I heard her door click open before I saw her. Slow, deliberate steps followed, the unmistakable roll of suitcase wheels dragging behind her like punctuation marks to a silent goodbye.
I stayed on the couch, legs stretched, arms resting wide. Casual. Or at least I pretended it was. My heart was a fist in my chest, but I wasn’t about to show her that.
Then I saw her.
Felicia.
Hair pulled back, face set like stone. She didn’t even glance my way. Just kept walking.
“Where do you think you’re going?” My voice cut through the stillness, deep and hard.
She froze, but didn’t turn. Not even a flinch.
I stood. “I asked you a question, Felicia.” My voice rose, sharp now. “Do you even understand what it means to leave this pack? What are you going to do—wander the borderlands with a suitcase and pride?”
Still nothing. Just that damn silence she always used when she wanted to punish me.
I walked toward her, eyes locked on hers like a challenge. “Fine. Be silent. But when my dad asks what happened, you better not paint me as the villain. You wanted out. You pushed for this. Tell him that.”
Her eyes dropped to the envelope—that envelope. The one that fell from her hand when she walked in and saw me with… her.
I followed her gaze. The thing was still on the floor, lying there like proof of my worst moment. Like a weight neither of us could ignore.
She bent, picked it up slowly, still refusing to look at me. Then—just like that—she turned and walked out.
No goodbye. No fight. Just… gone.
I stayed frozen, fists clenched at my sides, jaw grinding. Every instinct screamed at me to stop her. But I didn’t move. Couldn’t. Pride locked me in place like a damn chain.
Through the window, I saw her nearing the gate. The moonlight caught her hair, and for a second, she looked almost… free.
Behind me, the air shifted—warm, sweet with jasmine and heat. Danielle. Her arms wrapped around my torso, her lips ghosting my shoulder.
“Shh,” she whispered, running her fingers up my chest. “You did the right thing. She never really saw you.”
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. The taste of guilt was bitter on my tongue.
Danielle leaned in, kissed my neck, soft and slow. “Thank you for choosing me,” she murmured, voice like silk.
I swallowed hard, jaw tight. “I didn’t choose you.”
Her breath hitched. She stiffened against me.
A beat passed, and then she pulled back just enough to look at me—eyes sharp, unreadable. “Well…” Her hand slid to her stomach. “At least you chose our baby.”
Her smile curled, slow and cold, like moonlight on a blade.