DEREK
I remember the exact moment my father died.
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Not when I found out–when it happened. I didn’t know then, of course, but looking back, there was a sudden weight that settled in the air that day, like the wind itself Kijew something had shifted.
Something in the bond between us snapped.
We were out near the training fields. Me, Joe, and Brock. It was one of those late summer afternoons where the sun stays too long and the grass smells like fire. We’d been sparring, half–heartedly, mostly laughing.
Joe had just gone down with a dramatic groan, and Brock was trying to drag him off the mat by one ankle when I heard the distant howl.
It wasn’t grief. Not yet. It was a summons. A call I’d heard my father use dozens of times–low, clipped, precise.
I stood up straighter before I even understood why.
A messenger arrived maybe five minutes later, panting, face pale.
“Alpha…” he started.
And just like that, I wasn’t laughing anymore.
I still don’t remember the rest of what he said. The words bled together–ambush, rogue territory, too late, no sign of struggle but no chance of survival either.
There was no body.
Just burned trees and blood and silence.
I didn’t speak for hours. I didn’t cry, either. I remember Joe standing near me the whole time, occasionally offering water, occasionally saying my name like he wasn’t sure if I could still hear him.
And Brock–he just stood behind me. Solid. Unmoving.
I think they both thought they were helping.
And maybe they were.
But all I wanted in that moment was someone to hold me. Someone to tell me that the world hadn’t just cracked open beneath my feet.
Instead, I was told I was now the Alpha.
Congratulations, more or less,
I went to see my mother that night. She was curled on the couch in the conservatory, a blanket pulled tight around her shoulders, eyes staring at nothing. She looked smaller than I’d ever seen her.
“Mom,” I said.
She blinked. “He wasn’t supposed to die first.”
I didn’t know how to answer that.
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She didn’t look at me again, Just started crying. Quietly. Eridlessly.
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In the days following my father’s death, Cassandra had been there for me. She stood beside me at the funeral, *quiet and composed in a black dress that billowed in the wind. She didn’t weep or ask questions—she just slipped her hand into mine during the eulogy and didn’t let go.
At the burial, when my mother collapsed into me, it was Cassandra who steadied us both.
And in the evenings, when people crowded the estate to pay their respects and whisper condolences through forced smiles, it was Cassandra who made sure I had water who answered the questions I couldn’t bring myself to, who ran interference when the grief turned suffocating
She was… present.
But presence wasn’t the same thing as understanding
Two weeks later, after the estate had gone quiet again–after the silence returned and the grief stopped being public and started becoming something private and dark–found myself at her apartment.
I hadn’t called ahead. I didn’t know what I wanted.
Just that I needed something to feel okay again.
When she opened the door and saw me standing there, something flickered across her face–surprise, maybe. Or hope.
“I was wondering when you’d come,” she said softly.
I stepped inside.
She had candles burning, and the scent of vanilla and citrus drifted through the air. Her suitcase sat by the door packed, zipped, and ready.
I sat on the edge of the couch and stared at it. Our trip. When I’d planned to propose.
“The trip?” I asked.
rms, “We were supposed to leave tomorrow.”
She crossed her arms.
“I know.”
She sat across from me, not quite close enough to touch. “It was going to be our trip, Derek. You said so. You told me this was the one.”
“I “It was supposed to be.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry,” I added. “I can barely think straight.”
She sighed. A touch dramatically.
“Can we reschedule the trip?” I asked. “Maybe in a couple months? I just… I can’t leave rig. ow. Not with the pack still unsettled. Not with my mom barely speaking. Not like this.”
Cassandra stared at me.
Then she exhaled slowly. “I already took the time off. I’m packed.”
I exhaled.
“I’m going to go,” she said eventually, voice soft.
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I nodded, even though it hurt.
Beluse part of me had hoped she’d stay.
Part of me had hoped she’d cancel the reservation, sit besid
ready. I’m not leaving.
But that wasn’t who she was.
Maybe it never had been.
Chapter 156
+25 BONUS
Chapter 156
