Two months had passed since the loss—an accidental fall, a sudden pain, and then... silence. The kind of silence that followed you like a shadow. Today, I had my final checkup at the pack infirmary, alone again. Preston said he'd come. He always said that. But true to form, he vanished just before the appointment began.

The healer handed me the last round of medication. I nodded silently, my limbs moving on autopilot as I left the sterile room. There was no anger this time. Just a hollow echo where pain used to live.

By the time I got back to the pack house, the emptiness had settled in my bones. I sat down and, out of habit, opened my phone. Twitter blinked up at me. A new post. Gwen again.

"Only a tiny cut, but Preston insisted I see a doctor. He’s been by my side ever since. Still the sweetest!"

My eyes skimmed the words, unmoved. So that’s where he was—again.

There was no sting of betrayal, no ache of jealousy. I should have felt something, anything. But I didn’t. It was like all the love I’d once carried for Preston had been wrung dry, leaving only resignation.

Later that night, I saw him return. He wasn’t alone. In his arms was a little boy—Gwen’s son. They looked... content. Domestic. From where I stood, just a few steps away, they resembled a family. One I clearly didn’t belong to.

I smiled faintly, almost mockingly. “Looks like the child could use a father figure. Spend more time with them, Alpha,” I said coolly, turning to leave.

His hand gripped my arm. Desperate. “Marcia, why are you like this now? Why don’t you care anymore?”

I stared at him blankly. He didn’t know? I stopped caring the day he made me feel invisible.

**

Earlier that afternoon, before the checkup, Preston had reached out through our bond.

"Something came up. You’ll be alright heading home on your own, right?"

I remembered pausing, phone in hand, unsure whether to scream or laugh.

"Sure. No problem," I replied, detached.

On the ride home, something tugged at me to glance back. That’s when I spotted his car—still parked near the infirmary. He hadn't left for some urgent Alpha task. No. He had stayed. Just not for me.

When I arrived home, curiosity got the better of me. I checked again. Another tweet from Gwen. Same tone. Same Preston.

"He took me to the hospital for a tiny scrape—won’t let me out of his sight."

I remembered the shirt Preston wore in that photo. I bought it for him on his birthday.

I remembered her too—Gwen Thompson. The she-wolf from his past. The childhood flame who once left with another Alpha. After her mate died, she'd returned with a child and nothing else. No title. No power. No pack.

And yet, the moment she returned, it was like I’d never mattered.

He had always been hers, hadn’t he?

I’d been the stand-in Luna. Temporary. Convenient.

**

That night, I drifted into a medicated sleep. But not for long.

A creak. The door opened. Preston entered quietly. I felt the mattress dip as he sat beside me, brushing his fingers through my hair.

“What did the healer say?” he asked softly, voice dipped in fake tenderness.

I caught the faint scent clinging to him—floral, unfamiliar, female. Not mine.

I pulled away, pretending not to notice. “She said I’m healing well,” I lied.

Preston gave a small nod. “I’ve just been so busy with Alpha duties lately…”

I said nothing. The air between us was thick with everything unspoken. Finally, I turned my back to him and murmured, “You should shower before bed.”

He lingered a second, as if waiting for an invitation to explain or justify himself. None came.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him, the water starting its steady stream. I stared at the wall, numb, listening to the sound of my mate bathing in someone else’s scent.

Sleep never came back.

The next day came in a blur, filled with endless obligations. As the Luna, I had a full plate—meetings, decisions, and the constant hum of responsibilities pulling me in every direction. Just as I finished the morning briefing, Preston’s voice pushed its way through the mind link, laced with irritation.

"Marcia, why didn’t you wake me? You left without saying a word, and now I’ve overslept."

The frustration I felt was all too familiar. Since our bond was sealed, I’d poured everything into caring for him—setting out his clothes, making his meals with care, gently waking him each day so his mornings started smoothly. It had been an act of love, at first. But now, the affection behind it had gone unnoticed. To him, it was just part of my job, not something I chose to do out of devotion.

A long breath escaped me. I wasn’t his maid. I was his Luna, not someone bound to his every whim.

"If you’re late, I suggest you get up quickly," I replied, letting some of my displeasure show.

"What should I wear?" he asked, as if picking his own outfit was beyond him.

"Your wardrobe is full, Alpha. Just grab whatever suits you," I said, my patience wearing thin.

"But I don’t see it..." he mumbled, that helpless tone creeping in like it always did.

A nearby Omega called for my attention, giving me the perfect excuse to end the conversation. "I’ve got work to do. You’ll have to manage without me," I said, turning away.

But he wasn’t finished.

"The shirts are wrinkled! Didn’t you iron them? How am I supposed to attend a meeting like this?"

And of course, the next complaint followed.

"You didn’t make breakfast?"

Each word hit me like a reminder of everything I had given up. I had silenced my wolf for this man. I had once believed in a shared future—love, children, leadership. But now, that dream felt more like a cruel joke. The life I had envisioned no longer seemed possible.

Overwhelmed, I left the pack house and wandered into a neighboring town. There, I checked into a modest inn that catered exclusively to female wolves—those who needed space, healing, or just a break. It felt like a safe pocket of peace, far removed from the life I had entangled myself in.

Lying on the bed, I stared up at the ceiling. The stillness around me brought a storm of memories. I remembered every moment I wished I could change. Then, through the silence, a soft voice reached my mind.

"My daughter..."

My mother’s voice—gentle, full of love and concern—wrapped around me. As the Moon Goddess, she had always guided me, warned me, cared for me. And yet here I was, aching with regret.

She had tried to protect me. Now her voice was a bittersweet comfort, reminding me that even if I had made mistakes, I wasn’t alone. But it also reminded me of the cost of my choices—ones I would carry with me forever.

Flashback

My eighteenth birthday had finally arrived, the day I would discover my destined mate—an event every wolf waited for.

"Are you excited to meet him?" my mother asked, her smile laced with something deeper.

"Yes, Mama! Can I see who it is?"

She nodded and summoned the sacred orb. As the image formed, I saw him—Alpha Preston from Westbrook Town’s Cold Moon Pack. Even through the orb, his presence felt strong and magnetic. My heart soared. But my mother’s smile faded, her gaze dimmed.

"Your mate..." she began, hesitation clear in her voice.

"What’s wrong?" I asked, my excitement starting to falter.

"There’s something you need to know. His bloodline carries a curse, Marcia. One that’s endured for generations. It’s dangerous."

My heart dropped. "What kind of curse?"

She sighed, her eyes sorrowful. "Long ago, an Alpha in his family rejected his mate because she had no wolf. He mocked her, hurt her deeply, and eventually pushed her to end a pregnancy she didn’t want to lose. Heartbroken, she sought help from her best friend—a powerful witch. Together, they cast a curse. Every Alpha born of that line would cause their mate to become wolfless."

A chill ran through me. My wolf—my spirit, my strength—would be lost if I chose him.

But when I looked back at the orb, I didn’t just see a cursed man. I saw Preston. The boy I had loved for years, even before fate had confirmed it.

"But I love him," I whispered. "Even if it means losing my wolf, I want to be with him."

My mother’s face tightened with grief. "Think about what you're giving up. Your wolf is your essence. Without her, you’ll never feel whole."

"I can’t let him go. I’m sorry, Mama. I choose him."

End of Flashback

Even now, the memory stung. That young girl had no idea what she was giving up. I had believed love would be enough. But love without respect, without support—it wasn’t love at all.

The sun had disappeared, and I still hadn’t responded to my mother. I didn’t know what to say. Guilt held me silent.

Then, once again, Preston’s voice barged into my thoughts.

"Why aren’t you back yet? Where’s dinner?"

The thought of returning to him filled me with disgust. I stayed put, wrapped in the comfort of stillness.

"I had something important to handle," I replied, calm and cool. "Let the maids prepare your meal."

His reaction was instant. "What?"

Preston had always refused food from anyone else. Only what I made was good enough. I had fed him day after day, believing it was a way to show love.

"Is there an issue?" I asked, a challenge hidden in my tone.

He hesitated. "No. Just... take care of yourself."

"Thanks," I said plainly.

Silence followed—long, strained, heavy.

Eventually, he reached out again, his voice uncertain.

"Marcia… are you upset with me?"

I should have been. Once, I would have cried, screamed, begged him to see how he hurt me. But now? Now I only felt numb. Either he hadn’t noticed or he simply didn’t care.

"I’m not angry," I said softly. Not to reassure him, but to acknowledge the truth within myself. Anger had faded. What remained was emptiness.

And perhaps, something stronger waiting to rise.

Preston’s voice drifted into my thoughts through the mind link, colored with what sounded like guilt.

“Marcia, Gwen’s raising a child all by herself. She doesn’t have anyone here. I’m the only one she can count on.”

The words struck me like icy water. It was almost laughable—he forgot that I, too, was isolated. I had no one either, except for him. But that didn’t seem to matter.

“I get it already,” I replied, forcing myself to stay level. “She’s clearly had a tough time.”

But the faint sarcasm in my voice must’ve registered because he fired back immediately, his tone sharp and defensive.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Why are you talking like that?”

“I said I understand,” I repeated, the bitterness beginning to seep through my carefully held restraint. “Is that not enough?”

“Why do you have to sound so cold?” he shot back, his patience clearly waning.

Letting out a long sigh, I answered tiredly, “What exactly do you want me to say?”

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, until he finally muttered, “Fine. Do whatever you want,” and severed the link abruptly.

The irony clung to me like smoke. If I dared question his frequent visits to Gwen, I was being unreasonable. If I asked him when he’d come home, I was labeled clingy. Now, even when I tried to be understanding, it still rubbed him the wrong way.

I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, pushing away the urge to cry over the familiar, exhausting loop. I needed to redirect my energy—find a version of myself that didn’t revolve around him. But was that even possible now that I had silenced my wolf?

As night fell, I remained at the inn, swallowed by memories and regrets. Every choice I had made circled my mind like a predator stalking its prey. I couldn’t bring myself to return to the pack house—not when every corner reminded me of a love that had soured.

Eventually, though, I made my way back. The house was quiet, and Preston was nowhere to be found. I showered, scrubbing away the residue of the day, and curled up in bed, hoping to escape into the numbness of sleep.

Just as I felt myself drifting, the mind link flared open again. Preston’s voice was strained and panicked.

“Marcia… my stomach... it hurts. Bad.”

I barely managed to mumble something in return before sleep overtook me again. Somewhere in the haze of dreaming, I heard him calling my name, but it felt distant, almost like an echo from another life.

A sharp noise woke me—a door creaking open. Preston stood at the foot of the bed, his face twisted in pain.

“Marcia, what happened to you? You used to care when I felt like this,” he said, his voice low and wounded.

His words pulled at memories I had desperately tried to lock away. I remembered one time clearly: he’d had a stomachache, and I had rushed to his office with medicine. It had been pouring, but I didn’t hesitate. I showed up drenched, my clothes clinging to me, water dripping off my hair. His subordinates had laughed at the sight. Not a single one showed concern that the Luna was standing there, soaked and shivering.

Preston had done nothing to stop them. In fact, his only reaction had been annoyance.

“Don’t come to my office again like this,” he had said coldly. “It’s embarrassing.”

That day, it had been Beta Clifton who noticed my shaking hands and chilled skin. Without a word, he handed me a warm cup of chocolate tea—my favorite—and led me to a seat to rest.

Clifton had always been quietly protective, stepping in during moments when Preston failed me. And as I thought more deeply, I realized that Clifton had been assigned to Cold Moon Pack around the same time I had arrived.

We had a shared history, one that went far beyond titles. We were childhood friends, growing up in the same small town. We used to play tag through the forests, racing barefoot through the trees without a care. Later, we both attended the prestigious academy for wolves, where I first saw Alpha Preston. I’d fallen for Preston back then, like a foolish girl caught in a fairytale—long before I knew he was my fated mate.

Pulled from the past, I blinked at the man in front of me.

“Are you doing any better now?” I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “I think we’re out of medicine. You might want to go pick some up.”

Preston’s expression soured, his agitation mounting. Without warning, he grabbed my wrist, his grip forceful.

“Marcia, how long are we going to keep arguing about Gwen?” he demanded. “I told you, there’s nothing going on between us!”

His voice thundered in the quiet room, but I met his gaze with a calm, indifferent expression.

“Okay,” I said softly, the flatness in my voice clashing with the intensity of his anger.

That only made him angrier. He turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silence.

But to me, that silence was a gift. It wrapped around me, peaceful and light. A rare moment of calm in the chaos he always brought with him.

My mind wandered again—to Clifton. He had always been my quiet anchor, my source of strength when I had none left. In the face of Preston’s dismissiveness, Clifton had offered dignity. And without realizing it, I had always leaned a little closer to that quiet, dependable warmth.