Chapter 5

Nora

Before dawn, I wheeled my single suitcase through the silent hallway.

The wheels made a soft, uneven sound against the stone floor, each turn echoing through the enormous estate that had never truly felt like mine.

I had spent two years trying to fill this place with pieces of myself. Now, everything that truly belonged to me fit inside one bag.

I left behind the heavy silk gowns Damon had bought me, the jewels that had once made me feel cherished, and the expensive gifts that had slowly transformed into gilded chains. I didn't need them anymore.

My hand tightened around the handle as I reached the doors of our quarters.

For a moment, I stopped.

Damon was still asleep. He lay on his side beneath the dark covers, one arm resting across the pillow where I had once laid my head.

Above him hung the newly installed portrait of Evangeline. Her silver eyes seemed to follow me from the canvas, her beautiful face frozen in the serene expression she had worn in every grand painting across the territory.

The dead Luna. Damon’s fated mate. The ghost given more space in our marriage than I ever had.

I looked at the bed one last time. Damon didn’t stir. His wolf didn't even catch my scent leaving.

Perhaps that was fitting. For two years, I had been disappearing right in front of him, and he had never once noticed.

On the nightstand beside his hand, I placed the note I’d written and rewritten a dozen times.

I cannot live as a ghost in my own life anymore. I wish you peace with your choices.

Twenty-seven words to end a marriage. It felt like too much, and somehow, not nearly enough.

I turned away and walked out into the cold morning air. The sky was dark, the first faint silver of dawn barely visible beyond the northern peaks.

I climbed into the waiting carriage and instructed the driver to head straight for the neutral border pass. As the Carter Pack estate vanished behind the tree line, I expected my heart to break. Instead, the suffocating weight on my chest loosened.

With every league traveled, I breathed a little easier. I was really leaving. No more pretending. No more competing with a dead woman for the heart of an Alpha who had already chosen her memory over his living wife.

When I crossed into Solberg territory, I didn't know what waited for me. But that uncertainty felt infinitely better than staying where I was never truly seen.

Damon

Three days later, Damon returned earlier than expected from the eastern border conflict.

The moment he stepped through the front doors of the estate, he called for Nora.

Silence answered him.

He climbed the Grand Staircase two steps at a time. "Nora?"

He pushed open the bedroom door. The room was cold. His gaze immediately fell on the open wardrobe doors, revealing empty shelves where her clothes had hung.

He stood frozen, staring as if his mind refused to process what his eyes were seeing.

"Nora?" His voice came out quieter this time, laced with a sudden, edge of panic.

He checked the dressing room. The study. The guest quarters.

Nothing.

Then he saw the slip of parchment on his nightstand. He picked it up, his eyes scanning her handwriting once, twice, three times.

I cannot live as a ghost in my own life anymore...

His jaw tightened, his amber eyes flashing with denial. "She’ll be back," he muttered, crumpling the parchment in his fist. "She’s just trying to prove a point."

He left the bedroom and marched down to the sunroom, where Mirella sat sipping herbal tea near the arched windows.

"Where is Nora?" Damon demanded, his Alpha aura flaring erratically through the room.

Mirella looked up, her expression shifting instantly into an expression of delicate concern. “Alpha? I thought you knew..."

"Knew what?"

"That she was leaving," Mirella whispered, lowering her eyes. "She hasn't been herself lately. She was so angry, Damon. She kept saying everyone was against her. I tried to make peace, but she accused me of trying to take her place."

Mirella paused, letting out a soft, pitying sigh. "I think she may be... unstable."

Damon’s aura snapped defensively. "Don't call my wife unstable."

"I didn't mean it like that," Mirella murmured softly, her voice dripping with sweet sympathy. "I just think she needs help."

Damon turned away, staring out at the estate courtyard. For the first time, a shadow of deep uncertainty flickered across his face.

He looked at the crumpled note in his hand once more. "She'll be back."

Behind his shoulder, Mirella’s lips curved into a tiny, victorious smile. "I hope so, Alpha."

Nora

By evening, Solberg Valley was bathed in golden light.

The vineyards stretched endlessly beneath the sky, rows of silver-green vines glowing amber under the setting sun. The air here smelled rich…of damp earth, mountain pine, and sweet fermenting harvest.

At the edge of the field stood a weathered stone cottage with wooden shutters, climbing vines, and a small porch overlooking the valley.

Alpha Ryker Solberg stood waiting outside.

He stepped forward as my carriage came to a halt, his broad-shouldered frame standing steady against the twilight. "Nora."

"Alpha Ryker," I replied, stepping onto the stone path.

His handshake was firm and warm, but he didn't hold on longer than necessary. There was no territorial possessiveness in his touch, no silent demand of dominance. Just clear, unwavering respect.

"Welcome to Solberg Estate," he said.

"Thank you for giving me this opportunity."

"The position of Master Cellarer is yours," Ryker said simply. "We'll go over your trade authority and production budgets tomorrow. You should rest tonight."

He gestured toward the cottage door.

I stepped inside. On the small wooden dining table sat a vase containing a freshly cut bouquet of wild lavender.

I stopped beside it. That simple, quiet gesture broke through the final piece of armor around my heart. I reached out and touched one of the delicate purple stems, and tears finally spilled down my cheeks.

I had spent two years being careful not to cry in front of Damon…careful not to appear weak, careful not to give Mirella another excuse to paint me as dramatic or fragile.

Ryker stood quietly near the open doorway. He didn't ask why I was weeping. He didn't tell me to stop, nor did he try to invade my space.

He simply looked at me with clear gray eyes before saying softly, "The vineyard will heal you, if you let it."

Then he turned and walked down the hill toward the main estate, leaving the cottage and the quiet evening air to me.

I stepped out onto the porch, breathing in the scent of earth and freedom. Above me, the sunset stretched endlessly across the northern horizon.

No portraits watched me here. No dead woman's shadow hung over my shoulder. No Alpha stood over me, demanding I fit into someone else's memory.

The sky had never belonged to Damon...

It belonged to me.