"I'm sorry," I whispered to the diary, voice hoarse. "Layla... I'm so sorry."
Ten years ago, the pack borders suffered constant attacks fromrogue wolves. During routine patrols, I'd rescued several young females gathering herbs, then ordered herb collection suspended. One girl was badly injured—I vaguely recalled giving her my coat for warmth, then forgot to retrieve it.
So that girl was her. That's why she had my coat. So she truly... loved me for ten years?
The realization wrung my heart like a vise.
Because before I saw this diary, she was already dead. Dead in that frigid ocean, carrying despair and heartbreak. Carrying ten years of love for me. Carrying that "I love you" I could never answer.
All of it—caused by my own hands.
The glass shattered in my grip. Shards pierced my palm, blood dripping between my fingers. I felt no pain. The suffocation in my chest eclipsed everything. I fought to breathe, clawing my way back from memory.
I opened the diary, pressed it against my face.
Seven years had faded her scent from these pages almost to nothing. But I could still catch traces—rose essential oil, and something more subtle, uniquely hers.
The scent of love.
Love. I couldn't remember when I'd last truly felt that word.
In my understanding, love was twisted. Dangerous. Destructive.
Like my parents.
They were once the pack's most devoted pair—young, handsome Alpha and gentle, beautiful Luna. Their union was blessed and envied by all.
I retained only fragments: Mother's warmth as she held me, Father's laughter when he lifted me high.
Then everything shattered.
Father got blackout drunk at a pack banquet. Next morning, he woke in an abandoned cottage at the territory's edge, beside a stranger—a wolf disfigured by accident, the pack's lowliest cleaner.
Worse still, they were fated mates.
That damned bond had formed the instant they coupled. Undeniable. Unbreakable.
Overnight, the pack erupted in scandal.
The Alpha had a fated mate—but not his wife, the Luna?
Father desperately insisted it was an accident, drunken loss of control—his true love was Mother.
Just as people seemed ready to accept this explanation, that their Alpha had merely erred, came the final blow: the woman was pregnant.
Nothing could stem the tide of vicious gossip then.
Some claimed Father had long since strayed. Others said Mother wasn't enough to keep her husband. Still others insisted fated mates were true love, and Mother merely a substitute.
Mother became a laughingstock.
A pathetic creature whose husband was stolen by fate itself.
I was only two. Years later, fragments reached me through Mother's personal maid, Alena.
My poor, devoted mother, crushed beneath it all. She sat before her mirror, asking endlessly, "What's wrong with me? Why not me?"
She withered. Withdrew. Refused to leave her rooms, refused even to see me—until Alena's scream shattered that morning's silence.
