he reached up and gently tucked a strand of Jill's hair behind her ear. The gesture was intimate, with a hint of flirtation.

Alma followed my gaze and caught the scene too.

Her temper flared instantly. She grabbed her wine glass and shot to her feet.

"Don't." I grabbed her hand.

I shook my head and practically begged, "Please, don't."

She looked into my tear-filled eyes for a long moment and finally sat back down.

A pounding ache bloomed in my skull. I dug out my suppressant, hands trembling as I twisted off the cap.

Cold liquid slid down my throat, but the choking feeling still pressed in from all sides.

Clearly, Alma's carefully planned date was ruined.

As Alma and I walked out together, we passed Samuel and Jill.

Alma couldn't help herself. She used her bag to knock over a wine glass "accidentally". It toppled over with a sharp clink, spilling red liquid across their table and dripping onto the floor.

Jill frowned and was about to start an argument with Alma.

But Alma stared straight ahead, unapologetic. "Oops, sorry about that."

Jill was about to snap back, but she stopped when she saw me. She quickly swapped to a fake smile. "This restaurant's lovely. Perfect for couples."

"Do you like it?" Samuel didn't look at me. Smiling, he cut Jill's steak. "We'll come here often, then."

I pressed my lips together and avoided looking at them.

My face was pale as I stared at the dark stain of wine spreading on the table, drop by drop falling to the floor. Its deep red color stirred unsettling thoughts in me.

Alma noticed. She quickly stepped in front of me, blocking the sight, then grabbed my hand and led me out.

In the car, I collapsed into the passenger seat, barely able to breathe. My hand trembled as I reached for another vial.

But I fumbled. The suppressant fell onto the blanket-covered floor with a soft thud.

I didn't pick it up. I just clenched my fists tight, fingernails digging into my palms.

I forced myself to stay conscious while I teetered on the edge of despair and breakdown.

My eyes burned, and my skull throbbed like it was about to split in two, but I didn't cry. Not a single tear.

I lifted my head and looked into the rearview mirror. Looking back at me was a girl with bloodshot eyes.

She looked like a wounded pup, ignored, humiliated, even cursed. Pitiful and yet somehow pathetic.

"Alma…" I murmured. "I don't have a home anymore."

Alma pulled me into a hug before she left. She didn't say much and just reminded me to keep seeing my healer.

I nodded.

But the moment the car door slammed shut, my negative emotions burst forth uncontrollably, stronger than ever before.

The house the maid had tidied was a disaster again in minutes.

I tore through everything like a storm, smashing whatever I could get my hands on.

The sound of things breaking was crisp and sharp, but it was still not enough.

Perhaps I had been holding it in for too long. Now, the urge to destroy everything was unbearable.

The devil in my head screamed louder than ever.

Before I could think, my hand reached for the silver dagger. The blade gleamed cold under the dim light, resting just above the fragile skin on my wrist.

The door suddenly swung open.

Samuel's hand froze mid-air as our eyes met.

Every time I reached for a blade before, he would always show up. His hand was gentle, and his voice trembled with a mix of fear and something like love.

He never let me go through with it.

But this time, he just stood there, expressionless, like a silent spectator.

The ticking of the wall clock filled the room, and each second hammered against my chest.

"Do it." Looking at me, he sneered. "Why don't you aim for your heart instead?"

I didn't move. I just stared at him like a puppet.

Samuel pressed his lips tight, a cruel edge in his expression. "You don't even dare to do it. You just want pity."

Then, tilting his head, like he was genuinely curious, he asked, "Tell me, Sherry. Why wasn't it you who died? Just admit it. You don't have the guts to die."

He spoke the last line deliberately, almost as if weighing every syllable.

The dagger slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor.

I had to fight with everything I had just to stop myself from shaking.

He was right. I didn't have the guts to die.

The medicine and promises kept me from dying, but a life without hope made it impossible to truly live.

Despair wrapped around me like creeping vines. Finally, I broke down and cried out in agony.