Chapter 3

~ ALINA ~

The words didn't hit like a slap. No, slaps are quick. This felt like drowning, like being held under murky water with no one reaching to pull me out.

I stare at Asher, my heart thudding in my chest.

“How old is he now? Six right?” I say, my voice barely audible. “He still draws me with purple hair right? And does he still sleep with the scarf I gave him?”

“Ali–”

I shake my head, interrupting him.

I know none of it mattered. Did it?

The sleepless night.

The lullabies.

The tiny hand that once gripped my finger like I'm his whole world.

After all, he's a kid. They latch on to whatever warmth they could get. This isn't any different.

And Asher?

He let it happen.

I know he'd stand by and watch our son give my name to someone else, and that name wasn't just a word. It was a piece of my soul.

“I'm leaving.” I manage to say with a shuddering breath.

I need to see him. Asher must be lying right?

“Alina.” He calls again. “You can… you can stay. I'll take care of you and you'll still be Kael's mother.” He says before hurriedly adding, “We don't have to tell anyone. It's better for Kael this way.”

My head rings and I slowly stand up. “Are you indirectly telling me to be your charity mistress?”

“No. That's not—”

I didn't wait for him to complete his words before I storm towards the door and yank it off.

Cici and the guard were there. I only spare them a glance, not bothering to wipe away my tears as I tug the gloves off, feeling the unfiltered air tingling my fingertips.

“No Luna.” Cici hurriedly says, hurrying to me.

I glance over my shoulder. “Back off.”

What's the benefit of staying in sterilised rooms with filtered air when the people I'm preserving my life for have built a life that no longer needs me in it?

I stop by the guy patrolling the corridor. He bows when his eyes land on me and I answer with a nod.

“Can you tell me where Kael will be right now?” I ask.

“The art room.” He says without missing a beat. “But since today is the festival, he'd probably be in Luna Claire's room.”

Luna Claire.

I chuckle bitterly.

“Lead me there.”

He looks torn, his eyes darting to Asher's door and back to me before he folds. Then, he's leading me deeper into the pack house, a house I used to know like the lines of my palm but not anymore.

He stops at a door and pulls the door open. He peeks inside before stepping out.

“He's not here.”

“To the next place.” I say.

He nods and takes another route. A frown settles on my face because I kind of still recognise this place.

“Isn't this the beta's quarter?”

“It is milady. Luna Claire is Beta Carter's daughter. She'd been abroad since she was young.”

I see.

Maybe I always saw. I just didn't want to believe it.

And when we turn one more corner, my steps begin to falter. The air shifts.

Each stride feels heavier than the last, like my body knows something I refuse to admit.

The guard walks a few paces ahead, but I don’t move.

He pauses when he realizes I’m not beside him anymore, turning back with a look of uncertainty.

I didn't say anything at first. My eyes were on the end of the hallway, where the door to her room must be. Where he must be.

Where Kael calls someone else mom.

I swallow hard, but the lump doesn't go down.

“Turn back,” I whisper.

He blinks. “Milady?”

“I said—” My voice breaks, and I grit my teeth. “Turn back.”

He hesitates for only a moment before nodding. We retrace our steps, and each one feels like peeling skin from bone. I don’t look back. I can’t. I’m not strong enough for this kind of grief.

Asher said he calls her mom now.

The guard said he’d definitely be there.

And I? I’ve already lost him once. I can’t lose him again—not like this.

Not with that word to my face.

The guard goes back to his spot.

Some minutes later, we reach the entrance of the Pack house, and I stop. It's almost empty now, everyone already in.

The guard and Cici come to a halt beside me, both of them quiet, watching me with eyes that don’t dare speak.

I tug my gloves back on with shaking fingers and face them.

“You don’t need to follow,” I murmur. “Stay.”

Cici frowns. “But Luna, you shouldn’t—”

“Please.” My voice is barely a sound. “Just this once… let me go alone.”

She looks like she wants to protest again, but something in my face must stop her. She presses her lips together and nods.

The chauffeur steps forward automatically, opening the car door—but I don’t get in.

“Keys,” I say instead, holding out my hand.

He looks confused for a moment before dropping them into my palm.

I stare at the fob for a beat. My mind blanks. I can’t remember which pedal is the brake. I can’t remember how to reverse or what all the little symbols on the dash mean.

But I still slide into the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered.

My foot hovers, uncertain, but I press it down anyway.

And then I drive.

Because even if I don’t remember how,

I remember why.

I need to breathe.

I need to live.

I don’t have a destination.

I drive without thinking—just pressing the pedal, just turning the wheel, just… going. Letting the road blur until the tightness in my chest spreads like a bruise.

Streetlights smear against the windshield, but I keep going. Right turn. Left. Another. It doesn't matter.

Then I see it.

A flickering neon sign—BAR—and a crooked martini glass glowing in faded red above the doorway.

I have never stepped into a place like this before but based on hearsay, it's a place for souls like me.

Lost souls.

Perfect.

I pull into the lot, my eyes scanning for a space. There’s one—tight, maybe too tight—but I don’t care. My fingers clench around the steering wheel as I try to remember how to do this. How to ease in. How to align the car.

I breathe out and trust whatever muscle memory hasn’t been swallowed by sickness and silence.

The SUV creeps forward, the side mirror dangerously close to the car beside it.

A sharp screech follows.

Metal against metal.

I wince, closing my eyes for a second. When I look, there’s a long scrape down the side of the other car.

It's sleek. Black. Shiny. The kind of car that probably has a name and its own fan page. Definitely not the kind that deserves a hit from a Pack SUV.

I blink at it, then shrug.

“They can afford another one,” I mutter and shove the door open., blinking back the tears.

My knees are weak. My body sways slightly as I slam the door behind me and head toward the entrance of the bar. No one stops me. No one cares.

Good.

The door creaks as I push it open, and warm, musky air washes over me.

It smells like whiskey, desperation, and a kind of comfort I haven't felt in years.

And tonight?

I want to forget.

Or at least remember who I was before they broke me.