“Since the pack’s administrative hall is unusually quiet today,” Kaelen said offhandedly, as if the thought had just occurred to him, “why don’t I take you out and choose another ring? Something more imposing. Call it a reward—for holding everything together these past few days.”

Liora’s brows knit reflexively. A polite refusal had already reached the edge of her tongue when the sharp buzz of his phone cut cleanly through the air. Kaelen glanced down, and the shift in him was immediate—subtle, but unmistakable to someone who had lived beside the same wolf for years.

He rose at once, already halfway to the door. Then, as if a lingering instinct tugged at him from behind, he hesitated and turned back. Lowering himself, he brushed a kiss against her forehead. It was light, careful—almost restrained, as though he were afraid of pressing too hard.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Pack affairs have been relentless. I know I’ve neglected you.” His voice softened, slipping into something gentler. “Once things stabilize, I swear I’ll make it up to you. I’ll give you everything. I’ll make you happier than anyone else in this territory.”

In nearly ten years of sharing a den, of being bound by promise and proximity, Kaelen had never spoken to Liora in that tone.

He had always believed affection was something most women required in abundance—soft words, repeated reassurances, constant attention. Liora had never seemed to need any of that. She was steady. Rational. A she-wolf who learned early how to stand without leaning on anyone.

That kind of indulgence had always been reserved for Marcella—the one who fed on affection, who could unravel into tears over the slightest neglect and demand to be soothed.

Now, however, guilt had sunk its teeth into him. The persistent discomfort of knowing he had failed Liora drove this sudden display of tenderness, an awkward attempt to soothe the unrest clawing at his conscience.

Liora offered nothing in return. No smile. No frown. Her face was placid, unreadable—like the surface of a moonlit lake hiding unseen depths beneath.

Once Kaelen left, Liora rose and walked toward the bathroom. Her steps were measured, unhurried. She turned on the tap and washed her face slowly, deliberately, as if rinsing away not just the faint warmth of his touch, but the illusion behind it.

Affection offered too late meant nothing. Nor did gestures born from regret rather than love. She wanted none of it.

The days slipped past in quiet succession until the eve of the mating ceremony arrived. Only two fragile pages clung to the lunar calendar now, edges curling. The wish written across today’s square read: Have a family dinner together.

For more than twenty years, Liora had carried that hope in silence. But she had always known it was nothing more than fantasy. Her mother would never forgive her father—and Liora, in turn, would never truly forgive Kaelen.

She didn’t linger on it.

Light makeup. Her favorite white dress. One steady breath. Then she stepped out alone.

She watched a movie by herself. Ordered a paired meal meant for lovers and ate it in silence. She boarded the Ferris wheel without company, sitting still as it carried her upward.

At the highest point, the sun was sinking. Amber light spilled across the city she had grown up in, bathing familiar pack lands in gold. A breeze brushed her cheeks. Liora lifted her arms slightly, feeling as though her memories were loosening, scattering into the open sky.

When night settled fully, she bought herself an ice cream and left the amusement grounds. Sitting on a nearby bench, she savored the cold sweetness while gazing upward.

The stars had always been her refuge. On the nights she’d been driven from home, it was a younger Kaelen who had once lain beside her in the grass, fingers entwined with hers as they traced constellations across the dark.

But that past no longer mattered.

People changed. Wolves strayed. The stars, however, remained—constant and indifferent. No matter where she went, the same lights would shine above her, unwavering and eternal.

She finished the ice cream, stood, and began the walk home. Overhead, the stars shimmered faintly as her phone vibrated.

A message from Marcella.

[Dad made sweet-and-sour fish tonight. It’s amazing. You’ve probably never tasted it, have you?]

Liora opened the attached video. Laughter filled the screen. Red ceremonial decorations adorned the room. Kaelen and Marcella sat at the center of the table, surrounded by family, smiling as they discussed the upcoming mating ceremony.

Marcella’s quiet, deliberate cruelty didn’t anger Liora. She had endured far worse in her life.

Instead, she found it faintly absurd.

The ceremony everyone was so busy preparing for—

Whose was it, really?

Liora didn’t see any reason to waste words on Marcella. Calm and deliberate, she deleted the message, blocked her number, and opened her chat with Kaelen. The last conversation they’d shared had been over a week ago, and the silence since then weighed heavily.

As she scrolled through the thread, a familiar ache settled into her chest. Message after message stretched across the screen, each one carrying her thoughts, her heart laid bare. She had told him everything—from lofty dreams of leading her own pack lands someday, to trivial musings about her meals, even the way the wind smelled on a crisp morning. Every word a thread connecting them.

Kaelen’s replies were sparse, scattered like distant echoes in a den long abandoned. When he did answer, it was always about Marcella—her moods, her whims, her every fleeting desire. Liora felt the familiar thrum of betrayal press against her ribs, sharp and insistent.

For the first time in years, she didn’t want to reply. If her words would vanish into silence, what was the point of speaking at all?

She tucked her phone into her pocket, ready to leave it at that, when Kaelen’s name flashed across the screen. He was calling.

“Where are you?” His voice carried the low growl of worry, tinged with restrained reproach. “It’s late… why aren’t you home yet?”

Tonight, he had refused Marcella’s invitation, a rare deviation from his usual routine, intending to return early and spend time with Liora. But the den was empty when he arrived. She hadn’t answered his calls, hadn’t replied to his messages—and his worry had escalated to the edge of panic.

Liora glanced at the clock. Eight PM.

He had always been a wanderer of the night, returning at odd hours or disappearing entirely until the early dawn. Liora had waited countless nights, a single lantern burning in the corner of the den, the scent of simmering soup hanging faintly in the air. And if he returned drunk, she would rise from sleep, fighting exhaustion to tend him.

But what had Kaelen ever done for her in return?

She couldn’t remember a single gesture. Her patience frayed, and the words came out sharper than she intended.

“Can’t I have a life of my own?”

It was the first time she had ever dared speak to him this way.

A tense silence followed, broken only when his voice softened.

“Liora… I’ve missed you these past few days.”

“Tomorrow’s the ceremony,” she said quietly, her tone even. “I was just worried something might happen to you. Don’t get upset. Wait for me, alright? I’m coming to get you now.”

Within minutes, Kaelen pulled up outside in his car, a bouquet of fresh flowers in hand—a gesture she did not accept. Instead, she opened the passenger door, greeted by a faint scent that made her stomach twist. Nausea rolled over her, and she grabbed a tissue, opting to climb into the back seat rather than sit in the front beside him.

Kaelen, absorbed in his glowing phone screen, didn’t notice.

“Why’d you go to the amusement park?” he asked casually, barely lifting his gaze. “Finished with the ceremony preparations?”

“Pretty much,” Liora replied, her voice soft but detached.

Tomorrow, she would leave this den—and this territory—behind for good.

Kaelen chuckled lightly, almost to himself. “I remember you always wanted to ride the Ferris wheel. I’ll take you one day, make it unforgettable. I didn’t mean to interrupt your fun today, but my mother… she wants to see you.”

“It’s fine,” Liora said. “There will be plenty of time later.”

Her lifetime of wishes would be ticked off one by one, none of them tied to him.

Once Kaelen finished his messages, he started the car, and, as if unaware of the impact, played one of Marcella’s favorite songs. Liora’s gaze drifted to the familiar streets outside, the city she had grown up in. Neon signs flickered in harmony with the starlit sky, the lights dancing like silver and gold sparks across the dark canopy.

Yet the longer she looked, the more the wind stung her eyes, leaving them raw and damp.

By the time they arrived at the old family home, the dining table was already cluttered with leftovers. The housekeeper moved between dishes, quietly clearing the remnants of the day. Laughter and conversation floated through the den as parents from both sides mingled freely. Kaelen and Marcella sat at the center, their camaraderie effortless, filling the space with warmth that no longer included Liora.

She felt like a ghost in the room. Her form flickered in Kaelen’s peripheral vision, a lone silhouette he barely registered. Yet somewhere deep in his chest, a pulse skipped—a memory surfacing, fragile and sharp.

A promise he had made long ago, one he had vowed to never break: to shield this little she-wolf from sorrow, to never let her feel abandoned. A promise now resurrected, though far too late.

After a short pause, Kaelen signaled for someone to bring over a selection of dresses.

“Liora,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the low rumble of concern only a packmate—or alpha—could muster, “I know you’ve been swamped these past few days. I asked Marcella to pick out a dress for you to try. See if any of them suit your taste.”

Marcella’s voice chimed in, bright and teasing, as she leaned forward.

“Sis, don’t forget—I’m your bridesmate! We’ll be walking down the aisle side by side, and everyone will get to see how stunning we both are!”

Her father, ever the embodiment of pride and affection, ruffled Marcella’s hair, his smile warm and approving. Kaelen allowed himself a small grin at the familiar display of family affection, yet his eyes flicked toward Liora, scanning her reaction.

Liora, however, could barely tear her gaze from the dress in her hands. The fabric was faded and yellowed with age, the cheap material stretched and worn, a jagged tear ruining the chest. The dress looked like it had survived decades in a dusty attic rather than any modern bridal shop. It paled in comparison to Marcella’s bridesmaid dress—a figure-hugging fishtail with delicate lace that accentuated every curve, shimmering even in the soft room light. If anyone in the room looked like a bride, it was Marcella.

Marcella twirled in her dress, her delight bubbling up in every pirouette.

“It’s perfect! If only I had a crown… then it would be complete!”

Kaelen, ever quick with a response, leaned in, his tone teasing yet pointed. “That’s easy to arrange. Liora has a crown, right? She’s your older sister; I’m sure she wouldn’t mind lending it.”

His eyes shifted to Liora—but froze when they landed on the tattered gown she held.

“How did this happen?” His voice was low, edged with surprise.

Liora’s gaze flicked briefly toward Marcella, but Kaelen stepped protectively in front of her before she could speak.

“It must be some mistake at the shop,” he said firmly. “Marcella had nothing to do with this. I’ll have someone fix it immediately.”

Marcella, ever the actress, tilted her head and feigned concern, her tone sweet but laced with mockery.

“But it’s late now… the shops must be closed. Why not borrow something second-hand for the night? After all, haven’t you always said you wanted a simple wedding, Sis?”

All eyes turned to Liora. In a pack as influential and wealthy as theirs, finding a new dress would have been trivial. Yet here, everyone seemed content to let Liora compromise, as they always had—she’d been the one to shoulder inconvenience, the one expected to yield.

“It’s fine,” Liora said softly, her voice carrying a calm authority that belied her inner ache. “I wouldn’t want to trouble anyone. You all have your own matters. I’ll handle it myself.”

Her gentle smile passed through the room like sunlight cutting through fog, diffusing the tension entirely. The chatter resumed, laughter echoing off the walls, as if Liora’s quiet sacrifice had never been there.

Kaelen’s gaze lingered on her longer than anyone noticed, his chest tightening with the weight of understanding—he knew just how much this ceremony meant to her—but he was powerless. He feared the disappointment that might flash in her eyes, the sting he could not erase.

With a quiet exhale, he produced a sleek card from his pocket, offering it with a soft, unspoken reassurance.

“Don’t worry about the cost,” he said gently. “Whatever makes you happy—that’s what matters.”

Liora paused for a beat, the card feeling like a fragile bridge between them, then accepted it with a simple, final nod. Her quiet “thank you” lingered in the air, solid and unyielding. The line between them felt sharper now, a subtle, unspoken barrier.

Kaelen’s chest tightened; the words to cross it remained trapped.

Marcella’s sharp eyes caught the tension and, seizing her opportunity, pulled a camera from the bedroom.

“Let’s take a family photo now,” she suggested, her tone cheerful but calculating. “Tomorrow will be chaotic—this way, the pictures will turn out perfect.”

Kaelen didn’t hesitate, guiding Liora to the center. She stood there, calm and elegant, a stark contrast to the storm churning inside him.

As the shutter clicked, Marcella lunged forward suddenly, stepping between them. Liora lost her balance, stumbling forward.

“Liora!” Kaelen’s voice broke through instinctively, low and urgent. His body surged, muscles coiled to catch her—but Marcella’s theatrics intervened.

At that exact moment, Marcella burst into feigned tears. Kaelen froze. For three heartbeats, he hesitated—torn between the protective pull of his mate instincts and the sight of his “daughter’s” distress.

Then, as if compelled by the bond he shared with Marcella instead of Liora, he shifted his weight, leaving Liora to collide against the edge of the shelf. His hands caught Marcella instead, cradling her gently, wiping away the counterfeit tears with a tenderness that cut deep into Liora’s chest.

Liora pressed a hand to the edge of the shelf, the sting of splintered wood sharp against her palm, but it was nothing compared to the ache curling in her chest. Her wolf instincts roared in quiet fury, a suppressed growl in her chest as she watched him lavish care on the one he had always truly chosen.

The room buzzed with the laughter and chatter of everyone else, oblivious. But Liora felt the weight of the pack around her, of her place—or rather, her absence—in Kaelen’s heart, and the chill settled deep into her bones.