Chapter 28
As one of Dante’s personal secretaries, Albert had seen countless resignations cross his desk over the years. Secretaries came and went, some tearful, some bitter, some relieved. But when Elodie slid that white envelope across the polished oak, something inside him tightened.
Her hands didn’t shake, but her eyes… moon goddess, her eyes told a different story.
Albert had been in Dante’s office long enough to know more than he ever should. He knew the whispers in the Pack, knew how cold Dante could be when it came to the woman he’d once taken as his Luna. He knew Elodie’s marriage had been built on loyalty and sacrifice, but not love, at least, not from Dante’s side. From hers, it had always been all or nothing.
She’d walked into this company years ago not just as his wife but determined, almost desperate, to earn her place beside him. Not as his shadow. Not as the Luna people pitied. She’d worked through her pregnancy, kept her head down through the cruel gossip, and never once demanded special treatment. Even when her heart was clearly breaking, she showed up every day polished, professional, untouchable.
Albert respected her for it. More than that, he pitied her.
And now… she was leaving.
“I’ll take your resignation,” Albert said, keeping his voice steady though it nearly caught in his throat. “I’ll arrange a replacement p>
She only nodded, quietly. No protests, no explanations. Just a soft curve of her lips that wasn’t a smile at all.
When she turned back to her desk, Albert noticed the way her shoulders slumped once she thought no one was looking. He saw how she lingered over the small family photograph propped by her computer, one that held a younger Elodie, her arms wrapped around little Liora, smiling like she had the whole world in her arms. The frame trembled in her hand before she set it down gently, almost reverently.
Albert had to look away.
For the rest of the morning, he watched her pack her things into a box. Not much, really. She hadn’t allowed herself luxuries. No trinkets, no clutter. Just a handful of books, a mug with faded lettering, a pen Dante himself had once given her back when there might have been hope.
Hope. That was the word that clung to her like a ghost.
Albert couldn’t help thinking: this wasn’t just a resignation. This was surrender.
Later, when he reported to Dante over video call, he forced himself to keep it professional. They were wrapping up quarterly reports when it slipped from his mouth before he could stop himself.
“Oh, Alpha Dante, regarding Elodie p>
On the other end of the line, Dante’s pen stilled. His golden eyes flickered in the dim light of his office, unreadable, cold as stone.
“What about her?” Dante asked, his tone sharp enough to cut.
Albert swallowed, pulse pounding. A lump formed in his throat, because how could he explain the way she’d looked? How could he describe the sight of a woman who had once given everything to her mate and her Pack, quietly folding in on herself as she walked away?
He wondered if Dante would fight for her. If he would stop her. If he would even notice that in choosing to leave this place, Elodie wasn’t just abandoning a job. She was leaving behind the last thread tethering her to him.
He had promised Elodie he would arrange her replacement quickly. That part was easy. But his gut twisted with unease, shouldn’t Dante be told? For years, Albert had watched her struggle to win her mate’s heart, watched her work tirelessly in the same company just to be closer to him, even if Dante never spared her a glance. And now she was leaving. Surely that was worth mentioning.
But then he remembered Dante’s words when she first joined: He ordered Albert, “Handle her matters by the book. Don’t bring her to me. Don’t report anything special p>
And Dante had kept his word. He’d never once asked about her. When they crossed paths in the company hallways, he treated her as though she were any other employee. As though she hadn’t once shared his home. As though she wasn’t the mother of his child.
Albert’s chest grew heavy.
“Report,” Dante said, his voice cold.
Silence stretched.
“Oh, it’s nothing p>
And with that, Dante ended the call.
Elodie’s POV ~
I didn’t even hear the first knock on my office door. My mind had drifted again, the numbers on the screen blurring into a haze I couldn’t focus on.
“What’s on your mind?” One of my colleagues, leaned against my desk, eyebrows raised.
I forced a smile, the kind that cracked at the edges. “Nothing p>
“Not calling Liora today?” she asked gently.
My chest tightened. Everyone in the office had grown used to me stepping out to call her twice a day, once at dawn, once at noon. That ritual had been my lifeline. But now… I shook my head. “No. Not anymore p>
She hesitated, then gave me a small nod, as if she knew better than to pry. She walked away, leaving me with the silence that wrapped around my heart like chains. Shit! It hurts.
I sat there staring at my phone, thumb hovering over Liora’s name. I could almost hear her giggle, the way she’d say “Mommy, come home soon.” But I didn’t press the call. I couldn’t, not when every unanswered ring cut me open deeper than claws ever could. I know.
After work, I picked up groceries, even bought a small potted plant I didn’t need. It was something to hold, something alive, because inside I felt anything but. Back home, I cooked dinner for one, ate in silence, then curled up by the glow of my laptop, scrolling through news about the upcoming technology expo. The world kept spinning, glittering, moving forward… while I stayed stuck in the ashes.
I dialed a number I hadn’t in months. “Can you reserve me a ticket for the Bellini Pack’s technology expo next month p>
There was a pause, then a cold laugh. “Are you serious, Elodie? The last two times you asked, you didn’t show. Do you know how many would kill for these seats? And you—” a sharp exhale, “—you waste them p>
Their words stung so hard because they were true. But I pushed through, my voice low, almost pleading. “If I don’t attend this time, I’ll never ask again p>
Silence. Then the line went dead. I knew that meant yes.
I closed my laptop and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. What I hadn’t told them… what I couldn’t tell anyone… was that I wanted back in. Back into the world I had left when I chose marriage, when I chose Dante, when I chose family. I had been his Luna, his partner, the one who stepped aside for the greater good of his Pack’s empire. And in doing so, I lost myself.
Now, years later, I wanted to return. But who would take me seriously? The industry had moved on without me, and I had been buried in diapers, lullabies, and the slow, suffocating silence of abandonment.
For the next few days, I buried myself in work during office hours. At night, I researched, studied, tried to prepare. But I didn’t call Liora. I didn’t call Dante. And of course… they didn’t call me.
It shouldn’t have surprised me. Even six months ago, every call, every text had been one-sided, it was me reaching out, them responding out of duty rather than desire. I had been clinging to smoke.
Now there was only silence. Silence that screamed louder than words ever could.
I sat by the window that night, the city lights of our Pack sprawling endlessly below, and for the first time in a long while, I let myself cry. Not the quiet tears I’d grown used to hiding, but a raw, broken sob that left me trembling. Because no matter how strong I pretended to be, the truth was simple.
I had already lost them.