Chapter2
1078 Words
Elyra's pov.
The moment the word sister left my lips, I expected something—anything—from her. A flicker of recognition, a change in her expression, even the smallest hint that she remembered me. That she knew me. But all I got was the same disgusted, detached look, as though I were something vile, something beneath her.
She arched a perfect brow, her lips curling slightly. “Excuse me?”
The coldness in her voice sent a shiver down my spine. My heart pounded violently against my ribs as I took a shaky step forward.
“It’s me,” I whispered, searching her face for something familiar, something that reassured me I wasn’t losing my mind. “Clara… it’s me, Elyra.”
I waited.
Waited for her eyes to widen in realization. Waited for the walls around her to crumble. Waited for her to reach for me the way she used to when we were younger, when we had nothing but each other.
But it didn’t happen.
Instead, Clara wrinkled her nose like the very sound of my name disgusted her.
“Elyra?” she repeated, as if it were some foreign word, as if she were testing it on her tongue for the first time. “I don’t know you.”
The words struck harder than any rejection Beckett could have ever given me.
I took another step forward, desperate now, ignoring the way her sharp glare sliced into me.
“Clara, it’s me,” I said again, louder this time. “Your sister.”
She let out a harsh, breathy laugh, crossing her arms as she tilted her head at me like I was some madwoman she had no patience for.
“I don’t have a sister,” she stated, her voice so sharp it cut through the air like a blade.
I froze in place.
No. This had to be a mistake. This had to be her amnesia acting up.
Clara had suffered head trauma years ago. She had struggled with her memories, losing bits and pieces of herself in the process. This was just another symptom of that, wasn’t it?
I forced myself to breathe, to calm the panic rising in my chest.
“Your memories,” I said softly, stepping closer. “They’re not all there. It’s okay. It’s me, Clara. I’m your—”
She took a deliberate step back, her nose wrinkling further as if I reeked of something unpleasant. I reached out hesitantly, but the moment I did, she shifted her weight, brushing past me so abruptly that my shoulder buckled. I stumbled, barely catching myself before I hit the floor.
A few pack members snickered nearby. Beckett stood watching with a blank expression, as if none of this concerned him in the slightest.
I clenched my fists, my eyes burning, but I refused to cry. Not in front of them. Not in front of her.
“Beckett,” Clara sighed, turning to him. “Why is she still standing here?”
She said it like I was some kind of an inconvenience. Like I wasn’t worth the air I was breathing.
Beckett exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temples like this whole situation was exhausting for him. “She was just leaving.”
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood.
Clara didn’t know me.
Or worse—she did, and she was pretending not to.
I felt sick.
The weight of it all—the rejection, the betrayal, the isolation—pressed down on my chest like a crushing boulder.
I turned on my heel and walked away, head high, refusing to let them see the way my heart was shattering.
That night, I sat in my room, the same room I had been given two years ago when Beckett dragged me back to this hellhole.
I stared at the divorce papers, the ink on the page blurring as my vision grew hazy.
It was over.
Everything.
My so-called mate had abandoned me. My sister had denied me. This pack, these people—they never wanted me here. They had always wanted me gone.
So I would give them what they wanted.
I ran a hand through my hair, my fingers trembling.
I needed to leave.
Not just this pack house. Not just this pack.
I needed to disappear.
Start over somewhere new, somewhere fresh, somewhere I could exist without constantly feeling like I was suffocating under the weight of other people’s resentment.
Beckett and Clara were dead to me.
I shoved the papers aside, my decision final.
Tomorrow, I would be gone.
The air was crisp when I stepped outside, my bag slung over my shoulder. The moonlight bathed the pack house in silver, the familiar scent of pine and earth filling my lungs.
But before I left, there was one place I needed to go.
The garden.
It was the only thing in this pack that had ever truly belonged to me.
I had spent years tending to it, even when no one cared. Even when the pack ignored my existence.
I traced my fingers over the petals of a violet, inhaling its delicate fragrance.
This garden had been my sanctuary.
And now, I was saying goodbye.
As I turned to leave, I heard it.
A whisper.
I froze, my pulse quickening.
Carefully, I moved behind a trimmed bush, lowering myself to the ground. I peeked through the foliage, my breath catching in my throat as I recognized the figure standing in the moonlight.
Clara.
But she wasn’t alone.
There was another person, someone shrouded in darkness, their features hidden.
I strained my ears, trying to make out their conversation.
“…not yet,” Clara was saying, her voice dripping with something I had never heard from her before.
Hatred.
“It has to be slow,” she continued. “She doesn’t get to just walk away. I want her to suffer.”
My heart lurched.
Who was she talking about?
Then the other person spoke, their voice too low for me to make out.
Clara let out a bitter laugh. “This is just the beginning,” she said darkly.
The blood in my veins ran cold.
“I’ll make Elyra pay for leaving me to die and marrying the Alpha.”
I clamped a hand over my mouth, my entire body turning rigid.
My own sister.
My own blood.
She wanted me dead.
And I had no idea why.
- Writer
