Half an hour later, I returned to the small cottage that was mine at Blackwood Manor.

My communicator buzzed with a message from Damine just as I walked in.

"I'm busy right now. Whatever document you had me sign wouldn't be to my disadvantage, so I won't look at it."

I gave a small, bitter smile and tossed the communicator onto the bearskin sofa.

He wouldn't look. His mind was completely on comforting Sofia. Why would he care about a document that would set me completely free?

Just like he never truly cared that this bond mark on my neck didn't just signify the honor of being Luna—it was supposed to represent a mate's love.

The blood moon arrived, and the Alpha's mark made my unbearable. But my mate, who should have been with me, was with another woman. With each surge of blood moon energy, the mark felt like a hot iron being pressed into my flesh again, or like countless cold needles piercing along my veins toward my heart.

The familiar burning pain and icy coldness spread from my neck. I curled up on the cold floor, unconsciously clawing and tearing at the bearskin blanket.

Sweat soaked my hair, sticking to my forehead, making me feel cold.

I knew this was a normal reaction to the bond under the blood moon. An Alpha's presence could greatly ease this pain.

Usually, no matter how busy he was, Damine would stay by my side, releasing his Alpha aura that smelled of pine and snow, enveloping me and driving away the torment of our soul bond.

But this time, the small cottage was empty.

The pain came in waves, and in the brief moments between them, I clearly sensed something else through that damned, unbreakable mate bond—I could vaguely feel his state.

No concern, no anxiety. Only a fluctuation of... complex emotions born from a long-awaited reunion.

He was with Sofia. At this moment, when I needed him most and he should have been fulfilling his mate duties.

This realization pierced me more sharply than the bond mark's pain.

Every time before, when he'd abandon me for Sofia, I'd make excuses for him—pack business, he was the Alpha, he had responsibilities...

But this time, in the very real pain he had given me but was ignoring, all those excuses seemed so pale and ridiculous.

So a bond is a connection between two, but the pain is only mine to bear.

When another sharp cramp shot through my neck, I stopped the futile calling of his name in my mind, hoping he'd sense my pain and come back.

I just gritted my teeth, bore it, and waited for the wave to pass. And in its aftermath, I could clearly feel a part of me that had always burned for him slowly cooling, hardening, until it became like a stone forgotten in the depths of winter.

I no longer needed his comfort.

Or rather, I finally understood I had never truly had it.

The cold rain lasted a full day and night, finally stopping the next evening as the pain finally subsided.

Outside the window, the rain-washed forest glistened with a deep green.

I stayed in my cottage and logged into the pack's internal network platform, beginning to silently delete all the posts I'd carefully shared about life with Damine after our bonding.

Photos from joint hunting celebrations, small symbolic gifts exchanged during holidays, even a photo of the rare berries he'd picked for me on a return trip from border patrols... they had all been treasures I'd cherished.

After deleting the last post, I logged out and immediately saw Sofia's latest update.

A nine-photo grid. The background looked like a private yacht on a lake. She lay lazily on a deck chair, each angle carefully composed.

In one shot, she deliberately revealed a masculine hand with distinct bone structure resting on her waist. On the inner wrist was a unique old scar shaped like claw marks—a mark from Damine.

I knew that was Damine's hand, and I knew Sofia was doing this on purpose.

But looking at these photos now, I felt nothing. Not even a stir. I just found it a bit boring.

I turned off the communicator and went to the kitchen to fix myself a simple salad.

I had just placed my dinner on the heavy wooden table when the cottage door suddenly opened. Damine walked in, bringing a chill from outside with him.

He carried a wooden box carved from dark wood, bearing the Stormfang Pack crest.

"You don't have a sweet tooth," I said, looking at what he held. It was pack-made honey cake, usually only made by elders skilled in its craft for important celebrations.

Damine approached, his gaze landing on my salad. His brow furrowed slightly. "Today's your birthday, and this is all you're having?"

I froze.

Birthday.

In my fuzzy childhood memories, my human father had never celebrated my birthday.

When I was four or five, he and my stepmother drove me to the edge of our territory's forbidden forest and left me. All I remembered was the woman's cold words through the closing car window: "This little wolf belongs where she belongs."

A kind old Omega named Martha from the pack found and took me in. She gave me the name "Sylvia" and made me a member of Stormfang Pack. She declared the day she found me as my birthday and celebrated it every year.

Until I was fifteen, when Martha died protecting me during a conflict with rogue wolves.

After that, no one remembered my birthday.

Until these past three years as Damine's bonded mate. He always remembered.

No matter how busy pack affairs got, he would always show up with this honey cake on this day.

Last year, a patrol team had encountered a beast attack. He led the response team himself, returning with dark bloodstains on his tactical gear, yet he didn't forget to bring this wooden box.

And it wasn't just that.

Every time I had to cross the dangerous forbidden forest for Luna duties, he would always be waiting in advance on the watchtower at the territory's edge.

On stormy nights—the kind that made all wolves instinctively alert, a primal fear of nature's power—if he was by my side, he would always sense my unease. He would hold me with his arms that smelled of pine and cold snow, using his Alpha aura to drive away the terrifying thunder outside...

I had thought these small gestures of care might hold feelings beyond the bond. I thought maybe he had fallen in love with me too.

Until last month, our bonding anniversary.

According to ancient werewolf tradition, the Alpha is supposed to exchange a token woven from their own fur with their mate on this day to strengthen their bond.

I had carefully collected his rare jet-black shed fur half a month in advance and woven it into a pendant.

But Damine told me on the day of the ceremony, "The patrol found numerous silver traps left by poachers. I need to handle this personally. The ceremony will be postponed."

I waited in our cottage until the moon reached its peak, holding the black fur pendant in my hands.

Finally, Lidia sent a message asking me to bring her a jacket to "The Howl" bar at the edge of the forbidden forest. She said she'd left her cloak there.

I found Lidia's cloak in the noisy bar filled with young wolves' chatter, but I also saw a scene in a corner.

Sofia was drunk, practically draped all over Damine. Her nails were dug deep into his tactical uniform, clinging to him like he was her last lifeline.

"Damine! You can't only be good to her... I know I was wrong back then, I shouldn't have run away before the bonding ceremony... give me another chance, please?"

Damine's expression was stormy. He tried to pull her away, but his movements were restrained, careful not to hurt her.

"Sofia! I've told you, I have a bonded mate now!"

"So what if you do?" Sofia sobbed, clinging tighter and pressing her cheek to his chest. "You clearly still have feelings for me! Last time I was being chased by that crazed beast in the forest, wasn't it you who came first? You're good to Sylvia just because you're the Alpha, you're her mate, you have to fulfill your responsibilities, you need a stable bond to strengthen your power! Isn't that right?"

I saw Damine's body stiffen. His fingers trying to push her away trembled—a hesitation and doubt I'd never seen from him.

The next second, he seemed to completely give up, sighing with a sound of near-resignation. "Sofia... what do you want me to do with you?"

At that moment, the bag I was holding containing the fur pendant dropped to the floor.

The black fur spilled from the open bag, mixing with the wood chips and dust on the bar floor.

Images flashed through my mind.

Three years ago at the rushed blood moon bonding ceremony, his hot fingertips leaving the mark on my neck; the wild berries he occasionally brought back for me from hunts or patrols; the steady heartbeat I felt against his chest on stormy nights...

These moments I had treasured, replayed endlessly, suddenly lost all their luster, becoming pale and worthless.

I understood. All of Damine's "kindness" toward me was nothing more than routine for an Alpha toward his "bonded mate" while his fated mate was temporarily away.

It was a rule of Stormfang Pack, a shackle of his Alpha status, forcing him to act this way.

I looked at the honey cake in the wooden box, my heart perfectly calm, without a single ripple.

Damine lit the special candles, the faint light reflecting in his amber eyes, unusually gentle. "Sylvia," his voice was deeper than usual, "make a wish. Like you always do."

I nodded, about to do as he said, when the encrypted communicator he carried suddenly buzzed urgently.

He glanced at the screen, his expression changing instantly, even his breathing quickening—that was Sofia's exclusive emergency contact indicator.

He answered immediately, Sofia's terrified, tearful voice came through clearly in the quiet cottage: "Damine... I'm in the human town on the edge of the forbidden forest... there are pothers with silver weapons blocking my path... I'm so scared..."

Damine stood up in a rush, moving so quickly he disturbed the air.

He grabbed his heavy tactical coat from the back of a chair, not even looking at me. Just leaving the words "Sylvia, I'll be back" before he strode out the door.

The wooden door slammed shut behind him, the extinguishing gust putting out the candles on the cake. No one seemed to care.

The cottage was dark, the cold candles the only light source, now extinguished.

I sat with my hands on my knees, silent in the darkness for a long time.

Then, I just said in a soft but clear voice, as if speaking to the air and to myself, my birthday wish at twenty-four:

"New year, Sylvia. Stop loving Damine Blackwood."

Three days later, Stormfang Pack held its annual harvest celebration for the fall hunt.

The event was on an open, stone-paved area at the edge of our territory. A massive bonfire burned at the center, filling the air with the scent of roasting meat and the restless energy of young wolves.

As the Pack Luna, I had to attend.

I was surprised to see Damine when I walked in. As Alpha, he usually didn't participate in these more social gatherings aimed at younger wolves.

He was currently surrounded by a group of eager young Delta and Gamma warriors who had just come of age. He idly twirled an intricate silver dagger engraved with patterns—symbol of his status—between his fingers.

When he saw me enter, he almost immediately stopped his conversation, pushed through the crowd, and sat down in the empty seat next to me.

The surrounding noise instantly died down, making the atmosphere awkward.

I could feel the gazes on me—a mix of curiosity, contempt, and maybe a hint of jealousy I couldn't quite detect.

To these young wolves, most from ancient pack families, I, Sylvia, an "outsider" abandoned by humans and raised by an Omega, becoming Damine Blackwood's mate and Luna undoubtedly meant I had used some unknown trick.

So they all looked down on me.

I ignored their stares and sat quietly, my gaze fixed on the dancing flames of the bonfire, as if the fire could absorb all the unwanted attention.

Not long after, the former hunting leader, an experienced Gamma warrior, walked to the front of the bonfire carrying an old chest made of some beast's leather.

"Hey, you young whelps! Quiet down!" His loud voice cut through the chatter. "Besides tonight's party, there's something else—remember that activity you did five years ago, right after basic training? You wrote letters to your future selves. Well, time's up! Today, we're opening them all!"

He opened the chest, revealing it was filled with small scrolls and parcels wrapped in small pieces of leather and tied with leather cords.

"Let's play a game!" the old leader suggested excitedly. "We'll draw them randomly. Whoever draws one reads it out loud for everyone to hear! Let's see what five years ago's us, or our friends, were thinking!"

A chorus of excited howls and cheers erupted from the young wolves.

In this wild, straightforward atmosphere, the suggestion was met with immediate enthusiasm.

Michael, the most active young Delta warrior, rushed forward first and pulled a parcel from the chest.

He untied the leather cord, unfolded the slightly rough parchment inside, cleared his throat, and began to read:

"To my future Sylvia. It's the fall hunting season of pack year 78. I just finished my first official hunting training and'm sitting under the biggest oak tree at the edge of the hunting ground, writing this to you."

The entire gathering fell silent. Almost everyone's gazes snapped to me at once.

My heart clenched, as if caught by an invisible wolf's paw.

The words on the parchment instantly pulled me back to that afternoon five years ago. I was twenty, having just finished tough training, with blood scratches from jungle thorns still on my arms, tired but excited.

Then, I saw Damine in the training field not far away, patiently teaching Sofia hunting techniques.

Sunlight filtered through the trees, landing on his black hair and focused profile, as if he were glowing.

Michael's voice continued, with the coarse texture of the parchment, reading out a secret I'd buried in my heart for years: "I want to tell you, I've fallen for Damine Blackwood. But... his eyes are always on Sofia Keating. I know this feeling has no future."

I clenched my hands in my lap, my knuckles turning white.

"You might ask me, if you know there's no future, why not just give up?" Michael read, his voice taking on a strange note he might not even be aware of. "I can't give up. What I love is his unwavering courage and strength when hunting fierce beasts; it's how he doesn't care about rank or bloodline, that he never ignores the needs of lower-ranking wolves and never looks down on me; and it's his sincerity and politeness even when turning people down."

"Every morning training, I'd deliberately adjust my position, just to sneak a glance when we changed formations, even if my neck would ache.

Hearing he was injured by silver gear during a border patrol, I risked getting scolded to secretly place Moonmark Grass ointment I'd collected and made in his locker. My leather journal is filled with his name, page after page... Perhaps he'll never know there was a girl named Sylvia in Stormfang Pack who once, once, loved him like this. But that's okay..."

Michael paused here, as if moved by what followed, then continued reading: "Because loving someone should be a lonely journey... I know I love him, and that's enough."

When the last word fell, a dead silence surrounded the bonfire, only the crackle of burning wood sounding unusually loud.

Without looking up, I could feel the gazes on me become even more complex.

And beside me, Damine had gone completely rigid. The silver dagger he'd been idly twirling between his fingers clattered onto the stone table between us, making a sharp sound.

He whipped his head around to look at me, his amber eyes filled with unprecedented shock... and an emotion I couldn't quite decipher right away.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but his throat seemed to be blocked.

I saw the turmoil in his eyes, reflecting the image of that unremarkable wolf girl hiding behind the oak tree five years ago, secretly watching him. It also reflected the image of me three years ago at the blood moon ceremony, standing firm amidst the various gazes of the crowd and saying "I am willing."

In that instant, many details Damine had overlooked might have flooded his mind: the temperature of the herbal tea I brewed to soothe his ruts; this bond mark on my neck, personally seared by him with his blood still on it; the silhouette of me handling pack affairs late into the night...

It turned out that I chose to be his mate not out of the climbing the ranks that others accused me of, simply because I had silently loved him for so many years.

The heart in his chest skipped a beat. A strong impulse made him want to grab my hand right then, to question or confirm something.

However, just as he was about to speak, the emergency encrypted communicator he carried buzzed sharply and inappropriately again.

That special vibration pattern for highest priority—Sofia's alone.

Sofia's tearful, terrified voice came through, clear even without the speaker on in the quiet gathering with wolves' sharp hearing: "Damine! Help me! I'm at that abandoned watchtower on the territory edge near the human highway... there are, there are poachers with silver weapons! They've tied my wrists with ropes dipped in silver powder! It hurts... my power is being suppressed..."

Sofia's cries, like silver-tipped needles, instantly pierced the waves Damine's heart had just set off because of the letter.

The complex emotions about me in his eyes quickly faded, replaced by the familiar worry and anger he felt for Sofia.

He shot up from his stone bench, not even looking at me or picking up the fallen dagger. Like a black lightning bolt, he rushed out of the bonfire area, heading toward the edge of the territory.

The other wolves exchanged looks, then rose to follow, falling in line behind Damine. I walked silently at the very back of the group.

When we reached the abandoned wooden watchtower, the scene made my blood boil.

Three dirty human poachers, their faces greedy, were using chains that gleamed with an unnatural silver light to bind Sofia's wrists and ankles.

The burns from the silver touching her skin made her whimper in pain. Her wolf form flickered unstably but couldn't fully manifest due to the silver's suppression.

One of the poachers, short and stocky with a scar across his face, held a dagger clearly coated in wolfsbane, giving off a nauseating smell. He was making threatening gestures near Sofia's cheek.

Damine's eyes instantly turned to the vertical pupils of a predator, burning with terrifying fury in their amber color.

A low, threatening growl rumbled in his throat. Half-wolf claws shot from his fingertips, gleaming cold in the moonlight.

Without any extra movement, he charged forward like a cannonball. His fist, covered in hard keratin, carried the terrifying strength of an Alpha, crashing hard into the face of the nearest poacher.

The crack of breaking bones was sickening.

The silver that naturally harmed wolves caused faint wisps of smoke to rise from Damine's fist where it touched possible silver residue on the poacher, bringing burning pain, but he seemed completely unaware.

His anger made his strikes extremely brutal. Every punch contained enough force to break ordinary human bones. The other two poachers tried to resist with their silver weapons, but their movements were ridiculously slow against a furious Alpha wolf. Damine skillfully snatched the silver chain from one, swung it to strike the other on the neck, and soon had all three poachers writhing on the ground in pain.

Sofia cried out, pointing at the stocky poacher: "Him! He wanted to slash my face with that dagger! And... and he wanted to take my fangs!"

Those words were like lighting the final fuse.

Damine's fury completely exploded. He picked up the dagger on the ground that reeked of wolfsbane—though silver and wolfsbane were a double torture for wolves, a powerful Alpha could temporarily resist with willpower and bloodline strength. Without hesitation, he brought the hard end of the dagger down hard on the wrist of the stocky poacher holding it!

"Crack!" Accompanied by a chilling sound of breaking bones and the poacher's piercing scream, his wrist twisted at an unnatural angle, clearly broken.

Blood sprayed out, looking especially stark in the moonlight and the remaining firelight. Even the battle-hardened wolves among us couldn't help but gasp.

I stood at the very back of the crowd, looking at that mangled, nearly severed wrist, and my fingertips went ice cold. I subconsciously looked up at Damine.

But what I saw was him discarding the dagger, now stained with blood and wolfsbane. He was carefully using those hands that had just unleashed terrifying force to gently untie the silver chains digging into Sofia's flesh.

His movements were so tender, as if handling a priceless treasure.

He was saying something to her in a low voice, a gentle, almost protective tone I had never heard from him: "Don't be afraid. It's over. I'm here. No one will hurt you you anymore."

So it turned out that the so-called "responsibility" and "protection" were different.

What he gave me was the rule-bound duty of an Alpha toward his bonded mate, toward the Luna.

What he gave Sofia was instinctive protection, without hesitation, at any cost.

I lowered my eyelashes, hiding the last faint ripples in my eyes, and the self-mocking bitterness rising from within.

Then, I silently turned and walked back along the path we came, toward my small cottage deep within Blackwood Manor.

The cold night wind carried the scent of blood and wolfsbane from afar, also blowing away the last unrealistic warmth in my heart.

It wasn't until after midnight that the cottage door opened.

Damine walked in, carrying the chill of the night, a faint bloody scent, and a hint of Sofia's perfume.

He saw me sitting silently on the bearskin couch. The glowstone in the stone lamp beside me cast a faint light on my expressionless face.

As if remembering he should explain, his voice carried a trace of fatigue I couldn't quite detect... and maybe guilt?

"Sylvia, tonight... you saw it too. Those poachers used silver on Sofia. It was an emergency. As Alpha, I couldn't just stand by. She is a pack member after all, and..."

"I know," I interrupted him, my voice as calm and icy as a frozen lake, without a single ripple. "You handled it. That's good. If you're tired, go get some rest."

I stood up, not looking at him, and walked straight to the bathroom to get clean clothes. The warm water washed over my body, cutting off all sounds from outside.

Half an hour later, I walked out of the bathroom with towel-dried hair, but saw Damine standing at the stone table, holding a scroll.

It was my migration application to a neutral southern wolf sanctuary, submitted with Lidia's help.

According to ancient pack rules, once a bond is officially dissolved, the passive party usually needs to leave the original pack's territory to avoid unnecessary conflict and awkwardness.

"Sylvia," Damine looked up at me, his voice trembling with an intensity he was trying to suppress but was still leaking through, "what is this? You're applying to the 'Southern Sanctuary'? Why... why didn't you ever tell me?"

I paused for a moment, then my expression smoothed over. I calmly reached out and took the file from Damine.

"It's nothing. Just a confirmation receipt from the Southern Sanctuary for their anti-silver toxin remedies. They must have mixed up the documents." My voice sounded perfectly normal.

A flicker of doubt appeared in Damine's amber eyes. He knew I never lied.

But at that moment, I lowered my eyelashes slightly, avoiding his direct gaze. This small movement felt off to him.

In the end, he pushed down his urge to question further, just raising his hand in a habitual gesture to ruffle my hair.

"Alright. I'm heading to the council chamber then. The patrol needs to inventory the new weapons confiscated tonight."

"Wait." I stopped him. I turned to the small wooden chest in the corner that held various herbs and ointments, rummaging through it until I found a ceramic jar engraved with the Stormfang Pack wolf crest.

It was a special ointment made by the pack's top healer, specifically for treating wounds caused by silver.

I walked behind him and gently tapped my finger on a spot on his tactical vest near his shoulder blade. "Yesterday when you were dealing with those poachers, some shattered silver fragments must have gotten caught in your clothes. Let me help you clean it out."

Damine's body tensed slightly. He reached back to touch his own back.

Last night, when he'd grabbed the silver dagger from the stocky poacher, he had indeed felt small fragments splatter against his back, leaving a faint stinging sensation.

But he was an Alpha, with powerful healing abilities.

He hadn't thought anything of it, assuming any wound had already healed. He never expected me to notice

I was always like that, paying attention to details he overlooked: knowing that while he wasn't afraid of thunder, the chaotic energy during thunderstorms made him instinctively irritable, so I'd hang thick pelts on the cottage windows to block the sound; knowing that after long hunts or patrols in wolf form, he liked a sip of warm honey wine brewed from the territory's special Blueflame berries, so I'd always have a small pot warming by the hearth before he returned.

He silently peeled off his black tactical vest and sat down on the bearskin-covered sofa as I'd instructed.

His back was to me. On his tanned skin, a shallow but distinctly unnatural grayish-white wound was visible—a lingering trace of the silver toxin.

I opened the ointment jar, dipping a clean brush in it to scoop up some of the dark green ointment that had a bitter scent. Carefully, I began applying it to his wound.

My movements were gentle and focused, trying to avoid causing him any additional pain.

Damine felt the cool touch on his back and the slight stinging from the ointment, but his mind uncontrollably drifted back to the parchment letter Michael had read at the bonfire.

The Wolf Mint he'd occasionally found in his training bag after morning workouts, easing his muscle aches; the excellent healing ointment that had appeared in his locker whenever he was injured... it had all been me.

It had always been me.

"Sylvia," he couldn't help but speak again, his voice deeper and huskier than usual, "about what was in that letter today..."

"The ointment needs to be spread evenly for the medicinal properties to penetrate, otherwise the silver toxin won't be completely cleared and might leave a scar."

My voice cut him off. My hand movements remained steady as I used the brush to carefully spread the ointment along the edges of the wound. "Next time you encounter enemies with silver weapons, try to avoid direct frontal impacts.

The healer said last time that the silver toxins building up in your system need time to metabolize... there won't always be someone around to help you deal with these things."

The last few words were so soft they were barely more than a whisper. Damine didn't seem to hear them, or perhaps his focus was still on the letter. He instinctively lifted his head to ask, "What did you just say?"

I shook my head, not repeating it. I simply sealed the ointment jar and put it back in the chest, then turned toward the bedroom. "Don't let the wound get wet. I'm tired. I'm going to rest."

The cottage was very quiet late at night, only the sound of wind rustling through the pine trees outside. I lay on the soft-pelted bed, my back to the room.

After a while, I heard Damine's footsteps as he came out of the bathroom.

He walked to the bedside, hesitated, and then, as he had on many nights over the past three years, habitually reached out to wrap his arms around my waist—a common gesture between bonded mates for comfort and connection, usually helping both sleep better.

However, the moment his arm brushed my side, I lightly but clearly shifted toward the center of the bed, avoiding his touch.

"I'm not feeling well tonight," my voice came from the darkness, calm and without emotion, "the effects of the blood moon probably haven't worn off yet. I want to rest alone."

Damine's arm froze mid-air. His fingertips still tingled with the cool feel of my sleepwear fabric. He was silent for a few seconds, then said nothing. He just reached out to straighten the blanket covering me.

"Alright. If you feel worse, call me anytime." His voice was low as he finished, then he turned and lay down on the other side of the bed.

The next morning, a thin mist still lingered in the forbidden forest when a commotion broke out outside the main house.

I was combing my hair when I heard the noise. Just as I was about to go out, I saw Sofia standing at the entrance with a few young wolves who were clearly not from Stormfang Pack.

In her arms, she held a large bundle of plants with strangely white-shining leaves, and a small gift wrapped in fine leather.

"Damine!" Sofia's voice was cheerful, ignoring the slight frown on Damine's face as he leaned against the doorframe. "Thank you so much for yesterday! I specially collected some Moonlight Grass from Moonbeam Valley for you. It's amazing for clearing silver toxins! And this, I brought back from outside—supposedly an essence that can enhance a werewolf's constitution. It's for you!"

Damine's gaze swept over the curious outsiders behind her, and his expression didn't improve.

According to pack rules, outsiders cannot enter another pack's core territory without invitation.

But when he saw the hopeful, almost pleading look in Sofia's eyes, the tight line of his jaw softened somewhat.

"Come on in." He stepped aside, his tone regaining its usual steadiness but with an undertone of indulgence, "Don't make a scene at the entrance."

Sofia beamed, like a child who's been given permission.

She turned and very naturally shoved the expensive bundle of Moonlight Grass into my hands. Her tone was commanding, as if it were absolute. "Here, this is Damine's favorite Moonlight Grass. Its scent is calming. Go hang it in the hunting trophy room, on that oak shelf with the best ventilation. Remember to let it get sunlight every day, don't let moisture ruin its effect."

"Sofia." Damine's voice turned cold in an instant. "I prefer the scent of pine and snow, not Moonlight Grass. And Sylvia is my bonded mate, the Luna of Stormfang Pack. Watch your tone. She isn't some servant you can order around."

I looked down at the bundle of Moonlight Grass in my hands. The cool leaves felt against my skin, carrying a faint, cloyingly sweet fragrance.

It wasn't until this moment that I finally understood why there was a perfectly positioned yet perpetually empty oak shelf in the hunting trophy room.

Last year, when I was helping him organize newly acquired trophies, I had casually asked about the shelf's purpose. He hadn't looked up from what he was doing as he answered, "The elders said to keep it empty. Maybe for ritual incense someday."

So that spot had always been waiting for Sofia to return, to hold these flashy Moonlight Grasses she liked.

I didn't say anything. My expression remained neutral. I simply handed the bundle to an Omega attendant standing nearby. "Hang this in the empty oak shelf on the east side of the trophy room. Follow the preservation guidelines for valuable herbs—turn it daily to ensure it gets enough sun."

My voice wasn't loud, but it was clear.

Sofia watched my back, a triumphant, challenging glint in her eyes. Then she quickly followed Damine into the trophy room.

I carried a cup of hot tea, freshly brewed with Blueflame berries, and walked to the small balcony connected to the trophy room.

The stone door to the balcony was slightly ajar. Their conversation drifted out clearly.

"Damine! Look! Isn't this my baby fang that I lost after my first successful hunt as a kid? You actually kept it in this crystal box! You've had it all this time?"

"And this! This lopsided wolf wood carving! I just made it and threw it away at the tribal market back then, and you actually picked it up?"

"Wow! This black bear fur rug! It's from the bear we hunted together on our first winter hunt, right? You actually made it into a rug and kept it here..."

Sofia's voice, filled with delight and a hint of coquettishness, was like tiny silver needles, pricking persistently at my ears.

I remembered when I had first moved into the main house, I had also asked Damine about these seemingly ordinary items in the trophy room that he had carefully preserved. He had been polishing the crystal box holding the wolf fang at the time, paused his movements, and replied flatly, "Just some old junk from when we were kids. Thought it had some sentimental value, so I kept it."

I had actually believed him back then.

I had even thought privately that despite being Alpha, he had a sentimental and delicate side.

Only now, hearing Sofia list the origin of each item as if she knew them by heart, did I finally understand completely.

Those items he had so carefully preserved, locked in crystal boxes, laid out on soft furs—they were all memories that belonged to Sofia.

All those complex emotions in his eyes that I had never been able to decipher—deep-seated attachment, the bitterness of being abandoned, an unbreakable nostalgia—they had always been about Sofia, and only Sofia. Not a single fragment of them had ever been for me, Sylvia.