Twilight of Betrayal: The Alpha’s Broken Promise

The week following that joke of a fight was a blur of sorrow, silence, and suffocation. Our house felt more like a cage with every passing day. I was trapped inside, haunted by memories of my parents at every turn. I couldn’t step into the kitchen without thinking of Mom, how she used to hum while making tea, filling the air with warmth. I couldn’t walk past the sunroom without remembering Dad, sitting in his favorite chair, giving me advice, always so full of life and laughter.

Now, all of that was gone, except the cold emptiness that surrounded me and made me cry every night.

The Alpha advised me to rest and heal. But how could I heal when everywhere I looked, I was reminded of everything I’d lost? The scent of Dad’s old leather jacket still lingered in the air, his favorite books were neatly stacked by the fireplace. Each reminder was a punch to the gut, a fresh wound. I could almost hear his voice echoing in the house, reminding me to stand tall, to be strong, but without him, I felt anything but it.

I tried planting more flowers by his grave as a distraction, something to pour my grief into, but even that had been difficult. Ever since Liam and his mate dug up the grave like it was nothing, I hadn’t been able to go back. The thought of it made me sick to my stomach, a knot of anger and sorrow twisting inside me.

Having his cold-blooded gaze replay in my mind was like a sprinkle of salt on an open wound, and the more I recalled it, the angrier I got. The worst part, I wasn't even that mad about him. I was furious at myself.

Loving him felt like the worst mistake I had ever made. I wasted so much of my life trying to be someone who would mean something to him, but I hadn’t meant enough to stop him from humiliating me at our mating ceremony, and not enough for him to show even a fraction of respect to my father in death.

On top of that, he was showing up at my door almost every day since his dad beat him up, knocking with an air of entitlement like he had any right to be there.

The first time he came, I almost couldn’t believe it. I had heard the knock and thought it might be Leia, bringing me food or checking in. But when I opened the door, there he was, standing on the threshold with a sheepish look on his face, holding a small bouquet of tulips—the same color I planted on the grave.

“Astrid…” he started, his voice soft, almost pleading. “I’m sorry. I brought these for you.”

I hadn’t said a word. I just slammed the door in his face. I didn’t need his apologies, and I certainly didn’t need a bundle of flowers that reminded me how much of an asshole he was.

But he didn’t stop. Every day, Liam came back with something else. One day, it was a basket of fruit; the next, a necklace I’d once admired in a shop window. I didn’t touch any of it. He was trying to buy his way out of the guilt, thinking that gifts could somehow erase the past, that they could patch up the deep wound he had torn open in me. Every knock at the door only made me angrier, every forced apology only added to my disgust.

Today, when I heard the knock again, I groaned, sinking deeper into the couch. I knew it was him. No one else would have the audacity to keep showing up after what he’d done. Part of me wanted to ignore him, to let him stand out there until he gave up. But he wouldn’t leave until I confronted him, so I dragged myself to the door.

I threw it open, not caring how disheveled I looked. Sure enough, there he was, standing with that same pitiful expression, holding yet another offering. This time, it was a small, carved wooden wolf, something Dad would have loved.

“Astrid,” he said softly, as if trying to gauge my mood. “I… I just want to talk. I know I messed up, but I never wanted to hurt you or your dad. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” I laughed bitterly. “Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover what you’ve done, Liam. You humiliated me, abandoned me at the altar, causing my dad's death, and then you thrashed his grave. Now, you think some gifts and apologies will fix everything?”

His face fell, and for a moment, he looked like he might cry, but I didn’t care. He deserved to feel this pain.

“I just… I didn’t know and...” he stammered, voice wavering. “You know how it is with mates, I—"

I cut him off, my fury rising to the surface. “Don’t you dare blame this on fate! This is about you being a coward and a selfish bastard. You hurt the one person who stood by you through everything, and for what? So you could run off with your fated mate? Was it worth it, Liam? Was me losing my dad worth it?”

He didn’t respond. He just stood there, looking like a scolded child.

“Get out of my sight,” I spat, slamming the door before he could say another word.

I leaned against the door, trembling with rage. The audacity of him, to think he could waltz back into my life after everything he had done. I wanted to scream, to tear something apart, but I was too tired—tired of being angry, tired of grieving, tired of Liam.

I slid down to the floor, my hands shaking as I pulled my knees to my chest. The house felt emptier than ever, and I realized, with a hollow ache, that no matter how many times I turned him away, it would never fill the space Dad left behind.