Chapter 28 - 29
As one of Dante’s personal secretaries, Albert had seen countless resignations cross his desk over the years. Secretaries came and went, some tearful, some bitter, some relieved. But when Elodie slid that white envelope across the polished oak, something inside him tightened.
Her hands didn’t shake, but her eyes... moon goddess, her eyes told a different story.
Albert had been in Dante’s office long enough to know more than he ever should. He knew the whispers in the Pack, knew how cold Dante could be when it came to the woman he’d once taken as his Luna. He knew Elodie’s marriage had been built on loyalty and sacrifice, but not love, at least, not from Dante’s side. From hers, it had always been all or nothing.
She’d walked into this company years ago not just as his wife but determined, almost desperate, to earn her place beside him. Not as his shadow. Not as the Luna people pitied. She’d worked through her pregnancy, kept her head down through the cruel gossip, and never once demanded special treatment. Even when her heart was clearly breaking, she showed up every day polished, professional, untouchable.
Albert respected her for it. More than that, he pitied her.
And now... she was leaving.
“I’ll take your resignation,” Albert said, keeping his voice steady though it nearly caught in his throat. “I’ll arrange a replacement.”
She only nodded, quietly. No protests, no explanations. Just a soft curve of her lips that wasn’t a smile at all.
When she turned back to her desk, Albert noticed the way her shoulders slumped once she thought no one was looking. He saw how she lingered over the small family photograph propped by her computer, one that held a younger Elodie, her arms wrapped around little Liora, smiling like she had the whole world in her arms. The frame trembled in her hand before she set it down gently, almost reverently.
Albert had to look away.
For the rest of the morning, he watched her pack her things into a box. Not much, really. She hadn’t allowed herself luxuries. No trinkets, no clutter. Just a handful of books, a mug with faded lettering, a pen Dante himself had once given her back when there might have been hope.
Hope. That was the word that clung to her like a ghost.