David, my childhood sweetheart who promised to have a Mark ceremony with me when I turned 18, proposed to my cousin Violet at my coming-of-age party. That wizard Andrew, who was said to be uninterested in women, put a silver ring carved with mystical runes onto my ring finger at David’s celebration. For five years after our mark ceremony, he was gentle and devoted to me. I believed that it was my true love. Until I overheard his conversation with a friend. “Andrew, Violet’s already become the pack healer. How long will you keep pretending with Morgan?” “Since I can’t be Violet’s mate anyway, it doesn’t matter who I mark. Besides, with me here, Morgan can’t interfere with Violet’s happiness.” The rune stones he carved in secret all bore Violet’s name with his blessing to her. “Bless Violet could rid of bad dreams” “Bless Violet could obtain all she wants, and needn’t worry anything.” “Violet, I can’t be your mate, hope you have a wonderful life.” Five years of reaming. One moment of awakening. I arranged a fake identity and planned my staged death.
After confirming the final arrangements for my fake death, I hung up the phone. In two days, I would disappear forever, just as they wished. The door opened softly. I looked up to see Andrew. He embraced me, his voice gentle. “Who were you talking to?” “Nothing important. Pack hospital business.” I smiled, trying to sound natural. He kissed me. “You’ve been so busy lately. I’ll cook something special for you tonight.” During our five-year mate bond, Andrew had always been gentle with me. Everyone said wizards never fell for women, but once they did, it was for life. I thought this was my happiness. Now I understood this mate bond wasn’t my happiness—it was his protection of Violet. Andrew gently stroked my shoulder and said, “The Silverton family is throwing a party tomorrow. Celebrating Violet’s three-month pregnancy and her promotion to pack healer. You should rest at home. I’ll drop off a gift and come back.” “I’d like to go too…” He interrupted with a gentle but undeniable tone. “You should skip the party. Haven’t you been wanting a baby? This is a good time to rest and prepare your body.” I lowered my eyes, hiding my complex emotions. I was marked for years without baby. I had consulted healers, tried fertility treatments, prayed to every deity I could name. I once thought it might need some luck. But recently I found the truth. After each time we were intimate, he secretly put the special herbs in my food to prevent pregnancy. He didn’t want children with me because that would make our bond too real, too permanent. After all, how could he let me bear children that would taint his true love? He probably didn’t want me at the party because I might overshadow Violet. The pack healer’s celebration would be her moment to shine, her chance to bask in the admiration and respect that should have been mine. My presence would only remind everyone that she had built her success on stolen research, stolen dreams. He kissed my forehead, seemingly unaware of my sadness, his lips gentle against my skin in a mockery of true affection. “The day after tomorrow is your birthday. I’ve prepared a surprise, Evangeline.” “The day after tomorrow is your birthday. I’ve prepared a surprise, Evangeline.” Evangeline. I repeated the word, suddenly finding it harsh. All these years, his blessings always included “Evangeline.” Only now did I understand its true meaning. Violet Evangeline Silverton. He’d been blessing me with his beloved’s secret middle name. All those blessings from his lips were never meant for me. “Sounds wonderful. I’ve planned some activities too. Make sure you’re free to spend time with me.” He nodded. “Of course. Whatever my Morgan wants.” I looked up and smiled. Andrew, how painstaking you are. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I carefully moved his arm from around me. I accidentally knocked over the bracelet he always wore. When I picked it up, I felt something strange on the beads. In the dim light, I saw letters carved on each glass bead. V.E.S. Violet’s initials. That moment, I gave up completely.
The next morning, I told Andrew, “Let’s go to the Silverton house together.” His expression froze briefly, then returned to normal. “Fine. We’ll leave after giving our gift.” I knew he didn’t want me there, and afraid I’d disturb Violet. But I just wanted to see my family one last time. Tomorrow, I would be faked died and left. At the Silverton estate’s ballroom, Violet wore a champagne dress. David, who should have been my mate, now look at her full of love. The sight of them together should have hurt more, but I found I felt nothing. David seemed like a stranger now. “Dr. Violet’s healing potion is miraculous!” someone was saying near the refreshment table. “It healed silver wounds that left werewolves scarred for life.” The crowd murmured appreciation, voices rising in praise for Violet’s incredible breakthrough. They mentioned the potion had earned the Elder’s recommendation and was now popular throughout Hethrgard, bringing honor to the Silverton name and establishing Violet as a healer of renown. When Violet saw me enter, her expression flickered—surprise, annoyance, calculation—before returning to its practiced smile. Her smile was polite but mocking as she approached us, her voice carrying just far enough for nearby pack members to hear: “Morgan came too? What a rare guest.” I ignored her barbed greeting, my attention focusing instead on the potion bottle in a guest’s hand. The distinctive cobalt blue glass, the silver stopper, the elegant label with flowing script—every detail was familiar. This was my research, years of work, still in clinical trials, never shown publicly. How had my creation become her “masterpiece”? Violet smiled coldly, leaning close so only I could hear her next words. “Is Morgan interested in this potion too?” I stared at her without any expression, my face a mask of calm while inside I seethed. I was about to speak, to challenge her publicly, to demand answers, when she suddenly cried out: “No—” Before I could react, she fell backward, stumbling and clutching her abdomen with a pained expression. Chaos erupted around us like a disturbed beehive. “What happened?!” “Violet is pregnant! How could you push her!” “Call the healer!” “Someone help her!” In the chaos, I heard a tense shout: “Violet!” Others might not recognize it, but I realize immediately. It was Andrew’s voice. The tenderness in his eyes was obviously, shattering my last hope. Realizing my attention, Andrew quickly calmed himself down. He looked at me, his tone softly but condemning: “Regardless, Violet is pregnant. You shouldn’t have pushed her.” Just then, the butler rushed in: “The Alpha thinks Dr. Violet’s potion is special. He’s promoting her to the Royal Pack Hospital!” Joy flashed across Andrew’s face—an expression I’d never seen in five years. I asked quietly, “Why is Violet’s potion the same as my research?” He stiffened but quickly recovered, pretending innocent: “Maybe it’s a coincidence. Perhaps you both researched similar things…” I laughed with no emotion and didn’t know what to say. All my experiments were done alone, the results locked in my safe. It only had two keys, one is for me, and the other saved by him. Though Andrew hid it well, after years together I’d discovered he was the mysterious Elder. How the potion appeared here was obvious. This potion was meant as our fifth anniversary gift, developed for his silver-wounded knee. Now I realized even our mate bond was fake. This gift had become meaningless. My expression was calm and others couldn’t know what I was considering. Andrew seemed to notice my change and quickly suggested, “Should we leave now? Find somewhere to relax?” I looked at him, say the words in calm: “Let’s take the yacht. Night cruise, watch tomorrow’s sunrise.”
In the car, he discussed tomorrow’s plans with the enthusiasm of a man who believed his lies were still intact: “I’ve prepared a birthday surprise. Once things settle down, we’ll plan for a baby, okay?” The casual way he mentioned children made my stomach turn. His phone rang, the sound sharp in the enclosed space. He answered, frowning with obvious difficulty, his voice carefully neutral. “Hello?” I couldn’t hear the other voice, but I didn’t need to. The way his jaw tightened, the way his free hand gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles went white—I knew who was calling. I turned to him, voice calm and understanding: “If you have business, go handle it.” He hesitated, conflict written clearly on his features: “Morgan, I…””It’s fine,” I assured him, my voice gentle and accepting. “I’ll wait on the yacht.” I didn’t need to see the caller ID to know it was Violet. The yacht was exactly as I remembered it—sleek white deck, comfortable seating areas, the small cabin below where we had spent our honeymoon five years ago. Everything looked the same, but I felt like a stranger boarding it, like I was viewing someone else’s memories through glass. Alone on the yacht, I turned on Violet’s Tiktok. Her latest post was less than an hour old, clearly posted while we were driving here. A fresh post showed a photo with text: “Having someone celebrate with me, bringing treats and chatting. Thank you for always caring for me, my best friend.” The image showed Violet in her champagne dress, but now she was in what looked like a private room, her expression softer and more genuine than it had been at the party. There were flowers on the table, expensive chocolates, and an intimate atmosphere that suggested a romantic encounter. Comments flooded in from her followers: “Your friend is so good to you!” “What friend? Looks like a lover!” “Someone’s being treated like a princess!” “Lucky girl to have such a devoted friend!” But my attention fixed on a hand visible in the corner of the photo, reaching for one of the chocolates. The hand wore a familiar bracelet—woven leather and glass beads. Undoubtedly, the bracelet on the wrist was Andrew’s. So while I had been sitting in the car believing his gentle lies, while I had been graciously giving him permission to handle his “business,” he had been with her. I called his number, my fingers steady on the phone despite the storm raging in my chest. The phone rang once, twice, and then a familiar voice answered. “Why is Morgan calling so late? Looking for Andrew?” Violet’s voice dripped with mockery and satisfaction. The sound of her voice answering his phone was like a final nail in the coffin of my old life. “Give up,” she continued, her voice sickeningly sweet. “He won’t come back tonight. You can’t keep a man interested, can you? I gave him to you, and you still can’t hold him.” The casual cruelty of her words, the implication that Andrew had been hers to give in the first place, should have hurt more than it did. Instead, I felt a strange sense of liberation. The last illusion was finally shattered. I hung up without saying a word and turned to the yacht crew: “Set sail.” “Aren’t we waiting for someone?” the captain asked, looking confused. I said smoothly, my voice carrying the authority of someone who had made a final decision: “No need to wait for anyone. Just me.” The yacht slowly departed, cutting through the dark water with a gentle rumble of engines. The harbor lights grew distant, then disappeared entirely as we headed toward the deep waters where my old life would finally end. All night, he never came. I leaned against the deck railing, staring emptily at the water, my mind drifting over the past five years. Before dawn painted the horizon, I called him one last time. This time, his phone was off—not busy, not ringing, just dead silence that spoke louder than any words. I stared at the blank screen for a long moment, then made my final preparations. I set the call recording and my research videos to upload automatically to TIktok, timed to release after my disappearance. After that, I walked to the stern of the yacht, taking one last look at the light breaking on the horizon. The sunrise was beautiful, painted in shades of gold and rose that reflected off the water like scattered gems. It was the kind of sunrise Andrew had promised to watch with me on my birthday. Then I leaped into the icy seawater. The carefully planned details of my fake death would ensure my survival—a boat waiting just out of sight, a team ready to pull me from the water, new clothes and documents prepared for my new life. But as far as this world knew, as far as Andrew and Violet knew, I was gone forever. Much later, I learned what happened that morning. Andrew had finally left Violet’s side as dawn approached, guilt and duty warring in his chest as he remembered his promise to me. “I have to go,” he had said, gathering his things with obvious reluctance. “It’s her birthday tomorrow. I promised to watch the sunrise with her.” Violet had stopped him, her voice petulant and demanding: “Andrew, I need you now too…” Andrew had shaken his head, some vestige of conscience finally asserting itself: “Not today.” But it was too late. His friend found him before he could reach the yacht, the news hitting him like a physical blow. “Andrew, your luna committed suicide!” Andrew’s POV Andrew was stunned. His voice came out hoarse, almost unrecognizable to his own ears: “Impossible! We had plans, and her birthday is coming. She was fine. How could she commit suicide?”
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