Chapter 3

In the darkness, my senses amplified in a way I'd never experienced.

The sounds from the adjacent guest room were terrifyingly clear—the rustle of fabric, a woman's suppressed gasps, and Ron's low voice, that tenderness I'd thought belonged only to me.

"Careful, I don't want to hurt you..."

"Ron, I want..."

"Shh, slow down."

The strange power inside me grew more intense, like something surging through my veins.

I could feel my pupils glowing faintly in the darkness—not a normal wolf's reaction.

Mother had once vaguely mentioned that our family bloodline carried something ancient, but she hadn't had time to tell me more before she died in an "accident" when I was twelve.

Now, that suppressed bloodline from twenty-five years ago had awakened when I needed clarity most.

"Selene..." Ron's voice carried an almost reverent tenderness. "You know, when I'm with you, I feel like I'm the real Ron Blackwood, not the puppet forced to play the perfect heir."

"Then... what about Arya?" The woman's voice held a victor's coyness.

"Her?" Ron laughed lightly, and that laugh felt like someone squeezing my heart. "Arya is a decent nominal mate—smart, independent, principled. But she's too rational. So rational it's suffocating. She's always trying to prove she's worthy of me, but she never understands—an Alpha doesn't need a business partner. He needs a mate who can awaken his instincts."

"But you're still going through with the marking ceremony..."

"That doesn't stop you from being my sweetheart," his tone turned husky and intimate. "I'll give you everything except the Luna title..."

He paused, his voice taking on a warning edge:

"Of course, the prerequisite is that you're obedient enough not to cause any embarrassing scenes."

"I understand, Ron. Being able to stay by your side like this is already a blessing from God," the woman replied with a coquettish laugh. "I won't ask for more."

I closed my eyes, unable to stop the tears silently streaming down my face.

Five years.

For five years, I'd thought I was fighting alongside him, facing Mother's opposition, the pack's prejudice, and all the voices that questioned us.

Turns out, from beginning to end, I was more like a business partner than a life companion.

A "smart, independent, principled" tool.

The power inside gradually subsided, and I regained control of my body. But I didn't burst in to confront them, didn't hysterically tear away that false veneer.

That would be pointless.

I just lay quietly in the darkness, waiting for dawn.

...

The next morning, Ron kissed my forehead as usual, saying gently he had to handle pack business and I should rest well.

His eyes looked tired—probably exhausted from last night's "emergency meeting."

After he left, I dialed Vivian Blackwood's private number.

"Arya Morrison." Her voice was as cold as ever. "Is Ron not home?"

"Mrs. Blackwood," my voice was so calm it felt foreign even to me. "About your proposal a month ago... I accept. One hundred million. I'll leave."

Silence on the other end for several seconds.

"What happened?" Her tone held a note of surprise.

"I think you already know." I didn't answer directly. "Your son's whereabouts these past eight months—are you really completely unaware?"

Another silence.

"Come to the manor in half an hour." She hung up.

...

Vivian's private study was on the top floor of Blackwood Manor, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the entire pack territory.

She sat behind that massive oak desk, her amber eyes—identical to Ron's—studying me.

"Sit." She indicated the chair opposite.

A check already lay on the desk, the amount line filled in: one hundred million.

"Honestly," she picked up her teacup, her tone carrying some complex emotion, "I thought you'd persist to the end. All these years, you're the first girl who's impressed me—even though I've never liked you."

"That's because I loved him." I said. "I don't anymore."

"Smart." She nodded. "Love is one thing, your future is another. I remember you studied medicine. A friend of mine in Switzerland has a closed biomedical research project that needs someone with medical experience as a research coordinator. Excellent conditions, far from pack politics, and far from... all of this."

She pushed over a document.

"Three-year contract. If you're willing, I can arrange for you to leave next week."

I opened the document and quickly skimmed it. The compensation was indeed surprisingly generous—far exceeding my council salary, plus an independent apartment, research resources, and future career recommendations.

"Why?" I looked up at her. "You're going through all this trouble to arrange my departure—are you afraid I won't keep my promise and will go back to Ron?"

Vivian set down her teacup, a cold smile forming on her lips.

"I don't think you'll go back to Ron after leaving." She was blunt. "I don't like your bloodline—you couldn't provide suitable heir bloodlines. But your efforts these past few years have shown me your abilities. Rather than waste your talent in a marriage doomed to fail, I'd rather give you a better stage."

I didn't refuse. Leaving here was my only chance to start over.

...

When I left the manor, the sky had begun to drizzle.

I sat in the car, looking at the screenshots saved on my phone, and the audio file recorded last night.

The marking ceremony the day after tomorrow would be a spectacular farewell performance.

And I, Arya Morrison, would use my own method to put a period on this five-year relationship.