Chapter 3
754 Words
The next morning, I showed up at the pack office and parked myself in the lounge, waiting for Miles.
A sudden commotion at the door made me turn my head, and my stomach dropped. There they were—Damien and Chloe, walking in like they owned the place.
Chloe's eyes landed on me, and she glided over, her voice all honey.
"Samantha, what a coincidence."
I didn't respond. She didn't miss a beat, though, her words soft but pointed.
"Damien's here for me. He knows acting's my dream, so he's looking to buy the script by Sterling that's blowing up pack-wide."
So, he was the investor Miles had been hyping up.
Just one glance, and Damien spotted me, his eyes turning to ice.
He stalked over, his voice sharp enough to cut. "Samantha, what are you doing here?"
"I—" I started, but Chloe cut in, her tone dripping with implication.
"Damien, she's probably just tailing you. Can't let you go, can she?"
His jaw tightened, and before I could say another word, he grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the lobby.
Thunder rumbled overhead, "Samantha, you're driving me up the wall with this clingy nonsense!"
My chest ached, but I forced the words out.
"I'm not following you, Damien. I'm here for work."
He scoffed, his laugh bitter.
"Work? You? These past few years, all you've done is shadow me or mope around the house. When have you ever worked?"
He wasn't wrong—I'd lost myself trying to be the mate he wanted.
My throat burned as I whispered, "Damien, if you hate me this much, let's just break the bond and be done with it."
Damien's eyes widened.
Rain started to fall, blurring the world, and I knew my face looked pale as death under the gray sky.
Something flickered in his expression, but it hardened just as fast, his voice dropping to a low growl.
"Break the bond? You ruined my chance at a real bond with Chloe, and now you think you can just walk away? No way. You and I? We're stuck in this hell together."
My heart lurched.
Chloe appeared then, her voice soft as the rain.
"Damien, it's pouring. Walk me home?"
He turned without a second thought, holding his umbrella over her, shielding her from every drop like she was made of glass. I stood under the awning, watching them disappear into the storm.
Years ago, there'd been another rainy day like this.
I'd gone to pick Damien up, clutching a single umbrella, daydreaming about some romantic, movie-style walk in the rain.
Instead, we'd stood miles apart, like a canyon stretched between us.
By the time we got home, we were both soaked, miserable, and silent.
Miles finally showed up, apologizing for the delay as the rain kept pounding.
During our talk, he couldn't stop gushing.
"Voss Industries is going all in—eleven billion for this miniseries. No wonder everyone's saying Chloe, the Aldridge pack's golden she-wolf, is Damien's true sweetheart."
He paused, glancing at me. "They want to tweak the ending, Sterling. You cool with that?"
I nodded. "Yeah, I'm good."
Having died once, I saw it now—my perfect ending in Moonlit Sweetheart was just another piece of my obsession with Damien.
If it was wrong, it was time to fix it.
We hashed out the contract details, and I headed home.
Damien, unsurprisingly, was nowhere to be found.
That evening, I hunched over my desk in the pack’s old archives, the scent of aged wolfhide scrolls clinging to the air as I brainstormed.
A notification pinged, sharp as a howl cutting through mist.
It was Voss Pack’s official rune-carved announcement, glowing faintly on the screen: they’d claimed the rights to Moonlit Sweetheart—with Chloe cast as the lead.
The post was wreathed in a trending mark: Alpha Damien’s Blood Pledge to Chloe.
“Stars above, the fated pair returns!” one message flashed.
“Chloe’s the only she-wolf worthy of our alpha—make Damien play the lead! Their bond could heal the pack’s rifts!”
Another followed: “Sterling who? This was always meant to be their story.”
My life’s work, the tale spun from my unspoken howls, reduced to kindling for Damien and Chloe’s supposed destiny.
A brittle smile tugged at my lips as I closed the screen.
I pulled the original ending from my satchel—scrawled on vellum, stained with the salt of moonlit tears—and folded it.
- Writer
