Chapter 23
DECLAN
I’m stunned when I hear Dr. W’s question.
Do you also think your ex-girlfriend was a freak?
I try to read her expression, searching for some clue to what she’s thinking, but the mask blocks me completely. All I can see are her eyes—downcast, avoiding mine. Her tone is devoid of emotion, cold as ever. Or rather, she seems especially cold when asking that question.
I’m already irritated by Celeste’s loose tongue. Over the years, Celeste has always been like this, using every means possible to drive away any woman she thought might be a “potential romantic rival” from my side.
The last time Celeste showed this much interest in someone near me, something unexpected happened.
***
Three years ago.
I’m standing in the pack infirmary, staring down at a she-wolf I barely know. Her name is Diana—visiting from the Northern Peaks Pack for a diplomatic summit. We’d spoken for maybe fifteen minutes total during yesterday’s trade negotiations. Professional. Cordial. Nothing more.
Now she’s lying in a hospital bed with a broken leg and three deep claw marks raked across her face.
“Rogues,” she whispers when I ask what happened. Her eyes don’t meet mine. “I was out running, and they—they came out of nowhere.”
The pack healer stands beside me, his expression troubled. “The breaks are clean. Deliberate. And the claw marks...” He hesitates. “They’re precise, Alpha. Calculated to scar.”
“Rogues don’t fight like that,” I say quietly.
Diana flinches.
I pull up a chair and sit beside her bed. “Diana. Tell me what really happened.”
“I told you. Rogues—”
“You’re lying.” I keep my voice gentle, but firm. “And I need to know why.”
She’s silent for a long moment. Then tears start sliding down her cheeks, cutting through the bandages on her face.
“Please,” she whispers. “Please just let me go home. My father is already arranging my transfer. I’ll be gone by tomorrow. Just... just let it go.”
“Who did this to you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
She finally looks at me, and there’s something broken in her eyes. “Does it? Because the she-wolf who did this to me told me that if I said anything—if I named her—next time it would be worse. Next time she’d make sure I never walked again.”
My blood runs cold. “Who—”
“I’m leaving tomorrow, Alpha Cross. Please. Just let me leave.”
I want to push. Want to demand answers. But the fear in her eyes stops me.
I find Celeste an hour later in the gardens, arranging flowers.
“Diana is leaving,” I say without preamble.
Celeste looks up, her expression innocent and concerned. “Oh no. Is she alright? I heard there was some kind of accident.”
“She says rogues attacked her.”
“How terrible.” Celeste sets down her shears and brushes dirt from her hands. “I hope she recovers quickly. It’s so dangerous for she-wolves to run alone, especially visitors who don’t know the territory.”
“She wasn’t alone.”
Celeste blinks. “What?”
“Diana had two guards with her. Standard protocol for visiting pack members.” I watch her face carefully. “But somehow, rogues managed to attack her without the guards noticing anything. Isn’t that strange?”
“Very strange,” Celeste agrees smoothly. “Perhaps the guards were negligent. You should investigate them.”
“I plan to investigate everyone involved.”
Her smile doesn’t waver. “Good. We can’t have our guests being attacked on pack territory. What would people think?” She picks up her shears again. “Did Diana say anything else about what happened?”
“She’s too frightened to talk.”
“Poor thing.” Celeste snips a rose, examining it. “Though I suppose that’s understandable. Rogue attacks can be quite traumatic. Sometimes it’s easier to just... move on. Start fresh somewhere else.”
The way she says it—casual, light—makes my wolf snarl.
“Celeste.”
“Yes?”
“Did you hurt Diana?”
She looks up at me, her eyes wide and wounded. “Declan. How could you ask me that? I would never—” Her voice breaks. “Is that really what you think of me?”
“Answer the question.”
“No.” She sets down the shears and steps closer, her expression hurt. “No, I didn’t hurt her. I don’t know what happened to her, but I had nothing to do with it. I’ve been here all day, working on the garden. Ask anyone.”
I already know she has an alibi. She always has an alibi.
“You were asking about her yesterday,” I say. “At the reception. You wanted to know where she was from, if she was mated, what she did in her pack.”
“I was being polite,” Celeste says, her tone turning defensive. “Making conversation. Is that a crime now?”
“You do this every time.”
“Do what?”
“Someone gets too close, and suddenly they’re hurt. Or humiliated. Or they leave the pack.”
Celeste’s face hardens. “That’s not fair, Declan. You’re blaming me for things I have no control over. If she-wolves can’t handle being around you without getting themselves into trouble, that’s not my fault.”
I stare at her, this woman the Moon Goddess supposedly chose for me, and feel nothing but exhaustion.
“Diana’s leaving tomorrow,” I finally say. “Let her go in peace.”
Celeste’s expression softens immediately. “Of course. I hope she recovers well.”
I turn to leave.
Diana is gone by dawn the next day. I never see her again.
***
That wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t the last.
Over the years, I watched the pattern repeat.
The sudden accidents. The mysterious transfers.
She-wolves who got too close to me suddenly finding reasons to leave the pack.
And every time, Celeste had an alibi, a smooth explanation, a way to turn my accusations back on me until I felt like I was the one being unreasonable.
I knew. I’ve always known.
But my parents loved her. My father saw her as the perfect Luna, the ideal fated mate. My mother praised her constantly. And they were getting older, frailer. Breaking the bond would destroy them.
So I tolerated it. Looked the other way. Conducted investigations I knew would go nowhere.
But this time, Celeste has gone too far. I never wanted to talk about Aria with anyone. That part of my past is mine alone, and the guilt I carry over what happened—that’s mine too. Celeste had no right to bring Aria up like that, to use her as some kind of gossip to make conversation with Dr. W.
I say stiffly to Dr. W, “There’s no need for you to know about this. She’s just an insignificant person.”
The words taste bitter even as I say them. A lie I tell myself, one I’ve been telling for six years.
I pause. “I apologize for Celeste’s behavior. She shouldn’t have brought up irrelevant personal matters during your work.”
But somehow, after I say this, the temperature in the room seems to drop. I can feel it, the shift in her energy, the way she goes rigid.
She only says, “Is that so? Then you can leave.”
“Here’s your diagnosis,” she says flatly, shoving reports and papers into my arms. “Now leave.”
Before I can respond, her hands are on my shoulders, pushing me toward the door, and I’m too stunned to resist.
She chases me out like I’m some unwanted solicitor.
The door closes in my face.
I stand there in the hallway, arms full of medical documents, completely stunned. I have no idea what just happened. What did I say wrong? I apologized for Celeste, didn’t I? I was trying to be respectful, to keep Dr. W from being dragged into pack drama that has nothing to do with her.
So why do I feel like I just made everything worse?
----
ARIA
I shouldn’t be angry.
I lean against the door, my hand still on the handle, breathing hard. My heart is pounding, and I can feel the sting of tears threatening.
I shouldn’t have said anything.
What was I thinking, asking him that? Pushing him like that? I’m supposed to be Dr. W—detached, professional, untouchable. Not the broken girl he threw away six years ago.
She’s just an insignificant person.
The words loop in my head, over and over, each repetition like a knife twisting deeper.
I slump to the floor against the door, pulling my knees to my chest. The mask feels suffocating now. I want to rip it off, but I can’t. Not here. Not yet.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out with shaking hands. A text message from the group chat with my children. My vision blurs as I open it.
It’s a group photo.
Lily, Noah, and Emma are all grinning at the camera, their faces bright with joy. They’re holding up a huge teddy bear between them—Papa Bear. Emma’s clutching its paw, Noah has his arm around its middle, and Lily is standing on her tiptoes to kiss its fuzzy cheek.
The message below reads: Mama, we miss you! Papa Bear says hi! When are you coming home?
I stare at the photo for a long time.
They’ve always wanted a dad. I know that.
I see it in the way Noah watches other kids at the park playing catch with their fathers.
I hear it in the careful way Emma asks questions about “where daddies go” when they read storybooks.
I feel it in how Lily always assigns the “daddy role” to her stuffed animals during pretend play.
They understand, somehow, that the subject hurts me. So they hold back in front of me, swallowing their questions, their longing. They’re so young, and already they’re protecting me.
My babies. My brave, beautiful babies.
The tears come silently, streaming down my face beneath the mask.
I wanted so badly to find your father for you too…
But he doesn’t want to be found. He doesn’t even know you exist.
And even if he did—he just called your mother insignificant.
I press my face against my knees and let myself cry.