Chapter 95 I’d taken every bit of it for granted
Ethan’s POV
I hesitated, ready to chase after Aria, when my father’s voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Ethan."
I stopped. Turned. Alpha Gerald was watching me with that calculating look I knew too well.
"Dad, are we really going to let Aria lead us around by the nose?" The words came out sharper than I intended, but damn it, Mom was right.
Aria was taking advantage of our desperation, pushing harder every time we showed weakness.
Alpha Gerald’s mouth curved into something cold. "Of course not. The share transfer hasn’t been processed yet. We can pull it back anytime. That extra ten percent? Just a safety net."
Reality clicked into place. The shares were bait. All we needed was to keep Aria from walking out with our client lists and project data.
"I’m leaving for a few days," Alpha Gerald continued, adjusting his cufflinks.
"Meeting with some old friends. Silver Creek Pack doesn’t need Aria Smith. But I expect you to handle your domestic situation before I return."
His meaning was crystal clear.
"I understand."
Alpha Gerald had semi-retired years ago, but his connections ran deep through every major Pack in the region. His network made Aria’s accomplishments look like child’s play.
Still, her talent was undeniable. Keeping her was the smart move, the easy move.
She was stubborn, proud. Force wouldn’t work. Which meant I had to play a different game.
The emotional card.
A woman who’d given me everything—her body, her devotion, her goddamn soul—couldn’t be that hard to win back.
Right?
---
That evening, I found myself standing outside Aria’s old bedroom.
The staff still cleaned it daily, keeping everything exactly as she’d left it. But she hadn’t come back. Not once.
I pushed the door open.
The room smelled faintly of her perfume—something light and floral that used to cling to my clothes after she hugged me. I walked inside slowly, memories flooding back whether I wanted them or not.
After our wedding, Silver Creek Pack had exploded with new opportunities. Aria threw herself into the work without complaint. She even canceled our honeymoon when she saw how stressed I was, insisting the company came first.
Later, when late-night negotiations became routine, she moved into this room voluntarily. Said she didn’t want to disturb my sleep.
I sat on the edge of her bed, running my hand over the smooth duvet.
The bedding was elegant, understated. I’d never paid attention to the brand, but I vaguely remembered one of the staff mentioning that Aria had picked out everything in this house herself. Every piece of furniture, every decoration.
Even the things in my room.
I looked up, and for a moment I could see her standing there, smiling at me with those bright green eyes. Back then, they’d been so full of hope, so full of light. She never let me see her struggle, never burdened me with her exhaustion.
As long as she was there, I could breathe easy.
"Luna Aria?"
The door creaked open. One of the household staff poked her head in, clearly surprised to see the lights on.
"How long has it been since she came back?" I asked, standing and moving toward the closet.
"Alpha, it’s been over a month since she moved out."
A month.
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. How had it been a month already? In my head, we’d only been fighting for a few days.
"Do you know where she went?"
"No, Alpha. She didn’t say. She left in a hurry and didn’t take much with her."
I opened the closet, scanning the rows of clothes still hanging there. Then I pulled open a drawer.
Inside, neatly arranged, were dozens of small gifts and letters.
My chest tightened.
These were from college. Things I’d given her when I was chasing her, back when my family kept me on a tight leash and I had barely any money to spare.
Most of my cash back then went to Clara—helping her with bills, buying her things she needed.
The most expensive thing I’d ever given Aria was a hair clip. Maybe a few hundred dollars.
Everything else had been cheap. Thoughtful, maybe, but cheap.
And she’d kept every single one.
Even the letters. God, those ridiculous letters I’d written just to look romantic. Half of them were just poems I’d copied from the internet because I knew she liked poetry.
But she’d saved them all. The envelopes were pristine, like she’d been afraid to damage them.
I felt something heavy settle in my chest, making it hard to breathe.
"Alpha..." The staff member’s voice was quiet. "Luna Aria treasured everything in that drawer. She never let us touch it."
I closed the drawer quickly, as if it might burn me.
"Is dinner ready?"
"Yes, Alpha. We made all your favorites."
"Where’s Marcus?"
Usually the kid came running the second I walked through the door, demanding attention.
"Oh, Miss Clara picked him up earlier."
Right. I’d forgotten. Marcus had called me this morning throwing a tantrum about wanting to see Clara, and I’d caved and let her take him.
She hadn’t even bothered to tell me she was coming by.
Whatever. I had bigger problems.
---Dinner was waiting for me—five dishes, all things I normally loved.
Including a bowl of beef stew, rich and hearty.
I took a sip.
It was... fine. But something was off. The meat wasn’t tender enough. The broth wasn’t as flavorful as usual.
"Why does this taste different?" I frowned at the bowl.
The staff member hesitated. "Well, Alpha, your favorite dishes were always perfected by Luna Aria. She’d spend hours adjusting recipes until they were exactly right."
She gestured at the stew. "This one especially. She had to drive to three different butchers to get the right cut of beef. "
"Said the marbling had to be perfect, and she’d slow-cook it for eight hours with herbs she grew herself. We didn’t realize how much detail went into it until we tried to replicate it ourselves."
I set the spoon down.
A memory surfaced, unbidden. Aria’s face, glowing with pride as she set a bowl in front of me.
"Ethan, you said you loved that beef stew from the restaurant last week. I figured out how to make it. Try it?"
"Mm. It’s good. You can make it more often."
That was all I’d said. I’d thought the staff did all the cooking. I didn’t realize she’d been the one putting in the work, perfecting every dish just because I’d mentioned liking it once.
She’d never complained. Never asked for praise.
My appetite vanished.
I’d come home tonight planning to strategize, to figure out how to win her back, how to reignite her devotion.
But sitting here, surrounded by all the things she’d done for me—things I’d never noticed, never acknowledged—I realized something.
Everything I thought I’d done for her was just words.
Everything she’d done for me was real.
And I’d taken every bit of it for granted.