Chapter 4

The second half of the drive, it wasn’t Antony behind the wheel—it was Andre.

Without warning, he jerked the steering wheel, and the truck slid off into an open field.

Antony frowned. “You’ve gone the wrong way. Turn back.”

But in the next instant, my vision filled with flowers, balloons, and streamers.

Roses shaped into a massive heart, petals glittering like powdered light under the sun.

And there, in the center of it all, sat Sherry in her wheelchair, clad in white. Her golden hair shimmered in the breeze like liquid silk, her doll-like face carved with delicate perfection.

Antony stepped into that sea of blossoms, his pace slow and cautious.

I couldn’t see his expression—was it confusion? Was it wonder?

Or was it shock, carefully staged until it looked like destiny?

The moment I stepped down from the truck, the open-air sunlight scorched me, forcing me back toward shadow.

Then Sherry’s sobs cut through the crowd. She wheeled herself forward, clutched Antony’s hand, her voice trembling.

“I knew you cared about me. You came for me. I’m so happy.”

Antony’s voice was low, uncertain. “Are you really alright?”

The ones who had helped set the scene laughed, chiming in:

“She’s fine. We just wanted to give you a surprise. Alpha, you work too hard for the pack. If we hadn’t tricked you, you’d never have left your duties to the villagers…”

Andre clapped Antony’s shoulder, all smiles, his words heavy with blessing.

“Sherry is so good, so beautiful, and she’s been waiting for you. Don’t let her down.”

And Sherry leaned close, whispering in his ear:

“Let’s be together. I used to doubt your heart, but today I know—you love me. It’s my fault. I was too weak, and I missed my chance with you.”

When she breathed, ‘There’s no room in your heart for Natalie,’ Antony’s expression shattered.

And in the same heartbeat, Sherry stood. Her knees trembled, barely steady, before she flung herself into his arms.

Antony caught her instinctively, movements practiced—as if rehearsed a thousand times.

“I knew you’d say yes.”

The flower field erupted in cheers. The pack’s voices rang as one, calling her Luna.

My legs buckled. I collapsed to the ground.

The edges of my soul began to fray, my hands unraveling into mist.

And in the blink of an eye, I was back beneath that sacred mountain, the glacier crushing the breath from me.

Cold pierced deep, snow burying me again and again—only for burning sunlight to tear me open each time.

White and brightness tangled until I lost all sense of direction, my voice crushed into silence by the weight of snow.

I felt life draining from me—not pain, but a cold erasure, as if the world itself were forgetting me piece by piece.

Inside, I screamed for them: Father! Mother! Antony!

I lifted my eyes to the moon, prayed to the ancient goddess of fate, begged her to let these young eyes open once more.

And yet I also questioned: What sin was mine? Why, after losing my parents, after losing my mate, must I also lose life itself?

The laughter in the flower field still echoed. The sunlight still burned.

They all celebrated a happiness crafted with care.

And me—no matter how I longed—I could never step into that light.

My lips quivered, shaping the words Save me.

But no sound came.

At last, the cold swallowed me wholly.