Chapter 2

Rose pushed open the heavy stone door of her chamber and shut out the distant howls and laughter echoing through the Blackstone City manor. The moonlight filtered through the narrow window, casting silver patterns across the cold floor.

Her decision to return to Golden Oak City and accept the Thorne alliance had been made in haste—too hasty, perhaps—but the weariness in her bones left no room for hesitation. Now she needed to find someone to inherit her network in Blackstone City, and soon.

After spending the entire night sending encrypted wolf clan messages through blood-sealed scrolls to arrange the transfer of her affairs, Rose stared at Sally's name on the parchment ledger before her. President of Blueming Entertainment—a title Rose herself had bestowed upon the girl she'd rescued from nothing.

Her fingertips traced the edge of a silver dagger before she pulled out a fresh scroll and penned a dissolution notice, sealing it with her family's crest. Even if it meant dismantling everything she'd built with her own blood and resources, Rose would never hand her legacy to that ungrateful wretch.

After finishing, Rose stretched her aching shoulders and stepped out of her chamber, intending to walk the manor's stone ramparts and breathe in the night air. The wolf within her stirred restlessly, sensing her turmoil.

It was deep into the night. The great hall where Zack had hosted Sally's coming-of-age feast had emptied, the wolf clan leaders and hired guards all retreating to their quarters.

As Rose passed Zack's chambers, Sally's sweet, crystalline laughter drifted through the doorway.

The door hung slightly open. Rose's keen wolf senses caught every detail before her eyes could confirm it.

Sally wore an intricately embroidered gown, the stitching depicting running wolves beneath moonlight. Rose recognized it immediately—it had been commissioned from a master weaver, designed from sketches Rose herself had drawn. She'd originally intended to wear it to Shawn's honor ceremony, the night he'd receive his first Prestige Mark from the Blackstone Council. After giving Shawn those designs, she'd heard nothing. The gown hadn't been forgotten—it had been given to Sally instead.

Sally noticed the presence at the door. Her eyes flickered toward Rose for the briefest moment before she turned away, deliberately ignoring her.

She tilted her face up toward Zack, cream from a honey cake smeared across her cheek, and smiled with practiced sweetness.

"Zack, you made this celebration cake with your own hands. Won't Rose be furious when she discovers you've done this for me?"

She rotated the cake slowly, turning it in a full circle so the candlelight caught every detail—and so Rose could see it clearly from the doorway.

"What an exquisite cake, Zack. I adore it so much!"

Then she pressed a kiss to Zack's cheek. His eyes softened, reflecting the warm glow of the candles.

Shawn, leaning against the stone wall nearby, made an exaggerated sound of protest, his eyes gleaming with playful indignation.

"Sally, don't you like the gown I had made for you? It's from a master weaver—nearly impossible to commission—and yet you haven't even thanked me properly."

Sally slipped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek as well. "I adore Shawn's gift too. Every thread of it."

Shawn's face flushed instantly, his usual composure crumbling.

Rose watched the three of them, wrapped in their bubble of affection, and a bitter smile curved her lips. She turned and walked away without a sound.

Did Sally truly believe she couldn't see through her little performance?

In the past, such provocations would have worked. In the past, Rose had been the center of their world—how could she have endured being cast aside for someone who came later?

But now that Rose had decided to leave, she refused to waste even a heartbeat on their petty games.

From this moment forward, she and Zack and Shawn were nothing more than distant acquaintances. As for which of them Sally would choose to bind herself to—let the girl decide. Rose no longer cared.

The next day, after transferring all her remaining business affairs to her senior steward, Rose returned to her private villa on the outskirts of Blackstone City and began packing her belongings.

After this departure, she had no idea when—or if—she would ever return to this place. Anything she no longer needed would be burned or discarded.

In the past, the three of them had been inseparable. There was one chamber in the villa Rose had dedicated entirely to preserving their shared memories.

Rose stepped inside and let her gaze wander over every corner. It felt like looking at someone else's life.

Inside the iron-bound chest on the writing desk were sealed letters—dozens of them—written by Zack and Shawn in the early years. Every word had been penned with raw sincerity, declarations of loyalty and devotion. Rose had treasured each one.

Reading them again now, she could still see the fierce glow in their eyes when they'd handed her those letters, swearing they would never abandon her.

On the stone windowsill sat a glass jar filled with folded paper stars—crafted by Zack himself on Rose's birthday, each one a wish. Beside it hung a string of paper cranes, woven by Shawn, a charm meant to bring her eternal light and freedom.

Rose stood in the center of that room, and her chest tightened with grief.

It's over. All of it is over.

The jar of stars tumbled into the waste bin. The string of cranes was torn down and shattered against the floor.

Rose fed the letters into the fire one by one, watching the flames devour the ink and parchment. The ashes drifted into the bin, burying everything beneath them.

When Zack and Shawn returned to the villa, they froze at the sight of the ash-filled sacks piled near the door.

They crouched down and tore open the sacks without regard for the soot staining their hands. Shawn's fingers caught on a jagged shard of glass from the broken crane ornament, blood welling up, but he didn't seem to notice. He stumbled into the chamber clutching the ruined cranes, staring at Rose's back as she continued her work.

"What are you doing?" His voice cracked.

Rose didn't even glance up. She tore a framed painting from the wall—one depicting the three of them beneath a full moon—and tossed it into the bin without hesitation.

"Clearing out the room. Useless things only take up space. Better to be rid of them."

Zack lunged forward and snatched the painting from the bin. Ash smudged the canvas. He tried to wipe it clean with his sleeve, but only smeared it further.

He stared at the ruined image, his expression stricken, then looked around at the barren chamber.

"How can you call this useless? Rose, this was our youth. Our bond. Are you really going to throw it all away?"

Shawn's lips pressed into a thin line as he surveyed the empty room, his eyes hollow. It felt as though something vital had been carved out of his chest.

Rose looked at the two of them—disheveled, distressed, clinging to fragments—and a cold laugh escaped her.

Hadn't they already chosen Sally as their treasure? Hadn't they already cast her aside? Why this sudden pretense of sentimentality over meaningless relics?

If they knew she was returning to Golden Oak City to fulfill her family's marriage arrangement, what would they think then? What would they do?