The Breaking Point

Celeste's POV

Pain.

It wasn't just in my chest—it was everywhere. My veins burned like liquid fire coursed through them, my limbs trembled with the weight of rejection, and my wolf…

My wolf was silent.

The walk back to my small cabin on the outskirts of the Bloodmoon Pack territory felt endless. The weight of the pack's stares still lingered on my skin, their whispers chasing after me like ghosts.

She wasn't strong enough.

No wonder he rejected her.

She should have seen it coming.

Each murmur felt like a knife to my spine, cutting deeper and deeper, but I refused to look back. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.

The moment I reached my cabin, I slammed the door shut behind me and leaned against it, struggling to catch my breath. My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms. The room was dark, cold. A reflection of the emptiness inside me.

And then it hit me—this was it.

I had nowhere to go. No one to turn to.

Ronan had been my whole world, the one I had been destined for. The mate bond had promised love, partnership, a future. And now…

Now I was nothing.

I staggered toward the mirror on the wall, gripping the edges of the wooden frame as I forced myself to look.

The girl staring back at me was a stranger.

Her face was pale, her silver-gray eyes hollow. Her dark hair, usually neat and braided, was a tangled mess, strands clinging to her damp cheeks.

A broken wolf.

I squeezed my eyes shut. No, I won't be this. I won't let them be right about me.

But my body betrayed me. A sob broke free, raw and ragged, shaking me to my core. My knees buckled, and I sank to the floor, pressing my forehead against the cold wooden boards.

I felt her then—my wolf, Nova.

But she was weak. Silent.

I reached for her, desperate for comfort, but she pulled away. Not out of anger. Not out of rejection.

Out of pain.

Ronan had severed the bond, and it had taken a piece of Nova with it.

My stomach twisted, and nausea rolled over me in waves. I wrapped my arms around myself, rocking slightly as the sobs wracked my body. My entire existence had revolved around being Ronan's mate. Being his Luna.

And now I wasn't even part of the pack.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

What am I supposed to do now?

The answer was clear—leave.

Ronan's rejection hadn't just stripped me of him; it had stripped me of my place in this pack. I had no family here. No allies. I had trained, but I was never the strongest, the fastest, the most ruthless. That was why he had chosen Amara.

Because she was everything I wasn't.

A sharp knock at the door sent a shudder through me. For a fleeting moment, hope flared in my chest.

Had Ronan changed his mind?

I scrambled to my feet, wiping my face as I hurried to the door. But the moment I swung it open, that hope died.

It wasn't Ronan.

It was Amara.

She leaned against the doorway, her arms crossed, her lips curled into a smirk. "You look like hell."

I said nothing.

She tilted her head, her dark eyes glinting in the moonlight. "You didn't actually think he'd stay tied to someone like you forever, did you?"

My fingers dug into the doorframe, rage bubbling beneath my skin. "What do you want, Amara?"

She let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Nothing, really. Just thought I'd check in on you. It's not every day a Luna is cast aside."

I swallowed the sharp retort on my tongue. Fighting her would do nothing. She had already won.

"I'll be gone by sunrise," I said instead, my voice flat.

Amara hummed, tapping a finger against her chin. "That's probably for the best. Ronan doesn't want you here. He's already moved on."

The words didn't just cut. They shredded.

But I wouldn't let her see it.

Instead, I forced a smirk of my own. "Then why are you here, Amara? If I'm so insignificant, why waste your time?"

For the briefest moment, her smirk faltered.

I slammed the door in her face.

Leaning against it, I exhaled a shaky breath. My heart was racing, anger coiling tight in my stomach. Maybe I wasn't the strongest, the fastest, the most ruthless.

But I wasn't going to let them break me.

Not like this.

I turned, scanning the small cabin that had been my home for years. There wasn't much—just a few books, some old clothes, a single bag tucked beneath my bed.

I pulled it out and started packing.

By sunrise, I would be gone.

By sunrise, I would start over.

And by the next full moon, they would all regret underestimating me.