Her head tilted subtly, eyes sharp and calculating as she examined my expression like she was solving a complicated riddle.

"I’ve been dying to say this since our first meeting—don’t you think we look uncannily similar, little sister?" she remarked, her voice laced with biting sarcasm.

Her words sent a jolt through my chest. My breath caught, and an involuntary glance at the mirror confirmed what I had always ignored. The resemblance between us was startling—identical hair color, matching eyes, and even the shape of her jawline mirrored mine.

A flood of humiliation and rage surged through me. It had always stung knowing I was just a stand-in for someone else in Isaac’s eyes. But now, recognizing I’d been deliberately molded to resemble her, his true desire, shattered something much more profound within me.

Under the satisfaction gleaming in her eyes, my fragile composure began to crumble. My wolf stirred restlessly, sensing the chaos in my emotions. Unable to stay in the same space with her any longer, I turned on my heel and rushed out.

Back in the private dining room, the genuine warmth of my colleagues gradually softened the frost that had taken over my veins. Their laughter, supportive words, and cheerful presence helped dull the sting left by Candice’s venomous remark. I almost managed to set the encounter aside—until the door burst open with a jarring bang.

Isaac stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping across the room until it landed squarely on me. For a heartbeat, he remained frozen, face twisted in a mix of smoldering anger and restraint. He clenched his fists tightly before barking my name with venom, motioning for me to follow him into the hallway.

Startled, I followed him into the dim corridor, only to be met with a stinging slap that landed sharply across my cheek.

It was the first time he had ever struck me.

Shock rendered me motionless. I stared at him, eyes wide, heart throbbing with pain. There was no remorse in his expression—just fury.

"Why did you shove Candice?" he hissed. "You knew she had a sprained ankle! I told you I’d explain everything once we got back, but you couldn’t wait, could you?"

His accusations cut deeper than the slap.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Candice approaching with an exaggerated limp. Her blouse was wrinkled, a faint stain on her shoulder, her steps slow and deliberate. As I opened my mouth to protest, she let out a theatrical gasp and tumbled forward.

Isaac rushed past me without hesitation, gathering her into his arms with gentle concern. His voice was tender, his touch soft—so unlike the cold blow he had just delivered to me.

"I told you I’d bring her over to say sorry," he murmured, brushing her hair back. "Why did you leave the room?"

Candice shook her head, her eyes glistening with tears. "It’s really not important. She didn’t mean it. Please don’t be angry with her," she said, voice trembling with faux kindness.

She cast a glance in my direction, then softened her tone further. "If her brother hears about this, it could strain the alliance between you two."

At the mention of my brother Ash, something flickered in Isaac’s face. But it vanished as quickly as it came.

"Her brother trusted me with her," he said stiffly. "Which makes it my duty to correct her when she crosses the line."

A dry, bitter laugh slipped from my lips before I could suppress it. "Correct me? And what exactly have I done that needs correcting? Even in a formal trial, there’s a need for proof before judgment is passed. But you? You hit me without hesitation, without evidence. Is this the leadership your pack looks up to?"

His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. "There are no surveillance cameras in the restroom, Wendy. You knew that. You thought you could act without being caught."

I stared at him, stunned at the absurdity of his certainty. "No cameras?" I echoed, disbelief thick in my voice. "Then how can you be sure it was me?"

"Why would Candice lie?" he snapped, frustration boiling over. "She’s not someone who lies about things like this."

"But I am?" My voice quivered, cracked with the weight of betrayal.

Seven years. Seven long years I stood by him through every hardship, every victory. And in a single moment, Candice’s words obliterated everything we’d built.

"I see," I whispered, the ache settling deep in my chest. "Believe what you want."

I turned to leave, unable to tolerate another second in his presence.

"Wendy, don’t walk away!" he barked, his command echoing in the hallway. But I didn’t stop. The sting on my face throbbed, a harsh reminder of where I stood in his life.

Returning to the dining room felt impossible. I didn’t want to darken the joyful mood of my colleagues who had done nothing but support me. Instead, I headed to the front counter, requested the bill, and left a message for the group:

"Had to leave due to an emergency. Enjoy the food and drinks—it’s all on me."

And with that, I stepped out into the night, burdened by the crushing weight of everything I had just lost.

Dragging my weary frame back to the house I had shared with Isaac for the past seven years, I came to a stop at the threshold and took a long, quiet look at the structure that had once felt like my haven.

Back then, I was so certain this was where I would grow old, side by side with him. That belief now felt absurd—like the cruelest form of self-deception.

Every inch of the house was steeped in memories: laughter echoing in the halls, whispered conversations late at night, mundane moments that once seemed magical. Yet now, each memory felt like a wound reopening, sharp and relentless.

The truth that burned in my chest was undeniable—this place had never truly been mine. Isaac had created it for someone else, sculpted it with the image of a woman I had tried so hard to become. I had twisted myself to fit that vision, and still, it hadn’t been enough. I had always been a poor substitute.

Living here any longer would only inflict more pain.

I had already agreed to a political bond marriage with a neighboring pack. Leaving was inevitable. But until now, I’d held on, clinging to the faint hope that Isaac might give me a reason to stay—some word, some gesture that would convince me not to go.

Instead, he walked away and left me floundering.

That night, I retrieved a large cardboard box and began the excruciating task of removing every piece of our shared life.

I placed into it the matching slippers, the ones embroidered with a wolf howling at the moon—symbols of our supposed connection. I packed the coffee mugs that formed a perfect circle when placed together, and the special keychains that vibrated when brought close. Isaac had once claimed those trinkets were tokens of his enduring affection, little reminders that our bond held strong, even across distances.

At the time, they had made me feel cherished. Now, they only served as haunting remnants of empty promises.

Then came the photographs—snapshots capturing birthdays, holidays, and lazy weekends. Our smiles had looked genuine, our embraces natural. Anyone would’ve believed we were soulmates. I had once believed it myself.

Now, those smiles mocked me. The happiness in those frames felt staged, hollow. I couldn’t stand to look at them anymore. They were monuments to my naivety.

In truth, Isaac hadn’t come home in more than two weeks.

To cope, I threw myself into my work. Designing ceremonial gowns for the upcoming pack event gave me purpose and distraction during daylight hours. But when evening fell, I resumed sorting through what remained of our life, silently grieving as I filled box after box, often crying until my emotions dulled into numbness.

Eventually, I stripped the home of every trace of warmth. I swapped out the furnishings I’d once selected with such care for sterile, modern replacements—monochrome, clean lines, cold. The house now looked like it did the first day I stepped inside, before it had become mine. Or rather, before I fooled myself into believing it was.

The night before I was set to leave, I hovered over my phone, tempted to call Isaac just once more. I didn’t know if I was seeking closure or simply desperate for him to ask me to stay.

I dialed.

Each time, he declined.

Then finally, a message arrived: Unless you admit your mistake and apologize to Candice, there’s nothing more to talk about.

I stared at the words for a long moment. A bitter smile curved my lips. Even now, after all that had transpired, he still pinned the blame solely on me. He hadn’t once asked for my explanation, never gave me the chance to defend myself. Seven years, and it all amounted to nothing in his eyes.

If that’s where we stood, then there was truly nothing left to say.

At dawn, I zipped up my suitcase and walked out of the house that had once symbolized our shared dreams. Surprisingly, as I closed the door behind me, I felt a calm wash over me. Not sadness, not regret—just a quiet, steady sense of peace.