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I growl and pull the earpod out of my ear and throw it across the room, where it breaks apart into a couple of pieces. I should feel regret, but I can’t muster it.

My phone rings, and I pull it out of my purse and glare at the name. My lip lifts, and a vicious snarl fills the room. I slide my finger across the screen, cutting the call, and turn my phone off.

“Fuck your designation crap, and fuck your fairy tales.” I stomp out to the car and grab the supplies I brought with me, carrying the bags back into the cottage and dumping them on the dusty table.

“What about homes? What about dignity? What about self respect?” I mutter as I fill up a tub with water and disinfectant. “What about not being a doormat?”

As I work, the pain eases up again, and with that, my mind goes over every fine detail I've already obsessed over. I wasn’t in love with them. Not by a long shot, but I thought we’d be a pack. When they walked into our home wearing silver bites on their necks and showing off mate bonds, it sent a sick feeling skittering through me. An icy feeling. The same one I’m used to right before my life blows up in my face. The little omega watched me with huge, nervous chocolate eyes while she clung to my pack with trepidation. I couldn’t fault her. I wasn’t hers; she was clearly terrified of me.

Tabby Lancaster, the most sought after omega of the season. Broke as fuck, spoiled to within an inch of her life, but the most beautiful, delicate woman I’ve ever seen. Everything I’m not.

And I felt nothing but disdain for her.

She was effectively stealing my home. My work. My family. My pack out from under me. Biology demanded it of her, of them. All my work and sacrifice flushed down the drain. Money and business don't count when hormones come to play. Ten years of friendship doesn’t mean shit when your omega needs a knot.

But I can’t begrudge them their desire for family or pack. It all made a painful, resigned sense. If I'd felt anything for her, I would have desired that, too. But I didn’t. Her scent of burnt toffee was irritating. So I did what any self-respecting alpha would do. I smiled, wished them well, watched their relief on their faces, packed my stuff, and moved the fuck out.

What does sting, what is keeping me furious and hurt, is the fact that no one had the balls to speak to me about it. A decade shared with those men, and it amounts to sheepish toe-shuffling while they wait for me to rescue them from their own choices. I’d been rescuing them in one way or another for years. It just took that moment to see it. Phil should have told me. That would have been the right thing to do.

Assholes. It’s been four months. Why is he contacting me now?

I find a cupboard stashed with chips and chocolate and frown because it doesn’t look old. I shrug and toss it in the garbage and get down on my knees to scrub the cupboard out.

I’m the one who handled everything. Made the money, cleaned the house, cooked. I wonder who’s going to do it now. The smile stays on my face through the entire cleaning of the other five cupboards.

I rub my temple and sit back down. When was the last time I ate? I can’t remember. My eyes feel dry, and all the years just seem too much suddenly. But my cottage is clean now. Tomorrow, I’ll make a list and go into town and get what I need.

I glance in the bedroom and walk in, pushing the window open to let air flow. I check the time and find five hours have passed, and it’s now nearing midnight.

“It’s almost tomorrow, Scarlet. You behaved with grace, with poise. No one saw anything you didn’t allow them to see. You are the wolf.”

I exhale and unzip my skirt, pulling my overly large jumper on and curling up on the lumpy sofa I discovered under another sheet.

Still, sleep doesn’t come. The scene plays over and over in my head. Their relief. Cowards. The anger rises again until I feel smothered by it. I stand up and reach for my bag, pulling out my trainers and leggings. I need to get out of this space.

I throw myself into the night, jogging the path I used to walk all those years ago.

The night sound’s calm my nerves, the cool breeze is cleansing, my feet find a rhythm that steadies my soul. I get to a rise and look to my left, pausing with my lips parted when I find glowing yellow.

The manor has people living in it again. It’s been so long. I wonder who they are? All the time I spent up here as a child, I never once saw anyone on that property. In fact, everyone used to say it was haunted, cursed.

Ridiculous nonsense. But it made my childish heart leap with glee.

I smile wryly. It took me four months to sort out my life so I could leave, and I wasn’t sure where I was going until I found myself on the road home. The best memories of my life were made here.

A flash of golden hair and dimples surfaces in my memory, but it floats away before I can grab hold of it.

I turn away from the lights and continue my circuit. At the top of the track, I pause at the lookout. I can’t see the town, but I know it’s off to the left. My cottage is nestled deep in the woods, and the manor is beyond even that. All around us are mountains. One giant bowl, it’s like the gods themselves scooped out the middle. It’s incredible.

It’s good to be home.

I turn and pause, catching a scent of orange. It’s sweet, and my mouth waters. I inhale deeper, catching just the faint notes in the air. The scent teases me as I wander from tree to tree, searching, but the scent fades like it was never there. I shake my head and start jogging away.

The next morning, I roll my trolley up to the cashier and grit my teeth at the way she ignores me until she catches my scent. Her eyes flick back to me, widen, and then she looks down, almost trembling. Her hair is white where it used to be blonde, her cheeks are soft and sagging, but age has not touched her vibrancy. If only she would look at me, see me, so she can smile, brown eyes crinkling, and say my name the way she has a million times before.

How many times did she pat my shoulder and slip me a lollipop? How many times did she sit on Gran's porch sipping a beer while I chased the fireflies?

Our fingers brush, and she hits her elbow on the cabinet behind her, almost sending several bottles tumbling to the floor.

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