The next afternoon, I went back to the apartment to pack my last few things.

The moment I opened the door, I was hit by that cloying, sweet scent again. Isabella.

The door swung open to the sound of sizzling and spatulas clanking.

Someone was cooking in the kitchen.

I walked over and saw a familiar figure with her back to me.

Isabella, wearing my silk robe, was flipping a steak on the grill.

My robe.

My kitchen.

She heard my footsteps and turned around.

"Elena!" A flash of panic crossed her face, but she quickly composed herself. "You're back."

"What are you doing in my home?"

"Damon asked me to come," she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I was so frightened after what happened last night, and he said it would be safer here."

She turned back to the steak, her movements practiced, as if she owned the place.

"You're wearing my clothes."

"Oh, this?" Isabella looked down at the silk robe. "My clothes got dirty, and Damon said I could just grab something of yours."

Just grab something.

I took a deep breath, fighting to stay calm.

Her scent had saturated the entire apartment. It was nauseating.

"Elena, what's wrong?" She turned to me, her eyes wide with innocent confusion. "You look pale."

"It's nothing."

Just then, the sound of the shower started in the bathroom.

Damon was taking a shower.

"He'll be out soon," Isabella explained helpfully. "I'm making him dinner to thank him for saving my life last night."

Such a perfect excuse.

"Elena!" Damon walked out of the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around his waist. "Why are you back?"

His tone was far from welcoming.

"I'm here to get my things."

"What things?" He frowned. "Weren't you coming back to apologize?"

Apologize?

"I have nothing to apologize for."

"Elena, stop being difficult," he said, walking to the closet to get dressed. "Isabella almost got hurt last night, and it was all because of your stubbornness."

Because of my stubbornness?

"Yes," Isabella chimed in at the perfect moment, her eyes welling up with tears. "If Elena hadn't rejected the mate bond and caused all that chaos in the pack, those rogues would never have targeted me."

Such flawless logic.

I didn't argue, just walked straight to my design studio.

I still had some important blueprints to collect.

"Elena, where are you going?" Isabella called after me.

"My studio."

"Oh," her voice was filled with interest. "Can I see it? I've always been so curious about where you work."

I didn't answer, just pushed open the studio door.

But Isabella had already followed me in.

"Wow!" she exclaimed dramatically. "So many beautiful designs!"

She walked over to my drafting table, where some of my newest project sketches were laid out.

"Are these all your work?" She picked up a blueprint. "You're so talented."

"Put it down," I said coldly.

"Sorry," she said with a look of pure innocence, but her hand moved slowly. "I just wanted to admire it."

Just then, the glass of red wine in her other hand "accidentally" tipped.

The deep red liquid spilled across the blueprint, staining the white paper instantly.

It was my resort proposal for the Crescent Moon Pack.

"Ah!" Isabella cried out, then her foot "slipped," and she stumbled backward.

She fell hard onto the floor.

"Isabella!" Damon's roar came from the doorway.

He rushed into the studio and saw Isabella on the ground, his eyes blazing with fury.

"Elena!" he snarled. "What did you do to her?"

"I didn't do anything." I looked at the ruined blueprint on the floor. "She fell on her own."

"On her own?" He looked at me in disbelief. "Isabella, are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"My back... it hurts so much..." Isabella moaned in his arms. "Elena pushed me..."

"I didn't touch her."

"Elena!" Damon stood up, the golden light in his eyes flaring dangerously. "You've lost your mind!"

A low growl rumbled in his chest as his Alpha aura flooded the room.

"First the car crash, now this," he advanced on me. "Elena, you are completely out of control."

"I told you, I didn't push her."

"Enough!" He slammed his fist into the wall. "I am done with your tantrums and your jealousy! If you dare touch Isabella again, I will officially, by Alpha decree, banish you. I'll make you a Rogue!"

A Rogue.

The cruelest punishment in the werewolf world.

It meant being cast out forever, never allowed to join another pack, destined to die alone.

"Do you hear me?" his eyes were full of menace. "Now, apologize to Isabella!"

I looked at Isabella, who was still feigning agony on the floor.

I looked at Damon, who was burning with rage.

Before Damon could issue his verdict, I cut him off, my voice chillingly calm. "There's no need. I accept the banishment. I will be a Rogue."

Damon’s face went white.

"What?" He looked as if he'd misheard. "Elena, what did you just say?"

"I accept. To be a Rogue," I repeated, my tone as steady as if I were discussing the weather. "Isn't that what you want?"

"No!" He shook his head violently. "Elena, you're crazy! I was just angry, I didn't really mean—"

"But I do," I cut him off. "Damon, we're done."

Panic flashed in his eyes.

A raw, uncontrolled panic.

"Isabella, get out," he said suddenly, turning to the woman on the floor. "Elena and I need to talk. Alone."

"But Damon, my back..." Isabella put on a pained expression.

"Out!" His roar shook the room.

Terrified by his Alpha command, Isabella scrambled to her feet and fled the studio.

The room was silent, leaving just the two of us.

"Elena, what happened to your hand?" He suddenly noticed my right hand.

I glanced down. There were a few small, thin scratches on the back of my hand.

I must have caught it on a piece of glass while cleaning up the blueprints.

"It's nothing."

"How is it nothing?" He started to step toward me, but I stepped back. "Let me see."

"Don't."

"Elena, whatever is going on between us, I never want to see you get hurt." His tone softened. "After all these years, everything you've done for me..."

"Enough." I didn't want to hear his fake sentiment.

"I know what happened today was Isabella's fault," he continued. "I'll make her pay for the damages."

Pay for it?

"Damon, do you really think this is about money?"

"Then what is it about?" He looked at me, his expression earnest. "Elena, tell me. What do I need to do?"

I didn't answer, just went back to gathering the last of my things.

The drafting table was mostly empty.

I had already moved all the important blueprints and data.

"Why is your studio so empty?" He looked around, a growing unease in his voice. "Where are the project files?"

"I moved them."

"Moved them where?"

"To my new office."

He froze. "What new office?"

"The studio the Crescent Moon Pack set up for me," I said, closing the last portfolio. "The facility is state-of-the-art."

"Elena!" His voice was sharp. "You can't do that! Those designs contain classified information about the Black Stone Pack!"

"Don't worry, I won't leak your secrets," I said, zipping my bag. "After all, we won't have anything to do with each other soon."

"What do you mean, 'nothing to do with each other'?" He was starting to panic. "Elena, what are you doing?"

"I'm leaving," I said, walking toward the door. "I've sold the apartment."

"What?!" He grabbed my arm. "What did you just say?"

"The apartment is sold," I said, yanking my arm free. "The new owner takes possession tomorrow."

"That's impossible!" His eyes were wide with disbelief. "Elena, you're lying! This apartment requires my final seal to be sold!"

"Oh, really?" I pulled the document he'd signed last night from my bag. "Are you sure about that?"

I held it out to him.

"See for yourself."

His hands trembled as he took the paper and quickly scanned it.

When his eyes landed on the title, "Property Transfer Agreement," the color drained from his face.

"What... what is this?"

"The property transfer agreement," I said calmly. "The one you signed yourself last night."

"No!" He frantically flipped to the last page, his face a mask of horror. "I thought... I thought this was your written apology!"

"When did I ever say it was an apology letter?"

"You... you tricked me!" His voice shook.

"I didn't trick you," I said, my tone unchanging. "All I said was, 'You should take a look at this.' You were the one who didn't bother to read it."

He kept scanning the document, desperately searching for a loophole.

But the terms were ironclad, the legal language precise.

And on the final page, there was a crimson mark.

When Damon saw the clear, undeniable mark of his Alpha Seal—his own crimson thumbprint, imbued with a trace of his power—his body went rigid.