At the pack clinic, the healer splinted my wrist, muttering on repeat, "Bone's broken. Your wolf's barely hanging on. Three months, minimum. Push it, and you'll feel it every storm."

Emma stormed in, dropped my meds on the table with a bang. "Saw Liam escort Chloe in. Her arm's got a baby scratch, but she whined for premium healing cream. And Liam? Playing nurse—'Does it hurt?' 'Want water?' It was sickening."

I grabbed the bag, fingers tightening around the pill box. The throb in my chest hit way harder than my wrist.

***

Liam brought Chloe back to the mansion at ten.

Our home. Eight years in that house. The sunflowers by the door still leaned like always.

I sat in the dark on the couch.

He walked in, laughing. "Way nicer than your pack's, huh? Hope you stop by a lot."

He flipped on the light. Froze when he saw my splint. "Your wrist okay?"

"Broken," I said. "Three-month heal time."

"Oh. Then don't overdo it."

He turned to Chloe, grinning. "I'll get the peanut butter. Didn't you say you wanted that toast again?"

"Liam." My voice cracked. "You seriously have nothing to say to me?"

He blinked. "Say what?"

"Why you left me in that fire. Why it was all about Chloe. Why you forgot I'm allergic to peanuts, but you're making her favorite snack. Why you never marked me. Not once in eight years."

His face darkened. "I TOLD you—Chloe's a guest. If she got hurt, it'd look bad on us. You? You can handle yourself."

"That's it?" My voice cracked as tears finally spilled. "She's been here for DAYS. I've been with you EIGHT FREAKING YEARS! What's she got that I don't? Is it the fake crying? The constant whining?"

Chloe clung to his arm, eyes all sparkle. "Sophia, don't blame Liam. It's my fault. I should've left..."

"Shut up." My glare didn't leave her. "Cut the innocent act. You're gunning for the Luna spot, right?"

Liam jumped between us. "Enough! She's a guest—watch your mouth."

"Watch my mouth?" I laughed, shaking. "I'm not even your mate, am I? You never marked me. Never claimed me in front of the pack. Was I just your house help this whole time?"

He went quiet. Then muttered, "Not now. Chloe's here. Don't make a scene. Don't embarrass yourself."

"Oh, I'm the embarrassment?" I stared him down. "You make me sick."

His jaw clenched. That Alpha pressure hit like a storm front. "Say that again."

"I said—you make me sick!" I shouted, shaking. "You trash the one who actually loved you, and baby a fake. Eight years, Liam. I was such an idiot."

Chloe burst into tears. "Liam, I'm scared... Let's go. I don't want to stay here anymore."

Liam didn't even glance my way. He walked her to the bedroom and shut the door.

Through the click, his voice came cold. "Think about how you acted. Stop causing drama."

I stood there, staring at that door.

Whatever hope I'd been hanging onto finally shattered—way too broken to fix.

I stepped into my room and popped open the suitcase, folding each piece of clothing like I was sealing off a chapter.

Liam's gray jacket—bottom of the pile.

Then Grandma's herb journal, untouched anti-inflammatory bundles, and the half-finished wrist guard.

Every item made me freeze for a second. Eight years packed into a carry-on.

From the next room, Chloe's sugary voice floated out. "Liam, will you tell me a story?"

His reply? Quiet. Too damn soft. "Sure. Lie down. I'll tell you one."

My fists clenched, nails biting into my palms. Just enough pain to keep me from falling apart.

That wolf? He wasn't mine anymore.

When the last zipper sealed, I dragged my suitcase into the living room.

Chloe stepped out, spotted the suitcase, and plastered on a guilty face like she practiced it in the mirror. "Sophia, you're leaving? I'm so sorry—I never meant to come between you two. I'll go back to my pack. Just don't leave Liam, okay?"

"Cut the crap." My voice? Ice-cold. "You won. He's yours. The sweet words, the soft looks—that's all on you now. I'm done."

Color drained from her face. Then she bolted, fake sobbing as she ran. "Liam! Sophia's leaving! She said she doesn't want you anymore!"

Liam stepped out, eyes locking on the suitcase. His jaw tightened. "Running again? Don't expect me to chase you this time."

"I'm not running," I said, steady. "We're done, Liam. Eight years—I'm exhausted. I'm done waiting."

He blinked, like I'd spoken another language. "Done? What did you just say?"

"You heard me." I nodded once. "We're done."

I swung the door open right as Emma showed up, meds in one hand, thick coat in the other. "Knew you'd walk. Crash at my place. Spare room's yours—and way better than this mess."

I didn't even hesitate. Just nodded and walked out behind her.

Noah's car waited at the curb. He rolled down the window. "Need a ride? It's late."

I slid into the passenger seat. He passed me a blanket. "It's freezing. Wrap up."

The warmth hit instantly—more real than anything Liam managed to give me in eight damn years.

Eight years of youth. Eight years of waiting. I cut the mate fantasy loose tonight.

I shut my eyes as one tear dropped onto the blanket.

This time, I wasn't turning back.