Chapter 3

Scarlett POV

I was woken by urgent knocking.

I opened the door, and Thomas stood there, holding his wolf plushie with the broken arm, a fierce look on his face.

"Bad woman, who told you to touch my toy?!"

He threw the plushie hard at my leg.

The sharp plastic edge hit my kneecap, a piercing pain.

I looked down at my son at my feet.

Five years old, and he was the spitting image of Jackson.

His eyes, his nose, even that entitled, bossy demeanor were identical.

I remembered when he was first born, a soft, cuddly bundle.

Jackson disliked his noise, never wanting to hold him.

It was me, pacing the room all night, humming lullabies to get him to sleep.

His first "Mama," his first steps, his first time eating with a spoon.

Every single moment, I was there with him.

But from the day Phoebe returned, everything changed.

Phoebe only needed to give him a piece of candy to earn a sweet "thank you."

Yet a whole meal I painstakingly prepared would only earn me a "this tastes awful!"

"I didn't touch your toy."

I bent down, picked up the plushie, and offered it to him. "You broke it yourself yesterday."

"You're lying!"

Thomas slapped my hand away. "Phoebe said you were jealous her gift to me was better than yours, so you ruined it when I wasn't looking! You're a wicked witch!"

Wicked witch.

How could a five-year-old know such a term to describe someone?

No need to guess who taught him.

I looked at his flushed little face and suddenly felt exhausted.

I didn't even have the energy to explain.

"Think what you want."

I walked past him, heading downstairs for water.

Thomas clearly hadn't expected this reaction from me.

Before, if he threw a tantrum, I'd frantically comfort him, agreeing to all his unreasonable demands.

The anger of being ignored made him instantly lose control.

He rushed forward and bit my calf hard.

His sharp baby teeth pierced through the fabric, digging into my flesh.

I gasped in pain, instinctively pushing him away.

It wasn't a strong push.

But Thomas stumbled backward, sat heavily on the floor, and started to wail.

"Wah—Daddy! The bad woman hit me!"

The laughter downstairs ceased abruptly.

Hurried footsteps approached.

Jackson stormed up the stairs, saw his son crying on the floor, and me standing nearby, observing coldly.

His face immediately darkened.

"Scarlett, what are you doing?"

He strode over, pushed me aside, and pulled Thomas into his arms.

The force was strong.

I staggered a few steps, my lower back hitting the stair railing, making me gasp in pain.

"She pushed me! She tried to push me down the stairs!"

Thomas huddled in Jackson's embrace, pointing at me and complaining, crying crocodile tears.

"I didn't."

I straightened up, holding the railing, and looked at the father and son.

"Didn't?"

Jackson scoffed, his gaze on me filled with disgust. "Thomas is only five. Does he lie? Scarlett, I never realized you were so vicious, you can't even stand a child?"

Vicious.

Can't stand.

So that's what he thought of me.

Phoebe also rushed up then, her face anxious, peering at Thomas.

"Did you get hurt? Let me see."

She wiped Thomas's tears, then turned to me, her eyes full of reproach. "Scarlett, children can be difficult. You should just talk to him, why would you hit him? What if he really got hurt..."

"Enough."

Jackson cut her off, standing up with Thomas in his arms.

He looked down at me, as if I were a criminal.

"Apologize to Thomas."

I froze.

"I did nothing wrong. Why should I apologize?"

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

Jackson's voice was laced with suppressed fury. "Apologize."

I looked into his cold eyes.

Five years of shared life, and in his eyes, it meant nothing compared to Phoebe's manipulation, or Thomas's lie.

I suddenly smiled.

A soft, bitter smile.

"Fine."

I nodded, looking at Thomas's little face, contorted with triumph.

"I'm sorry."

As those words left my lips, I felt something inside me break completely.

It was the last thread connecting me to this family.

Thomas snorted, turning his head away from me.

Jackson's expression softened slightly, but still looked grim.

"Don't show your face to Thomas these next few days. You just upset him."

With that, he walked downstairs with his son and Phoebe.

A family of three.

Such a harmonious sight.

I stood there, watching them disappear around the stairwell.

The wound on my knee had healed, but the bloodstains remained, and the bite mark on my calf was already bruised.

The only things that could harm a werewolf, besides silver, were other werewolves.

I should treat myself with herbs quickly.

But then I decided not to.

Let it be a reminder of what had happened.

I returned to my room and pulled a suitcase from under the bed.

Opened the closet.

Most of the clothes were black, white, and gray — Jackson's preferred colors.

He said bright colors made me look frivolous, and only muted tones suited the Luna's status.

I didn't take any of them.

Only a few outfits I'd bought before we were together, and the photo album hidden deep in the closet.

I opened the album.

The first photo was of Jackson and me.

In the picture, his face was stern, his brows slightly furrowed, as if he was very unwilling.

I, on the other hand, smiled like an idiot, my eyes full of light.

That was me five years ago.

Back then, I believed that if I tried hard enough, loved him enough, this stone would eventually warm up.

Now I knew.

A stone would never warm up.

Especially when that stone's heart was already occupied by someone else.

I took out scissors.

Snip—

Along the center of the photo.

The woman with the happy smile and the ice-cold man were completely separated.

I threw Jackson's half of the photo into the trash can.

Only keeping the half with myself, eyes full of light.

Though that light, now, was extinguished.

But I would rekindle it.

Somewhere without Jackson.