Chapter 3

I turned the ticket over so he could see the destination. Southaven.

Damon frowned, his brow furrowing deeply. "Why go all the way there without telling me? What if something happens? That's not our territory—you won't have pack protection."

I shrugged, keeping my voice light. "No need. Just a normal work transfer."

He grabbed my wrist—not hard, but firm. His Alpha instincts were stirring, sensing something wrong. "Just like that? We just wrapped a project together. You're just walking away?"

I gently pried his fingers off and stepped back, creating distance I should have created years ago. "The project's almost done. Left it with my partner. I've got other things to work on."

But that small step back—like an invisible blade—cut straight into his chest. I saw it in the way his breath hitched. His wolf surfaced briefly in his amber eyes, confused and restless. His outstretched hand trembled but didn't reach for me again. As if he sensed something irrevocable shifting between us. His voice came out low and rough, stripped of its usual Alpha confidence.

"When… are you coming back?"

I shook my head. Smiled—a real smile, free and final. "I'm not."

Grief crawled across his face, raw and unguarded. He stared at me in disbelief, wanting to grab me, but I kept stepping back. One step, two, three. He looked like a puppy suddenly abandoned by its owner—wanting to come close but too afraid to try. A low whine escaped his throat, the sound so pitiful I almost felt something.

Almost.

Damon rushed out of the house, the door slamming against the frame. He came back a few minutes later with a massive bouquet of roses—dozens of them, red and perfect, tied with a white silk ribbon. The kind of gesture I'd never once received from him in all our years together, from dating to mating.

He held the bouquet out to me, his voice urgent and pleading. "I've already had everything set up on the way here. The ceremony is this weekend, Serena. Don't go. Isn't this what you always wanted? This weekend. I promise. I'll be there."

I stared at the huge bouquet. The petals were soft, dewed like they'd just been cut. I remembered back when we first got mated, carefully asking him for just one rose. Just one, to mark the occasion. He refused me then, saying roses were cliché. Later I found a line in his journal that explained everything: A rose for courtship can only be given to the one you love most.

Now here was a whole armful. For me. Because he was desperate.

I should have felt joy. Or vindication. Or at least a flicker of satisfaction.

But I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I really was done.

I took the bouquet from his hands. Walked to the old house's gate. Dropped the whole thing into the trash can, right in front of him. The thud of flowers hitting plastic echoed in the silence.

Damon's face went from hope to shock in one breath. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. No sound came out.

I thought I might feel excitement—like I'd finally gotten my revenge. Watching him hurt the way he'd hurt me for a decade. But I didn't. His feelings meant nothing to me anymore. They couldn't stir a single ripple in my heart.

"Serena—" He said my name like a prayer, but couldn't get another word out. Whatever he said next would be rejected. Whatever answer he gave would never be the right one.

"I don't need your flowers." I looked him in the eye and spoke each word clearly, deliberately. "I'm leaving. Goodbye, Damon."

It was the first time in five years I'd said his name seriously. No nickname, no softness. Just his name, like he was a stranger. I hoped it would be the last.

I pulled my suitcase toward the door. The wheels squeaked on the hardwood. The big bag took everything I owned out of this house—every trace of me. Damon looked inside. The rooms were empty. Hollow. Like a body whose soul had been ripped out. What was left for him was no different from a model home—pretty surfaces, nothing beneath.

He finally grabbed onto the one thing that didn't make sense. He pressed his hand down on my suitcase, panicked, his voice shaking. "You're really… not coming back, are you?"

For the last time, I pulled my suitcase free from his grip. Drew the line clean. No more blurry edges. No more maybes.

"We're already unmated. Why would I come back?"