This is our wedding photo. On the back, a date: when we first met.

I stare at it, my heart suddenly sinking. This date—it's wrong.


We met during the Northern Border battle, after the first snow of winter. What he wrote is three months later, at the Spring Festival.

The door is suddenly pushed open. Lilith stands in the doorway, her golden hair falling perfectly over her shoulders, wearing my nightgown—the birthday gift Drake gave me last year.

"Still awake?" she feigns surprise, malice flashing in her eyes. "What are you looking at?"


Without waiting for my answer, she walks straight over and snatches the photo from my hand, her nails deliberately scratching the back of my hand.

"Ah, a wedding photo." She sighs dramatically, "How... pathetic."


She flips it over, sees the date, and her smile widens. "He even got the date of your first meeting wrong. So... typical of Drake."

I freeze. "How do you know?"

"Because that day is our day," her voice slithers like a viper. "The Spring Festival, when he promised my father he would always take care of me. The way he looked at me that day... On his deathbed, my father held Drake's hand as he swore to put me first." She lightly touches my stomach, "You're just a political marriage, a breeding tool."

She smirks coldly, "You thought he would fall in love with you? Ridiculous. As long as I'm here, Drake will never truly belong to you. The bond between us is stronger than any mate bond. He may marry you, he may give you a child, but his heart, his soul, will always be mine."

She throws the photo back onto the bed as if it's contaminated. "He only gave you this out of guilt. Don't read too much into it."

She walks to the door, stops, and turns back. "Don't worry about the baby. I'll take good care of it... when you're no longer... convenient." Her gaze falls on my stomach, "Drake has already agreed. After all, who would let a crude warrior raise the future Alpha heir?"

Before closing the door, she adds, "Oh, by the way, your things have been moved to the storage room. I need more closet space."

The door closes. I sit in darkness, my fingers trembling.

The mansion sleeps. I pack quickly—clothes, documents, cash. My wedding ring stays behind with his photo.

My note is brief: "I release you from your obligation. Be happy with her."

Each step down the stairs feels final. Five years of memories mock my former naivety.

At his study door, I pause. Through the gap, I see him asleep in his chair, an empty whiskey glass slipping from his fingers. On his desk is Lilith's photo, not mine.

My chest tightens. Five seconds—that's all I allow myself to look at him one last time.

Then I turn away.

Outside, the night air hits my face. My hand finds my stomach.

"We'll create our own memories," I whisper. "Real ones."

I don't look back.

---

# POV Drake

I jolt awake, neck stiff. Check my watch: 6:30 AM.

The bond with Aria feels... off. Stretched thin, weakened.

I stretch, roll my shoulders. "Probably just the whiskey."

My phone buzzes. Lilith's text: "Breakfast at 8. Don't be late."

I swipe it away, but something pulls me toward the east wing. An uneasiness I can't ignore.

The guest room door stands open. The bed is empty, covers neatly folded as if never used.

"Aria?" I call out, my voice more urgent than intended.

Silence. Oppressive silence.

I check the bathroom. Nothing. My heart rate accelerates.

Back to the bedroom. Closet door ajar.

I yank it open. Empty hangers rattle, as if mocking me.

Her bag is gone. All her things are gone.

"She wouldn't..." I mutter, a sudden tightness in my chest, then spot her wedding ring on the nightstand. A note beside it.

My hand visibly trembles as I pick up the paper.

"I release you from your obligation. Be happy with her."

Seven words, each like a knife to my chest. I fold the note carefully, slip it into my pocket, trying to ignore the sudden panic rising within me.

"She's just upset about the room change," I tell myself, my voice no longer so certain. "She'll be back. She always comes back."

A knock at the door. Mrs. Harris stands there, twisting her apron, concern on her face I've never seen before.

"What is it?" I ask, struggling to keep my voice steady.

"Sir, the security cameras show someone leaving the property at 3 AM."

My heart sinks. "Show me."

In the security office, I watch Aria on the screen walking through the gates, one bag, head held high. She doesn't look back. Not once.

A cold fear grips me. This isn't one of her usual tantrums. This is different.

I tap my fingers heavily on the desk, masking my inner turmoil. "Call Marcus. Have him check her usual places. All of them. Immediately."

"Yes, sir."

Back in my office, I dial Aria's number. Straight to voicemail. I try again. And again.

"Aria, this isn't necessary. Call me back." There's a hint of pleading in my voice I refuse to acknowledge.

By noon, still no word. I'm restless, unable to focus. The bond feels increasingly weak, like a thread about to snap.

The sensation is suffocating. I've never considered what it would be like without her presence.

Between meetings, I return to the guest room, hoping to find some clue.

Something draws me to the closet again.