Chapter 5

Unknown to Clover, Peter watches from behind a massive oak tree, his heart twisting at the sight of her vulnerability. He had followed her at a distance, drawn by an impulse he couldn't explain. Now, seeing her alone at her mother's memorial, the magnitude of what his stepfather is asking of him crashes down with suffocation. “Oh, mother, I wish you could see me now, but the pack doesn’t want me. No one truly wants me, mother. Maybe I should do what I have thought about sometimes, I’ve had offers from other packs, and with the bets from pack members of me being exiled tonight, it might…might be for the best of the pack.”

A soft breeze stirs the trees around the clearing, carrying Clover's whispered confession to ears she doesn't know are listening. The words hang in the air, heavy with resignation and a lifetime of rejection.

Peter's chest tightens at her words. The thought of Clover leaving the pack, leaving him, creates a hollowness inside him that he isn't prepared for. His wolf whines softly in distress, pushing against his consciousness with unexpected force.

"Exile?" he mouths silently, his brow furrowing in confusion. He knows nothing of any bets, and the idea that pack members would wager on something so cruel makes his blood boil. Despite years of tormenting her himself, Peter feels a surge of protectiveness that surprises him with its intensity.

Meanwhile, back at the pack house, Milton paces his room like a caged animal. His wolf refuses to settle, images of Clover's hurt expression replaying in his mind with torturous clarity.

"What is wrong with me?" he mutters, raking his hands through his hair. "She's just the Beta's daughter. Nothing more."

-Liar,- his wolf challenges. -She is everything.-

The thought sends a jolt of panic through Milton. He's spent years convincing himself that his antipathy toward Clover was justified, that her position as future Beta was an affront to pack tradition rather than an opportunity for strength. Now, with her ceremony mere hours away, his carefully constructed narrative is crumbling around him.

In the clearing, Clover places her palm flat against her mother's memorial stone, drawing strength from the cool granite.

"I don't know what to do anymore," she confesses quietly. "I've tried so hard to be what they need, but maybe I'm just not meant for this."

She doesn't cry; she learned long ago that tears solve nothing, but the weight of isolation presses down on her shoulders like a physical burden. Her fingers trace the symbol for courage on her mother's stone, wondering if she has enough left to face what's coming.

Peter shifts his weight, accidentally snapping a twig beneath his boot. The sound, though small, echoes in the quiet clearing.

Clover whirls around, her body instantly tensing. "Who's there?" she demands, rising to her feet with fluid grace. "Show yourself!"

Peter hesitates, knowing he should retreat but finding himself unable to move. His wolf pushes him forward, and before he can think better of it, he steps out from behind the ancient oak.

"Just me," he says, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.

Clover's eyes narrow, suspicion and wariness replacing the vulnerability of moments before. "What are you doing here? Come to practice your insults before the ceremony?"

The bitterness in her voice cuts deeper than Peter expects, a painful reminder of years spent pushing her away to hide feelings he couldn't acknowledge.

"No," he says simply. "I just..." He trails off.

“Yeah, right, I’ve already heard the same bullshit from your best friend. Why won’t you both just fuck off? Or you’ve come to laugh at my mother’s grave, that you finally get what you’ve always wanted, the Beta post, congrats. NOW FUCK OFF YOU’RE NOT WANTED HERE.”

Peter staggers back, her words striking him like physical blows. For a moment, his face reveals genuine hurt before his familiar mask of arrogance slides back into place.

"I didn't come to laugh," he says, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "I came to..." He pauses, struggling with words that feel foreign on his tongue. "To pay my respects."

Clover's bitter laugh cuts through the clearing. "Since when do you respect anything about my family? About me? What did you do the last time you came to her resting place after our parents mating? And don’t bullshit to me, you were a child and didn’t know better."

Peter's face pales at the accusation, the memory of that day flashing through his mind with crystal clarity. He had been fourteen, angry and lost after his mother's remarriage, and had found Clover kneeling at this very spot. In his juvenile rage, he had kicked over her carefully arranged offerings, scattering them across the clearing while calling her mother names no child should know.

"I was wrong," he admits, the words feeling like glass in his throat. "What I did was unforgivable. I know that."

“Yeah, right then you would have never come near me at her resting place or near me ever again. NOW I WILL TELL YOU ONCE MORE FUCK OFF.”

Peter stands frozen, the force of her rage washing over him like a physical wave. His wolf whines in distress, urging him to stay, to make her understand, but the human part of him recognises the boundary she's drawn. For once in his life, he decides to respect it.

"I'll go," he says quietly. "But Clover..." he hesitates, struggling with words that have been locked inside him for years, "...I heard what you said. About leaving the pack. Don't."

“I’ll do as I see fit, Peter. Mark my words.”

Peter's jaw clenches as he stares at her, a storm of emotions battling within him. His wolf paces anxiously inside his mind, sensing the gravity of this moment. After years of cruelty masking his feelings, he's finally facing the consequences of his actions.

"You don't understand what's happening," he says, taking a half-step forward before stopping himself. "Your father..."

"I don't care what my father wants," Clover interrupts, her amber eyes flashing with defiance. "I'm done being a pawn in everyone's games."