CHAPTER FIVE

Chapter 5

Freya never expected Robert to come back.

She stood frozen in place, staring into the sharp lines of his cold expression. Her wolf ears twitched nervously, and her tail drooped low with unease.

It felt as if an invisible hand had clutched her heart in a painful grip. Deep inside, her wolf let out a silent, anguished howl.

“I’ve spoiled you for too many years.”

Robert’s voice was low, threaded with the authority unique to an Alpha. His wolf eyes glinted with an icy golden light.

“And now you think you can just run away from home to threaten me?”

Freya’s fingers trembled. Her sharp claws pierced her palm unconsciously.

“I wasn’t threatening you.”

Her voice came out hoarse, barely audible, the distinct whimper of a she-wolf buried in her throat. “It’s just... now that you’ve found someone you like, and you’ll be getting married one day... It’s not right for me to stay by your side anymore.”

Robert’s brow furrowed. He stared at her for a long moment, his wolf catching the slight quiver in her breathing. He hadn’t expected her to say that.

“If you hadn’t made such a scene back then—”

His tone turned cold, his wolf tail flicking slightly in impatience.

“None of those rumors would’ve started in the first place.”

Freya’s eyes burned. A mist of tears clouded her wolf gaze.

She knew. He had never forgiven her for that public confession.

Fifty-six times.

Fifty-six confessions that had completely changed the nature of their bond.

“I’m sorry.” She lowered her head, her voice so soft it was nearly lost to the air. Her wolf earspressed tightly back against her skull.

“You don’t have to worry... I won’t bother you and Aunt Clara again.”

Robert’s frown deepened. His wolf sensed something wasn’t right with her, but a message from Clara pulled his thoughts away—

“Robert, my wound hurts... can you come be with me?”

He glanced down at his phone, then pulled a small tube of ointment from his pocket and tossed it to Freya.

His wolf tail hesitated in front of her for just a second—as if unsure—but then it was gone. His wolf spared her one last glance, full of silent conflict.

“Apply it. Don’t leave a scar.”

With that, he turned and walked away without the slightest hesitation.

Freya remained rooted where she stood, watching his silhouette disappear down the corridor. The light in her wolf’s eyes slowly dimmed to nothing. After a long while, she knelt down and picked up the ointment.

But this time, she didn’t open it.

She returned to her room and pulled out the box she had once guarded like a treasure—inside were the things he had given her: a wristwatch, a scarf, a bookmark... and the only photo they had taken together.

She lit the flame.

Her wolf wept silently.

“Robert…”

As she watched the fire consume every memory, her tail hung limp, her voice soft as falling ash.

“Goodbye.”

In the days that followed, Freya went out to apply for a visa. Robert took Clara to Sylvonia.

Freya saw Clara’s posts every single day.

They held each other by the sea, kissed beneath the setting sun, nestled close on snowy mountain peaks. The way Robert looked at Clara—it was so tender, it hurt to witness. She calmly turned off her phone.

Even in the darkness, her wolf sight made every image painfully clear. But right then, she would’ve given anything to be blind.

Her wolf whimpered, heartbroken.

And then, it was nearly the anniversary of her parents’ death.

Every year around this time, Robert had always gone with her to the cemetery.

He used to prepare the offerings in advance, standing silently behind her, his wolf tail gently wrapping around her ankles—offering quiet strength whenever her voice choked with grief.

But this year was different.

Freya knew Robert had Clara now. She shouldn’t—couldn’t—lean on him the way she used to. Her wolf comforted her in silence, trying to steady her.

That morning, she bought white chrysanthemums and went to the cemetery alone.

The autumn wind howled through the trees. Fallen leaves spun in the air before settling quietly at the base of the gravestone. Freya knelt, her wolf claws carefully brushing dirt from her parents’ photo, sharp nails skimming the edges with deliberate caution, afraid to leave a single scratch.

“Dad... Mom…”

Her voice was soft, barely more than a breath. Her wolf throat trembled with the low whimpering unique to their kind.

“This year... it’s just me.” She placed the flowers down and ran her fingers gently along the cold stone.

“I’m leaving for Sylvonia soon. I might not be able to visit for a long time…”

Her voice broke.

She paused, forcing a smile as best she could. Her wolf’s ears quivered from sorrow.

“But I’ll be okay. You don’t have to worry.”

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps approached from behind.

Freya turned around and saw Robert walking toward her, holding a black umbrella. Clara clung to his arm, a carefully arranged sorrow on her face.

“You two…” Freya stood, her wolf tail going rigid with tension. Her fingers instinctively clenched the hem of her coat.

“Clara wanted to pay her respects to your parents,” Robert said calmly, his wolf eyes unreadable, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. Freya looked at Clara’s false expression—remembering every insult she had once spat at her parents. A weight pressed against her chest.

A low growl built in her wolf’s throat.

“They’re not welcoming you.”

Her voice was cold, her claws already beginning to extend.

Robert’s brows drew together, his wolf tail flicking with displeasure.

“Freya, Clara is my girlfriend—and will be my wife. I’m bringing her here to honor your parents. What’s the issue?”

Clara knelt gracefully, placing the bouquet before the gravestone, her voice trembling with artificial emotion.

“Uncle... Auntie... I promise I’ll take good care of Freya…”

Freya turned her face away, unwilling to watch her put on a show. Her wolf ears pinned flat against her head in disgust.

The rain started to fall harder.Robert turned to retrieve another umbrella from the car.

And the moment he left, the sorrow on Clara’s face vanished. She stepped closer, her red lips curling into a cruel smile, her voice low enough for only Freya to hear. Her wolf radiated a triumphant, vicious pride.

“What’s wrong? Does it hurt to see me with Robert?”

“Your parents died at the perfect time. If they were alive to see their daughter throwing herself at her adoptive father like a whore, they’d probably die all over again.”

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