Without another word, Aria turned and walked out.

---

Caleb remained standing there long after she left.

His gaze slowly dropped to the scattered gold on the floor.

He bent down and picked up the payment slip, crushing it tightly in his fist.

His eyes burned red as unshed tears gathered.

Every word she had spoken echoed painfully in his mind.

He tried to ignore them.

But something about her warning unsettled him deeply.

What if…

She was right?

He shook his head sharply.

No.

His sister would never lie.

Clara had always respected Marcus.

Why would she falsely accuse him?

That made no sense.

Caleb sank onto the couch and pressed his palm against his forehead.

A single tear slipped down his cheek.

No matter how many women he brought into his chambers…

No matter how many bodies he touched…

None of them ever felt like Aria.

She had always been different.

And he had likely lost her forever.

He had destroyed her family’s fortune.

He had used his influence within the pack to crush them during the council hearings.

Yet when he heard Marcus had tried to take his life, guilt had gnawed at him.

That was why he paid the healers’ hall.

Because he knew Aria was struggling.

But now even that last thread of connection had been cut.

There was no chance she would ever return to him willingly.

Caleb leaned back slowly, his expression turning cold.

“She’s right,” he murmured quietly.

“I am selfish.”

His eyes hardened.

“Then I will show her just how selfish I can be.”

Aria's POV

“I’m sorry, Ms. Sinclair,” the healer murmured, his voice low and heavy with the kind of sorrow only years of tending broken wolves could teach. “We have tried every remedy known to the Moon. But your brother… his wolf has withdrawn too deeply. It is as if his spirit has turned its back on this world. He no longer struggles to return.”

The words pierced through me like a blade sliding between ribs.

For a moment, the air refused to enter my lungs.

I forced myself to breathe slowly, deliberately. If I shattered now, I would never gather the pieces again—and Marcus had no one else left to stand for him.

So I nodded once, stiffly, like a statue carved from Lutherford stone, and turned back toward the narrow infirmary bed.

Marcus lay utterly still beneath the pale glow of the moonstones set into the ceiling. Their faint silver light pulsed softly, meant to soothe wounded wolves and strengthen their connection to the Moon. But it did nothing for him.