Chapter 17 Packing Up the Past
Arlira’s POV
Three years of my life packed into a single afternoon.
I stand in the bedroom I once shared with Alarion, surrounded by the relics of a marriage crumbling into memory. Every object is heavy with the echo of old hope–the gleaming silver hair clip he gave me for our first anniversary, the dried herbs I arranged in glass jars, the stack of books on pack history I pored over, desperate to be the Luna he claimed to want. My fingers linger on the edge of a photo frame: our mating day, the image frozen in time. Alarion’s smile is wide, his grip around my waist too tight. I wonder if he ever truly wanted me, or if I was simply the safe option, a placeholder while his heart knelt at Cyrinne’s altar.
“Garbage,” I mutter, tossing the frame onto the growing pile in the corner.
It’s shocking, how little I want to keep. The clothes, the jewelry, the decorations–each one belongs to a woman I no longer recognize. The Aelira who believed in her mate’s love is gone.
My suitcase sits open on the bed, nearly empty. I fill it only with what matters: my mother’s healing journals, the unfinished yellow hat she knitted for my unborn child, and a small, battered box of rare medicinal herbs passed down through generations.
A lifetime, reduced to one suitcase.
Inside, my wolf whimpers, torn and restless. She wants to protect our pup, to hold on to something that’s already slipping away. but I can’t imagine raising Alarion’s child in this ruin. Not now.
Downstairs, Elysande’s voice carries up the staircase, raw with urgency. “Alarion, you need to come home. Aelira is packing to leave!”
A pause. I hear the faint, tinny edge of his reply.
“I don’t care about the pack meeting! Your mate is leaving you!”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Fine. But don’t blame me when it’s too late.”
A bitter smile tugs at my lips. Pack business always wins. It always has.
I zip my suitcase, take one last look at the room our room–then limp down the stairs, my ankle still aching from the day everything shattered. The pain is a dull background to the hollow ache in my chest.
Elysande is waiting in the front hall, her phone clutched so tightly her knuckles are white. When she sees the suitcase, her
face falls.
“You’re really doing this,” she whispers.
“I am.” I pull an envelope from my purse, passing it to her. “This is the mate bond severance agreement. Once Alarion signs, we can begin the formal process.”
Her hands tremble as she takes it. “I never thought it would come to this.”
“Neither did I,” I say, my voice even. “But here we are.
“Here we are indeed!” Roderic Riven’s booming voice erupts from the study doorway. Alarion’s father, gloating, his eyes alive with mean delight. “Finally ridding the pack of a barren Lunal”
My hands clench. Even now, he can’t resist twisting the knife.
“Roderic Elysande snaps, her voice sharp as broken glass. “How dare you!”
He waves her off, sauntering closer, a smirk curling his lips. “Three years and not a single pup. What kind of Luna can’t give the Alpha an heir?”
The irony nearly makes me laugh. If only he knew.
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“Well,” I say, giving him a cool, steady look, “with me gone, you can finally have your preferred daughter–in–law. Cyrinne Wynthor will give you all the grandpups you want.”
His eyes widen, then narrow to slits. “You were never fit to be Luna.”
“Maybe not,” I reply, lifting my chin, “but I would never betray my mate the way your son betrayed me.”
I turn to Elysande, who stands torn between sorrow and rage. “Thank you for your kindness,” I say softly. “I wish things could have been different.”
She pulls me into a fierce hug. “This will always be your home, Aelira. If you ever change your mind.”
Over her shoulder, Roderic sneers. Some men never change.
I pick up my suitcase and walk out the front door of the Riven family home for the last time.
Oriana waits in her car at the curb, her face twisted in fury as she scrolls furiously on her phone, muttering curses under
her breath.
*That absolute scumbag! And that homewrecking witch!”
“What now?” I ask, exhausted, sliding into the passenger seat.
She shoves her phone into my hands. It’s open to Alarion’s social media page.
My heart stutters.
Posted on the day of our mating ceremony: Alarion, arms wrapped around Cyrinne’s waist, both smiling, lost in each other’s eyes. They look younger, the photo is old, but the post is new. The caption: Some bonds transcend time. Always there for you, no matter what, #OldestFriend #ForeverBond
The timestamp is a knife. He posted this while I was at the hospital. While my mother was dying.
“He he posted this?” The words come from somewhere far away.
“That bastard,” Oriana hisses. “He couldn’t even wait until your mother’s body was cold before telling the world how much he loves her.”
I stare, numb. The day I lost everything, he made his public declaration–while I was a spectacle, a joke, and didn’t even
know it.
“The whole pack must have seen this,” I whisper,
“Everyone’s seen it,” Oriana confirms. “Hundreds of shares already.”
I hand her the phone, unable to look at it anymore. A strange, icy calm settles over me–pain so vast my body can’t even. hold it.
“Let’s go,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat.
The apartment Alarion’s grandfather left me is small but comfortable, tucked away on neutral ground, far from the Riven estate and its poison. It’s a patch of peace, free from pack eyes and whispered gossip.
Oriana helps me unpack, filling the silence with hopeful plans–new curtains, a trip to the market, a fresh start. I’m grateful. for her effort at normalcy.
“I have to work tonight, but I’ll bring back dinner,” she promises, squeezing my shoulder. “Will you be all right?”
I nod, forcing a smile. “I just need some time alone.”
When she leaves, I wander through the empty rooms, trying to imagine a future here. Alone. Free. It should feel like liberation. Instead, loneliness closes in, suffocating.
A hard knock startles me from my thoughts. I open the door, expecting Oriana.
Alarion stands in the hallway, his amber eyes burning with anger.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls, pushing past me into the apartment.
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I freeze, stunned. He scans the modest space with open contempt.
“This is where you’re planning to live? This this hovel?”
His disgust snaps something in me, “Why are you here, Alarion?”
“To take you home,” he declares, gesturing impatiently. “Pack your things.”
I blink, incredulous. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. This tantrum has gone on long enough
I cross my arms, heat rising in my chest. “Did your mother not give you my severance agreement?”
His jaw flexes. “She did. I tore it up.”
“You what?”
“I’m not severing our mate bond, Aelira.” His voice is all Alpha command, the voice of a man who won’t be refused. “You belong at my side. You’re Luna.”
I laugh, hollow and sharp, and the sound startles him. “After everything, you expect me to come back? Are you insane?”
His face darkens “Watch your tone.”
“Or what?” I step closer, letting my own power flare. “You’ll punish me? Drag me back by force? Go ahead. Try.”
He draws a long, shuddering breath, fighting for control. “I understand you’re upset about what happened at the ceremony
“Upset?” My voice is rising, shaking. “My mother died because of you!”
“That’s not fair,” he protests, voice raw, “You can’t blame me for her illness.”
“I blame you for choosing Cyrinne over me. Again and again!
His expression softens, almost pleading. “Aelira, with Cyrinne gone, things will be different.”
“Gone?” I snap. “Did she finally see through you? Or did you finally see through her?”
“That’s not “He runs a hand through his hair, frustration etched in every line. “Look, with you gone, I’m free to be with Cyrinne. Isn’t that what you want? But that’s not what I want.”
“Then what do you want, Alarion? Because you’ve made it clear it isn’t me.”
He shakes his head, stubborn. “I never wanted to sever our bond. Cyrinne whatever happened with her, that was about paying a debt. Not love.”
I pull a fresh copy of the severance agreement from a drawer, signing my name with quick, precise strokes. “I don’t believe
you
I thrust the paper at him. “Sign it. Let’s end this farce.”
He stares at the document, unmoving. “Why did you leave the ceremony, Alarion?” I demand, my voice cold, sharp as glass. “Tell me again.”
“Cyrinne attempted suicide,” he says, pain flickering across his face. “She was rushed to Aethervale. I had to go.
“And that was more important than me? Than our ceremony?”
“Her mate saved my life. I owe him everything.
“So you say,” I say, voice icy. “But every time Cyrinne calls, you run. That’s not obligation. That’s desire.”
“It’s not like that.” His protest is weak. “Cyrinne has feelings for me, yes. But I don’t return them.”
I grab my phone, pulling up his social media profile, the post with Cyrinne front and center. “Then explain this.”
He stares at the screen, confusion clouding his face. “I didn’t post that.”
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His denial is the final straw. All the pain, all the humiliation and loss, harden into something cold and unbreakable inside
- me.
