Chapter 4

Ever since I became Vincent's proxy Luna, I had completely stopped eating wild game.

He claimed he despised the heavy, gamey scent of venison, insisting it made him sick just being near it.

To please my Alpha, I had sacrificed far more than just my cravings.

He routinely demanded I suppress anything he deemed unbefitting of a Luna, from laughing freely in public to speaking up or wearing bright colors.

For seven years, I lived like a hollowed‑out Beta trapped in a rigid mold, my emotions tightly leashed.

But now, enveloped by the rich scent of fire-roasted meat, my senses caught the first real whiff of freedom I hadn't smelled in a lifetime.

The sharp aroma flooded my senses, bringing me right to the ragged edge of sobbing.

By the time I returned to the packhouse, the forest outside was pitch black.

When I pushed the door open, Vincent was sprawled across the leather sofa, his expression darker than midnight.

He had bombarded my phone with a dozen messages and calls, but I had ignored every single one.

"Where the hell have you been?" Vincent demanded, his voice dropping an octave as his oppressive Alpha Aura flooded the room.

I kicked off my boots and thoroughly washed my hands at the sink before answering, "I went out for a bite with a friend."

Vincent stalked over, his nostrils flaring as he caught my scent, and his jaw tightened in immediate disgust.

"I told you never to touch venison. That gamey stench gives my wolf a headache. Did you do this just to push my boundaries?" he growled.

I offered him a sweet, vacant smile. "Funny. When Mia ordered the venison loin at the tavern yesterday, you didn't bare your teeth. You told her she looked adorable."

His face turned thunderous, his fangs practically breaking through his gums. "Mia's different. She's not my mate, she doesn't have to follow these rules!"

I just stared at him, baring nothing.

Maybe she wasn't his marked mate yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Every wolf in the Blackwood Pack witnessed how fiercely Vincent doted on that Omega.

But to him, I was a ghost, completely unworthy of the Luna title.

The next morning, after Amy and I finalized the lab partnership, she hit the interstate toward the Obsidian Coast to prep our new lab.

Meanwhile, I walked into the Wolf Council hall to meet with a senior scribe of the Blackwood Pack.

Since Vincent and I had never shared the Mark, a standard proxy severance pact was all it took to legally shatter our ties.

When my eyes hit that brutal clause in the contract—giving up all rights to the Blackwood Pack's territory and assets—I didn't pause for a second.

I gripped the pen, scrawled my name across the bottom line, and pressed my thumbprint into the wax, locking the seal permanently.

Not a trace of hesitation.

The moment I pressed my thumbprint into the wax and stepped past the council doors, my device buzzed with a video from Mia.

The clip opened on a sprawling, lavish ceremony hall draped in silver wolf feathers and overflowing with fresh white roses.

Right above the altar, a massive wooden plaque written in gleaming silver ink read, "Luna Ascension of Vincent Vaughn and Mia Ross".

The camera panned to Vincent standing amidst the floral arrangements, quietly discussing layout details with the pack planner, his profile wearing an uncharacteristically gentle expression.

Mia attached a voice note, her voice a smug purr through the speaker: [I only mentioned wanting to bond sooner, and he immediately started planning the entire ascension ceremony for me.]

Mia: [We formalize the bond in two days. Of course, we'd love for you to be there to witness it, Chloe.]

That exact date happened to be my twenty-seventh birthday, the precise deadline I had set to abandon this territory forever.

I stared at the screen for a flat second, skipped the reply, and blocked her number without a single trace of hesitation.

After that, I hailed a cab back to the packhouse and started packing my remaining belongings.

Through all my years in that luxurious estate, I never spent a single dime of his pack funds on myself, not even once.

When I first crossed the pack borders, all I carried was a beat-up canvas duffel bag.

And now, seven years later, I was leaving with nothing but that exact same worn-out bag.

Just as I zipped the canvas shut and set it by the heavy bedroom door, Vincent walked in.

"Go make me a bowl of clam chowder," he ordered.

He began loosening his collar, barking out directives as if commanding my submission was second nature.

He didn't even cast a glance at the luggage on the floor, assuming I was just a permanent fixture chained to his service.

Knowing this was the absolute last time I would ever have to endure his commands, I didn't argue, simply turning on my heel to head down to the kitchen.

Half an hour later, I set the steaming chowder down on the mahogany desk in his study. Vincent paused, his pen hovering in the air, and stared at me for a long moment.

"You've been awfully quiet these past few days," he said.

I used to always be the one orbiting around him, trying to get a conversation going, sharing stories from my day, gossiping about the pack, even though all I ever got in return was a half-hearted grunt.

I met his gaze calmly and replied, "My throat's a bit sore. I just don't feel like talking much."

Vincent scoffed, returning to his paperwork, and dropped the subject entirely.

For the next two days, he didn't set foot in the packhouse.

Rumor had it he was off with Mia, helping her pick out custom designer gowns covered in diamonds for her big day.

On the morning of his Luna Ascension ceremony with Mia, the packhouse was completely empty.

I placed the old proxy arrangement contract, the one that had chained me for seven years, right next to the new dissolution pact I'd just picked up from the council, both neatly laid out in the center of his study desk.

Then I grabbed my old duffel bag, took one last look around this gilded cage that had held me prisoner for seven years, and turned and walked away toward a future that was finally mine.

As I hauled my bag up to the terminal gate at the regional transit hub, my phone suddenly buzzed.

Vincent's name flashed on the screen.

I didn't even hesitate, hitting decline, pulling out the SIM card, and tossing it into the trash can without a second thought.

As the plane soared into the clouds, I watched Blackwood Territory shrink away below me and let out a long, relieved breath.

It was finally over.