Chapter Five

Tracy Xander’s POV 

When I returned from the restroom, the meal was already coming to an end, the earlier warmth fading into the quiet sounds of departure as conversations softened and chairs scraped lightly against the floor, one after another, until the private room gradually emptied. 

I said my goodbyes without lingering, my smile polite and measured, and then I left. 

By the time I arrived back at the pack house, the night had already settled in fully, the halls dim and silent, the absence of presence far more noticeable than any noise could have been. 

Alpha Chandler had not returned. 

I did not wait. 

There was no reason to. 

I took a quick shower, letting the water run over me in silence, as though it could wash away the faint heaviness that clung to my chest, before changing into something light and slipping into bed without another thought. 

That night, I slept without dreams, without interruptions, without even the echo of memory. 

It was quiet in a way that felt almost unfamiliar. 

… 

The next morning, I went to the pack office as usual, my routine unchanged, my expression calm, as though nothing in my life had begun to unravel. 

After finishing last month’s report, I printed it out and made my way toward the financial office, my steps steady, measured, carrying none of the hesitation that might have once lingered. 

A light knock. 

“Come in.” 

Frank Miller skimmed through the report, nodding slightly as he turned each page, his approval evident in the small shifts of his expression. 

“Well done.” 

I gave a small nod in return, offering no unnecessary words before turning to leave. 

Only after the door closed behind me did he open his drawer and take out the resignation letter I had given him the day before. 

Even without seeing it, I could imagine the way his gaze would linger on it, the quiet disbelief, the reluctance he had tried to hide. 

A few moments later, he stood and headed toward the administrative department. 

… 

When the elevator doors opened, he ran into Quinton Taylor, Alpha Chandler’s assistant. 

“Morning,” Frank greeted, his tone light, though there was still a trace of distraction beneath it. 

Quinton gave a small nod. “Morning.” 

The doors slid shut behind them. 

“Which floor?” Quinton asked casually. 

“Tenth.” 

There was a brief pause before Quinton’s gaze shifted toward the documents in Frank’s hand. 

“Going to the administrative office for paperwork?” 

Frank shook his head, lifting the document slightly as though it were explanation enough. 

“No. I am submitting Tracy Xander’s resignation.” 

For a moment, everything stilled. 

“…Who did you say resigned?” Quinton asked, his voice tightening almost imperceptibly. 

“Tracy Xander,” Frank repeated, a faint frown forming. “Who else?” 

He did not understand the reaction. 

Frank exhaled slowly, as though the situation itself had already exhausted him. 

“I tried to convince her to stay, but she said it was due to her health. I could not push further. Health should always come first.” 

Quinton’s gaze dropped to the paper in Frank’s hand, and there it was, unmistakable and final. 

My signature. 

Clean. Firm. Without hesitation. 

A flicker of surprise crossed his face before it shifted into something colder, something edged with quiet disdain. 

Sick? 

There had been no visible sign of weakness, no indication that anything was wrong. 

To him, it could only mean one thing. 

Another attempt. 

Another way to draw Alpha Chandler’s attention. 

A method that had long since grown tiresome. 

The elevator came to a stop. 

Frank stepped out, leaving Quinton behind as the doors slid shut once more. 

… 

By the time Quinton returned to the seventeenth floor, the matter had already settled into his mind in a way that required no further thought. 

He placed a stack of files onto a secretary’s desk, just as another was preparing to deliver documents to Alpha Chandler’s office. 

“I will take those,” he said, stepping forward without hesitation. “I need to see Alpha Chandler anyway.” 

The secretary let out a small breath of relief as she handed them over. 

“Thank you, Mr. Taylor. I owe you coffee next time.” 

Quinton gave a brief nod before walking toward the office. 

A knock followed. 

“Come in.” 

Alpha Chandler’s voice carried its usual authority, low and controlled, the kind that never needed to be raised to be felt. 

Quinton stepped inside and delivered a brief summary of the day’s schedule, his tone professional, his posture precise. 

Then he hesitated. 

“There is one more matter.” 

Alpha Chandler looked up, impatience already surfacing in his expression. 

“What is it?” 

Quinton parted his lips slightly. 

“It is about Tracy…” 

The temperature in the room seemed to drop instantly. 

Alpha Chandler’s expression darkened, his gaze sharpening before Quinton could even finish. 

“From now on,” he said coldly, cutting him off without hesitation, “anything related to her is not to be reported to me. Whatever she chooses to do has nothing to do with me.” 

The words fell heavily. 

Decisive. Final. 

Quinton swallowed the rest of his sentence. 

“…Understood.” 

So it was true. 

Alpha Chandler had completely lost patience. 

Otherwise, he would not have reacted so strongly at the mere mention of her name. 

Quinton gathered the signed documents and left without another word. 

… 

At noon, I went to the pack cafeteria. 

The moment I stepped inside, a few colleagues glanced in my direction, surprise flickering briefly across their faces before they quickly looked away, as though unsure what to make of my presence. 

After collecting my meal, I found a seat and sat down quietly, my movements unhurried. 

A colleague leaned closer, lowering her voice just enough to keep the conversation private. 

“Ms. Xander… are you not going home to cook for your husband today?” 

She knew I was married. 

She simply did not know to whom. 

I stirred my food lightly, my expression calm, untouched. 

“No.” 

In the past, every single day at noon, I would leave the office and return home to prepare a meal for Alpha Chandler, no matter how busy the day had been, no matter how little time I had to spare. 

Even when he did not return, I would pack the food carefully and bring it to his office, waiting quietly just to watch him take a few bites. 

At the time, that had been enough. 

For years, I never missed a single day. 

Until I learned the truth. 

Most of those meals had never been touched. 

And in the end, they had all been thrown away. 

“Did you two argue?” she asked, unable to hide her curiosity. 

“No.” 

I picked up a piece of chicken and took a small bite, my tone casual, almost indifferent. 

“He is seeing someone else.” 

She froze. 

For a moment, she said nothing, then quickly lowered her head, pretending to focus on her food as though she had heard nothing at all. 

Because my reaction did not match the situation. 

Anyone else would have lost control, would have confronted him, demanded answers, refused to let it pass quietly. 

But I did not. 

To them, it looked as though it did not matter. 

… 

Around three in the afternoon, my phone vibrated softly against the desk, pulling my attention away from the documents in front of me. 

Another message. 

Sam Zach. 

It was the third invitation from the medical research division. 

But this time, the message carried a clear condition. 

If I declined again, the opportunity would not be offered to me in the future. 

I stared at the screen for a moment, my fingers resting lightly against the edge of the desk as the weight of the decision settled quietly within me. 

This time, there would be no second chance.