Chapter 3

It was 2 AM. The living room was dead silent.

I was on the sofa, my eyelids heavy with exhaustion. I let them close.

Dreams washed over me like a tide.

I was seven, on the back hill. A rogue wolf lunged for me. Rowan threw herself in front of me, her small shoulders trembling, but she wouldn’t move.

I was eighteen, at the graduation ball. Her cheeks were flushed as she held my hand and swore, “Caleb, you’ll always be my number one.”

I was twenty-seven, on the night of her ascension. I forced down my own boiling Alpha blood. I endured the soul-tearing feral agony, just to watch her be crowned under the moonlight.

The vibration of my phone jolted me awake. The screen’s bright white light cut through the dark.

A message from Rowan.

[Banquet ran late. Finn had a bit to drink, he’s not feeling well. I’m taking him home. Not coming back tonight.]

The few short lines were like a dull, rusty knife, slowly sawing through my last shred of hope.

I stared at the text box.

Right above her message was the one I’d typed three hours ago: [Did you get the venison?]

I held down the backspace key. Erased it, letter by letter.

Then, I replied: [Okay.]

I dropped the phone and buried my face in my arms.

In the dark, hot tears slipped out, silently soaking my sleeve.

I’d cried too much these last three months.

This would be the last time.

The next morning, the smell of cooking from the kitchen woke me.

I walked into the dining room and froze.

In the center of the table was a beautifully packaged, insulated food container. It had the logo of that century-old roast house from the east side.

Rowan was in the kitchen, dressed in loungewear. She was humming, and she turned to give me a smile. It was the kind of smile she only ever gave me—relaxed, unguarded, full of affection.

“You’re awake?” Her tone was so natural, so intimate. Like last night’s betrayal had never happened.

I was dazed.

Looking at the container, my dead heart gave a pathetic little flutter.

She bought it. She actually remembered what I said.

I walked to the table and reached for the latch on the container.

The next second, Rowan rushed out and slapped my hand away. Hard.

A red mark instantly appeared on the back of my hand.

The stinging pain shot up my arm, shattering my fantasy.

“What are you doing?” Rowan frowned, clutching the container to her chest like she was protecting a child.

“Isn’t that my venison?” I asked, my voice dry, my throbbing hand hanging at my side.

“Don’t touch it,” she said, her voice sharp with accusation. “Finn mentioned last night he wanted to try this. I waited in line for half an hour this morning to get it.”

The air froze.

It was for Finn.

The roast I’d waited up all night for on our anniversary… was something she’d picked up to please another Omega.

“Breakfast is in the pot,” Rowan said dismissively. “I was up with Finn, I barely slept. Grab a suppressant from the fridge.”

I didn't say anything.

Like a soulless doll, I pulled open the refrigerator.

A blast of cold air hit me.

Right at eye level was a bottle of dark blue, chilled medicine.

I took it out.

I checked the label. There it was, in tiny print: Contains Wolfsbane extract.

Wolfsbane. Harmless in small doses to most wolves, but for one suppressing their Alpha blood, it was a guaranteed trip to hell. Agonizing pain, systemic chaos, madness. It was poison to me.

My fingers started to tremble. The color drained from my face.

When I was eighteen, Rowan had accidentally given me water from a stream contaminated with Wolfsbane.

It was a three-day nightmare. My veins bulged. The feral agony felt like my bones were being ground to dust. I nearly died.

Back then, Rowan had knelt by my hospital bed, her eyes swollen shut from crying.

She grabbed my hand and swore an oath to the Moon Goddess: from that day on, she would check the ingredients on everything she ever bought for me. She would never let me touch a single drop of Wolfsbane again.

Now, because she was busy queuing up for her Omega’s venison, she had casually tossed a bottle of my own personal poison into our fridge.

She forgot everything.

I took the drink and walked back to the table.

Clack.

I slammed the bottle down on the marble tabletop.

Rowan jumped. She looked up, annoyed. “Caleb, what is your problem now?”

“Read the ingredients,” I said, looking down at her.

She picked up the bottle, suspicious.

When her eyes scanned over the word “Wolfsbane,” she froze.

But there was no panic. No guilt. Not even a simple “sorry.”

She just pushed the bottle aside and rubbed her temples, annoyed.

"Stop looking so tragic," she scoffed. "I run a pack. I had to queue for that meat. You think I have time to read labels?"

She tilted her head back, looking up at me, her voice light and dismissive.

“I forgot. Just don't drink it.”

I forgot.

Two words. Erasing the agony of nearly dying at eighteen. Erasing twenty years of history.

I looked at this Alpha Female. So familiar, yet a complete stranger.

For three months, I had been tortured, caught between the memory of what we were and the reality of what she had become.

Now, this bottle of poison had finally shattered the last piece of my heart that still cared.

The room was deathly quiet.

I just watched her. The love that had burned in my eyes for twenty years finally went out.

“I know,” I replied, my voice perfectly calm.