Chapter 4

Kyle’s fingers were still wrapped around my wrist.

At my question, his pupils tightened slightly.

“Layla, you have to believe me.” His voice was low and urgent. “That was all in the past. For the last five years, you’ve been the one by my side…”

A flicker of panic flashed through his eyes—something I had never seen before—and for a second, I almost lost my footing.

Maybe he really did care.

But then his gaze suddenly shifted over my shoulder, and his eyes narrowed again.

“Kyle!” Selena’s voice rang out from behind me.

The arm around me vanished at once.

He jerked back as if I had burned him. The movement was so fast, so instinctive, that it drew an invisible line between us.

That was when I finally understood—

a secret mate hidden for five years could never compete with the ex who had come back.

I took two steps back and put distance between us.

“Go,” I said. “Don’t keep her waiting.”

Before he could answer, I turned and pushed through the glass doors of the restaurant.

The New York night wind cut into my collar, and only then did I realize I had been shaking the whole time.

I had thought I was ready for this.

But when betrayal was laid out in front of me that nakedly, my heart still hurt.

The restaurant was only twenty blocks from the apartment.

It took me three hours to walk home.

When I pushed open the apartment door, the clock by the entrance was pointing at one in the morning.

I curled up on the couch, the glow of my phone lighting my face. Without thinking, my fingers opened Selena’s Instagram.

Her latest post had gone up ten minutes earlier.

In the picture, Selena was wearing a black sequined mini dress, sitting on Kyle’s shoulders with both arms raised, laughing like she owned the night. Kyle’s hands were wrapped around her thighs, his head tilted up toward her. Under the blurred lights, the line of his face looked unbearably soft.

Caption:

Boyfriend strength at its peak! Who says the Blackthorn heir only knows how to guard territory? #BestSupport

Suddenly, I remembered Coney Island last summer.

I had seen a girl sitting on her boyfriend’s shoulders to watch the fireworks. Excited, I tugged on Kyle’s hand and asked if I could try it too.

Kyle had gently pushed me away and frowned.

“Don’t do that, Layla. It’s not appropriate.”

Turns out it wasn’t inappropriate.

It was just the wrong woman asking.

Love always comes down to a choice.

I locked my phone.

The screen went black, and one tear finally slipped onto the back of my hand. I wiped it away almost at once.

Crying over someone who didn’t deserve it would only humiliate me further.

I walked into the closet.

Kyle’s clothes were hanging neatly on the left side—those expensive custom shirts, each one something we had chosen together. In the back were several unopened matching outfits we had bought but never worn.

Because we could never go out in them together.

“When we go on vacation,” he had promised.

Now, it was obvious those clothes would never see daylight.

Slowly, I took his things down one by one, folded them, and packed them into storage boxes.

The matching outfits went straight into a garbage bag.

Then I started packing my own luggage.

The Northern Wild Wolf Clan’s residence in Seattle was already prepared. I only needed the essentials. Carefully, I packed my combat uniforms, work clothes, and daily clothes into the largest suitcase.

By the time Kyle came home, it was already three in the morning.

His eyes landed on the suitcase standing against the wall, and his brows pulled together.

“Packing this late?”

I zipped the suitcase shut and answered flatly, “Long mission next week. I’m getting ready in advance.”

He nodded without the slightest suspicion.

He even walked over, bent down, checked the suitcase lock himself, and with a quiet click, locked it for me.

“Get some sleep.”

He patted the suitcase like he had just finished some small task, then turned and headed for the bathroom.

I looked at the suitcase he had locked with his own hands, and suddenly my throat burned.

He would never know that what was inside was not mission gear.

It was my decision to leave him.

Water began running in the bathroom.

I reached out and traced my fingers across the cold surface of the suitcase.

After five years, this was all that was left of us—

a suitcase he locked shut himself,

and a heart that would never open to him again.