Sherry's POV

The linen closet was dark, smelling faintly of 

 dust. I clung to Mia, still shaking, the sobs having burned away to a dull emptiness. My tears had soaked the shoulder of her blouse.

Mia held me steady. She didn't offer any empty platitudes about it being for the best, or that I'd find someone else. She just ran a gentle, repetitive hand over my hair, letting me be small for a few minutes.

When the silence finally stretched long enough, I pulled back, wiping the grime and tears from my face with the back of my hand. I winced, seeing the wet spot on Mia's shoulder.

"I am so sorry about your blouse," I whispered, the words scraping my raw throat.

Mia just tightened her hold on my hand. "Hush. It doesn't matter. What is it you were whispering?"

My voice was husky“It’s the bond, Mia,” I whispered, pressing a shaking fist against my sternum. “It burns. It’s like being hollowed out. And the rejection… he didn’t just say no. He hated me.”

Mia’s face tightened with uncharacteristic anger. “He is a coward, Sherry. A vile, selfish coward. He saw the bond, he felt the truth, and he panicked because you didn’t fit his perfect image of the Beta’s mate. He chose politics over the Goddess’s decree. He chose cruelty.”

“But he was right,” I said, the admission tasting like ash. “I am weak. I hide. I’m not what that position needs.”

Mia reached up and grabbed my jaw gently, forcing me to look at her. Her eyes, usually calm, were blazing.

“Stop that. Stop agreeing with him. You think Eric Thorne, the man who just publicly shamed his Alpha’s sister, is the measure of a worthy woman? He’s defined by arrogance. You are defined by your strength, your decency. He has no idea what he lost.”

She lowered her voice, her expression intense and serious.

“Listen to me, Sherry. The bond pain is real. It will be with you for a while. A life without a mate is painful, yes, but a life defined by his rejection is worse. That rejection cannot be your final chapter. You have to fight, not for him, but for you.”

Her words hit me harder than Eric’s had. A life defined by his rejection. The thought was repulsive. It meant I would spend the rest of my days as the "Alpha's weak, rejected sister."

I straightened my spine, feeling a slow, icy heat begin to rise in my core. It wasn't the heat of the bond; it was the start of anger. Pure, focused, personal anger.

“I won’t fight for him,” I said, the words clear despite the raw rasp in my throat. “I swear I will never look at him again. I will never beg him to come back. I will never be defined by the man who called me average.”

The humiliation—the one he had calculated so carefully didn’t fade. Instead, I channeled it. It became a burning, protective shield. I wouldn't let his cruelty be the end of me. He had used my flaws to hurt me. Fine. Now those flaws would be the first things I destroyed.

I needed to change. Not to become the woman Eric wanted, but to become the woman who could look Eric Thorne in the eye and make him feel a fraction of the regret I felt now. I didn't want the pack house. I didn't want the expectations of the Luna position. I wanted out.

“I’m leaving, Mia,” I stated, the decision fully formed and absolute. “I can’t stay here. I need to be somewhere he isn't. Somewhere I’m just… Sherry. I’ll go to college. A city. A place where my lineage means nothing and I have to learn how to stand on my own.”

Mia smiled then, a small, genuine relief in her eyes. “I think that’s the bravest thing you’ve ever said.”

Later that night, long after the last of the confused guests had gone, the house was silent and cold. I found my father, Albert, in his study. The Alpha looked tired and pained. Viktor had clearly just been in here, probably raging about Eric’s insubordination.

I stood across the desk from him. He looked at my face—the redness around my eyes, the set of my jaw and he didn't need a word. He knew.

“He shouldn’t have done that to you, honey,” my father said, his voice deep with paternal sorrow. “He has lost my respect. And he’ll face Viktor’s wrath. I can’t protect him from that.”

“I don’t care about Eric or Viktor’s anger,” I replied, my voice steady now. “I care about leaving. I need to go, Father. I can’t be the pack’s pity project. I need to get away from the pack. I need to prove he was wrong. Not to him, but to me.”

My father studied my face. He must have seen the lingering agony, but he also saw the unyielding fire in my eyes—the anger driving a new, desperate strength. He saw his quiet daughter finally fighting for herself.

He sighed, the sound heavy. “You want to go to the city. To college?”

“Yes. A place far away. I need a fresh start. Please.”

He came around the desk and pulled me into a tight, secure hug.

His scent of parchment was deeply comforting.

“I will arrange it,” he whispered into my hair. “Tomorrow. We’ll tell your mother you need ‘time to recover.’ You can enroll in the university in the capital city. You go, Sherry. Find yourself. Don’t worry about anything here.”

I nodded, gripping his hand. I didn't need to fight to win him over; the decision was already made, and he simply cleared the path. I would not allow myself to be the tragic figure Eric had painted me as.

I was packed and ready within two hours. My mother, Camilla, only offered a brief goodbye, clearly relieved I was no longer a symbol of her failure. I said a quiet goodbye to Mia, promising to write. I left before dawn, before anyone at pack saw me.

I climbed into the back of the car my father had arranged. The engine started, a low rumble, and we pulled away from the pack house. I was leaving the pack for the first time in my life. I didn't look back.

The last thought in my mind as the car pulled onto the open highway, heading for a distant, unknown city, was a vow: Eric Thorne called me weak. I will spend the rest of my life proving that he was the only thing weak about me.