Debbie’s POV

Ten years. I gave Alpha Darrell Armstrong a full decade of loyalty, love, and belief in promises that never bore fruit. I had clung to every sweet lie—how he claimed I was his chosen mate, how I was meant to be Luna of the Bloodmoon Pack. But lies unravel eventually, especially when someone else walks in wearing the guise of innocence.

Her name was Carla Conley.

She arrived clutching a letter from her Alpha father, asking for sanctuary after the Shadowgrove Pack fell under siege. Darrell didn’t hesitate—he took her in like she was royalty, offering warmth and protection I hadn’t seen from him in months. From then on, I became invisible.

I didn’t even know how I survived that night.

Two days ago, I finally reached out to my parents after returning from the healer, my voice a thread of strength barely holding.

“Ma,” I told her quietly, “I’ll marry the man you chose for me. Tell him I accept.”

I still can’t forget what happened. It was the Moon Festival—an event Darrell and I once treated like our sacred tradition. But that night, I stood alone among shimmering lights and laughter that didn’t belong to me anymore.

He handed me a wine glass, his eyes cold. “Don’t make a scene in front of the Werewolf King’s council, Debbie. Just drink.”

The rim of the glass touched my lips. A scent. Sweet. Overripe berries. My stomach twisted with dread.

“Darrell, I—”

“Drink it,” he hissed without meeting my eyes, already turning back to Carla. She laughed softly beside him, the sound grating like broken glass.

Berries. He knew they could kill me. I’d told him, years ago. He didn’t forget. He simply didn’t care. Or maybe... she liked that wine, and that was enough.

I drank it anyway.

For love. For a loyalty he didn’t deserve. For a place I no longer belonged to.

Fire slid down my throat, followed by pain sharp enough to make my knees buckle. My lips began to blister, my breath shortened into strangled gasps. The music kept playing—Carla’s favorite songs filling the air as my vision blurred.

I stumbled forward.

“Darrell,” I rasped.

He didn’t look at me. He was too busy letting Carla cling to him, her dainty fingers wrapped around his arm like vines.

Then he said it—soft and sweet, the way he used to speak to me.

“No more wine, Carla. You’re already tipsy.”

And my heart shattered.

“I… can’t… breathe,” I whispered, my throat closing fast. I coughed, the taste of blood filling my mouth. “Alpha Darrell, please. Help me…”

He finally turned, one step closer.

Then Carla whimpered.

“My stomach… it hurts, Alpha Darrell. Something’s wrong!”

He didn’t hesitate. Not for a heartbeat.

He scooped her into his arms like she was breakable glass, his face full of worry. “What is it, Carla? Talk to me.”

I watched through tear-filled eyes, unable to move. My wolf howled in my chest, furious and wounded.

“Darrell…” I croaked again.

Silence fell.

The crowd turned to me. I was swaying on weak legs, blood at the corner of my mouth, choking on the very poison he’d handed me.

And still—he scowled.

“What now, Debbie?” he barked. “Carla needs a healer. Stop pretending. Stop being jealous all the time.”

Pretending?

Jealous?

Those words cut deeper than my body’s reaction.

I collapsed to my knees, the world tilting and spinning. Darkness clouded my vision.

You loved me once.

Now, you’re letting me die.

And somehow… I’m still the villain in your story.

I hate you, Darrell Armstrong.

With every breath I can’t take, I hate you.

And as everything faded to black, one thought lingered—

Is this how my story ends?

Debbie’s POV

When I came to, a subtle scent of herbs lingered in the air. I found myself resting on a cushioned bed inside the healer’s hut. The elderly woman tending to me offered a kind smile, her eyes lined with worry.

“You were lucky,” she said, her tone both gentle and reprimanding. “Another few minutes, and we would’ve lost you.”

I tried to speak, but my throat was raw, and only a faint rasp escaped. Though the agonizing pain had passed, an unbearable weariness weighed down my limbs. I reached for my wolf… but felt nothing. She was silent—too weak to answer. We had both been dragged too close to the edge.

“Child,” the healer said, patting my chilly hand softly, “you must never consume anything with berries again. For your kind, it’s a deadly toxin.” She shook her head. “Elisha brought you here, begging for your life. Said you’re Alpha Darrell’s intended. Future Luna.” Her gaze turned pointed. “You have a duty to protect yourself, not just to him, but to the pack.”

Her words were caring, yet they pierced me. Future Luna. Once, that title filled me with pride. Now, it echoed emptily in my soul.

She handed me a glass vial containing a silvery liquid. “Drink this three times daily. Two days, and you’ll be strong again.”

I gave a small nod, my gratitude unspoken. That day passed quietly—I rested, gathered the shreds of my strength, and tried not to think too much. But silence never lasts long.

The door creaked open.

Darrell entered.

His presence once brought warmth, comfort, even joy. Now, it only reopened wounds that hadn’t yet healed. He approached, kneeling beside me and gently taking my hand.

“Debbie,” he whispered. “The Goddess must’ve heard my prayers. I’m so sorry I couldn’t come earlier. Carla’s been unwell—she needed me.”

His words sliced into me like shards of glass. I wanted to scream, to tell him how I’d nearly died while he played guardian to someone else. But I stayed silent.

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my face. His touch was achingly familiar. A part of me wished, foolishly, that this moment belonged to just the two of us.

“I’ll come back soon,” he promised, rising to his feet. “But Carla needs me again. She’s Alpha Maxon’s daughter, and I have a responsibility to protect her. I hope you’re not upset. It’s just duty, Debbie. Nothing more.”

He leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead—tender, like old times—and then left without waiting for a response.

He didn’t return.

Elisha later told me that Darrell and Carla had traveled to settle a conflict in another territory. He’d taken her with him—trusted her to stand beside him where I once had.

Alone, I stared at the carved wooden box by my bedside. Inside it were 498 handwritten letters—each one from Darrell, each filled with declarations of love. He once said, when I reached letter number 500, he’d ask me to marry him.

That last letter came six months ago.

My fingers trembled as they grazed the box’s edge. I couldn’t open it. The memories felt too sharp, too unbearable. Instead, I rose to my feet. I needed air. I needed something—anything—that wasn’t this room filled with the ghosts of broken promises.

I headed toward the pack house entrance, hoping the sound of the young wolves I taught might offer distraction. But I froze.

Darrell was there, standing under the warm sun, his laughter echoing through the open air. He was helping Carla carry a basket of apples. His smile—so wide, so carefree—hadn’t looked that genuine in months.

Once, the sight of them together would’ve crushed me.

Now, I just felt… hollow.

Carla spotted me first. Her voice rang out, falsely sweet. “Debbie! Want some apples? Beta Muxim gave them to us. Darrell said you love them.”

Darrell turned, grinning like we were friends. “Debbie loves apple pie,” he chimed in.

I met his gaze, unflinching. “No,” I said. “I don’t like it.”

He blinked. “What? Of course you do. We both—”

“I said no,” I cut in, steady. “You love it. Not me.”

Carla’s expression twisted, a mask of innocence and hurt. “Did I do something wrong? I only wanted to share with you…”

I could see right through her act. Every time I refused her false kindness, Darrell treated me like the villain.

His voice snapped like a whip. “Debbie, what is wrong with you? Carla’s being nice. Could you stop being petty and just try to get along?”

I bit back the storm of emotion threatening to rise. Arguing was useless. I was done being the one who always had to defend herself.

I managed a forced smile and reached for the basket. “Thanks, Carla,” I said, selecting three apples. “I need to get to class. The pups are waiting.”

I turned away, but before I could step forward, Darrell caught my arm.

Debbie's POV

“You’re acting cold, Debbie,” Alpha Darrell said, his voice low but laced with irritation.

“Cold? In what way?” I responded calmly, though I knew exactly what he meant. Carla, standing behind him with her ever-present smug grin, didn’t even try to hide her satisfaction.

“Toward Carla,” he snapped. “How many times do I need to say it? Don’t be cruel to her. You’re constantly envious, and honestly, I’ve had enough of it. You never seem to grasp the situation.” His hand clamped tighter around my arm, sending a jolt of discomfort through me. “Why is this so difficult for you to accept?”

“I’m not envious, Alpha Darrell,” I said flatly, though deep inside, my wolf let out a low growl, itching to retaliate. “I do understand. And it’s fine. Don’t trouble yourself over it.” The words burned as I forced them out, but I kept my composure. I had the urge to tell him it didn’t make a difference anymore—that I was leaving, that I was engaged—but what would be the point? He wouldn’t even blink.

He let go of my arm, and his hand moved to gently touch my cheek. What used to make my heart flutter now left me numb. “Please, Debbie. Trust me. I’d never hurt you. Stop filling your head with doubts about me and Carla.”

I bit the inside of my mouth to hold back a bitter laugh. Trust him? Not hurt me? Those were exactly the things he’d failed at again and again. If those poisonous berries had claimed my life yesterday, I doubted he would’ve even mourned me.

Once I entered the packroom, the children ran up to greet me, their laughter echoing with joy. For a moment, their beaming faces dulled the constant ache in my chest. I used to picture raising pups of my own—Darrell had even whispered dreams of our future together. But like the promises he made, those dreams had turned to ash.

Leaving them would hurt more than I was ready for.

Later that evening, I glanced at my phone and saw yet another message from my parents. They were excited about the wedding preparations—asking what kind of flowers I wanted, what dress style I liked, whether I preferred a crown of blossoms or a flowing veil.

Since my teenage years, I’d always adored the idea of wedding planning. I even took charge of Sinna’s wedding—Darrell’s sister—five years back when she married someone from the Duncan Pack. Now she had two adorable sons and a partner who truly loved her. And me? After a decade spent loving Darrell, all I had were regrets. If I had allowed my parents to choose a mate for me back then, I might already have three children and a husband who valued me. Instead, I was here—discarded and humiliated by the man I once thought would be my forever.

During a trip to the pack market, I purchased small gifts for the children and something for Elisha—one of the few people who still treated me like I mattered. As I returned, two pack warriors noticed my struggle with the packages and wordlessly helped me carry them to the manor. Their silent support touched something fragile in me.

Darrell caught sight of the gifts as I walked in, his gaze immediately hardening. “What’s all this for? Who are you giving them to? And this…” He waved a letter at me, one I instantly recognized by the handwriting. “What’s this about a wedding that the messenger mentioned?”

I reached out and took the letter, my mother’s neat script confirming my guess. “We need to talk, Alpha Darrell,” I said, my voice unwavering despite the emotional storm stirring within me. “About the upcoming marriage—”

Before I could finish, a pack warrior burst into the room.

“Alpha, Carla isn’t in her quarters. We’ve searched the entire packhouse—she’s gone.”

Darrell’s entire demeanor shifted. Panic crossed his features, and without even glancing back at me, he bolted from the room to find Carla. He didn’t say another word. Not even goodbye.

With a heavy heart, I brought the gifts to the children and Elisha, doing my best to smile through the pain.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Elisha asked gently, her voice cracking slightly as she tried not to let the children hear.

“There’s nothing left for me here, Elisha,” I murmured, feeling the lump in my throat grow. “He’s made his choice. I can’t linger in the shadows of what we were.”

“What about the kids? They adore you, Debbie. And I... I don’t know how I’ll manage teaching them alone,” she said softly, her green eyes searching mine, filled with concern and sorrow.

“I’m getting married, Elisha,” I said, though the words felt strange, as if they belonged to someone else. “This place—it’s no longer home to me.”

“To whom?” she asked, her voice tinged with fragile hope. “Is he better than the Alpha?”

I hesitated, unsure how to respond. My wolf was quiet—something she rarely was—and her silence felt like confirmation that this was the path we needed to take. That leaving, painful as it was, was right.

“I pray he is,” I whispered, more to myself than to her. “I truly hope he is.”