Chasing The Good Girl

Chapter 2:

Kimly’s POV:

“N... Negav, wake up... you can’t do this... you can’t leave me like this!” I screamed, my tears pouring out uncontrollably. I shook him, but there was no response. I collapsed onto his chest, my sobs echoing through the cold, sterile room. No one could pull me away, and no words could convince me to accept the horrifying reality before me.

“He... he was in an accident...” a distant voice spoke, like a whisper carried from far away.

Accident? What accident? How could this happen? He was on his way to our wedding. I couldn’t believe it. This had to be a terrible mistake—there was no way it could be true.

But the brutal truth hit me like a slap to the face. The man I loved more than life itself, the one I was about to spend forever with, now lay motionless, cold as ice. A speeding truck had crashed into his car as he was rushing to our ceremony. One moment of carelessness had taken everything away, turning our wedding day into a funeral.

I still remember every moment of that agonizing day, each tear that fell onto his lifeless face. I screamed, pleaded, but no one could bring him back to me.

And now, here I am, standing before his coffin, leading a procession of grief. I clutch his portrait in my hands, walking in a silence filled with unbearable pain. The gentle breeze whispered through the air, but to me, nothing mattered anymore. The day that was supposed to be the happiest of my life—the day I wore my wedding dress to walk towards Negav—had become the day I said goodbye to him forever.

“Ofelia, is it my fate to be alone? My parents left me, and now the one I loved most has left me too. Did I curse him to die?” I whispered, my voice breaking with sorrow.

“No, Kimly, you still have me. I’ll stay with you,” Ofelia, my wolf, replied softly, her voice carrying a faint glimmer of hope. But I knew her hope was the same as mine—desperate and futile. I was the one who understood best that it was all just wishful thinking.

I sighed. “It’s over, Ofelia. Everything is over.”

Everything had shattered into pieces, fragments scattered beyond repair. I had no choice but to move forward, but every step felt hollow. I didn’t know where to go or where this path would end. I just knew I had to keep walking, even though my heart had died with him.

I stood there, staring at the wooden coffin slowly being lowered into the grave. The sounds around me faded away, leaving only the faint creak of the ropes lowering the coffin and the rustling of earth as it touched the wooden surface. It felt as if the entire world had stopped, time frozen in place. The shadow of grief slowly enveloped my soul, and each beat of my heart grew heavier, slower. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sight of the coffin sinking into the ground.

Tears streamed silently down my face. I didn’t even have the strength left to sob out loud; everything inside me had drained away. Each tear was absorbed into the cold afternoon air, as if I were dissolving along with the coffin. These were not tears of release but of deep, suffocating sorrow—a despair that could not be put into words.

I heard the sound of earth falling as they began to cover the coffin. Layer by layer, the dirt piled up, burying every beautiful memory we had shared. With each shovelful, my heart ached, and the sense of loss surged like a violent wave. I felt like I was drowning, unable to find a way out.

A hand rested gently on my shoulder—a soft, comforting touch. Another hand joined, and then more. I saw their lips move, offering words of consolation, but I couldn’t hear them. I only felt the warmth of their touch, yet my heart remained hollow. I couldn’t feel the comfort or sympathy they were trying to give. Their gestures seemed meaningless, like they were trying to pull me back to reality, but this reality was too cold and foreign to me.

I wasn’t myself anymore. I had no idea how to face this pain. The words of comfort and encouragement around me felt like distant echoes, unable to reach my soul. I looked down at the spot where he now rested, clutching his photograph tightly to my chest, afraid that if I let go, he would disappear completely.

The coffin was now buried under the heavy earth. I still stood there, unable to move. My world had sunk beneath the ground with Negav. The footsteps around me gradually faded away, leaving me alone with my grief—an agony no one could ever understand.

The ceremony ended. People slowly left, abandoning the cemetery with its silent, ancient trees standing as witnesses to the pain I bore. I stayed behind for a long time, my legs heavy, refusing to leave this place, unwilling to leave Negav alone in the cold ground. But eventually, I had to go, even though there was no strength left in my heart. As the last person left, only I remained with the light breeze that carried the chill of the late afternoon.

I bowed my head and took heavy steps away from his resting place. Inside me was a wordless ache, a hollow emptiness. Each step felt like an eternity, pulling me farther away from Negav.

As I walked out of the cemetery, I suddenly noticed a woman’s silhouette in the distance. Under the dim twilight, she stood still, watching me. I stopped in my tracks, frozen. There was something strange about this woman, an inexplicable but familiar feeling. I couldn’t make out her face because of the distance, but something in her gaze sent a chill down my spine. A name unexpectedly surfaced in my mind, as if it had been etched into my brain, echoing in the air around me: Luna Anderia.

Luna Anderia—the wife of Alpha David, leader of the Crescent Moon Pack. She wasn’t a stranger; I knew that much. Our eyes met briefly, carrying a depth of meaning I couldn’t fathom.

She had always wanted me to donate my kidney to her daughter, who was suffering from renal failure, as I was the only match. I had refused. And now, she was here.

Diana Cafe,

Luna Anderia sat quietly at a table near the window, the faint light of the late afternoon casting shadows across her sharp features. She wore an elegant, dark-colored dress, and a light shawl draped over her shoulders, exuding the regal, commanding presence of a powerful lady. In her hand was a delicate porcelain teacup, and her movements were slow, deliberate, as she took a sip with a calm grace that seemed untouched by time itself.