Chapter 4

Scarlett POV

It was late when I finished packing.

The suitcase was light, barely half-full.

I'd lived here for five years, yet I could take so little with me.

I pushed the suitcase to the deepest part of the walk-in closet, covering it with old coats.

As I straightened up, the door opened.

Jackson walked in.

He'd just showered, smelling of shower gel mixed with a faint hint of tobacco.

It was the brand of cigarettes Phoebe had given him.

He didn't even look at me, walking straight to the bed and sitting down. As he dried his hair, he said, "There's a Full Moon Gala tomorrow night. You'll come with me."

If this were before, I would have been too excited to sleep.

Because it meant he acknowledged my status.

But now, I only felt sarcasm.

"Phoebe's back, isn't she?"

I walked to the vanity table, picked up my face cream, and applied it. "She's probably more suitable for such an occasion than I am."

Jackson's hair-drying paused.

He looked at me through the mirror, his brows furrowed again.

"Scarlett, are you done with this?"

He threw the towel onto the bed impatiently. "Phoebe hasn't fully recovered. She can't handle the noise of such an event. You're my mate, the pack's Luna. This is your responsibility."

Responsibility.

So that's why I existed.

A shield, a tool, a nanny.

Anything but a lover.

"I'm not going."

I capped the face cream and turned to face him. "I don't feel well."

Jackson seemed surprised by my refusal.

This was probably the first time I'd said "no" to him since becoming his Luna.

He stood up, strode over to me, and gripped my jaw.

His grip was tight, making me wince in pain.

"Scarlett, don't think I don't know what games you're playing."

His eyes were sharp as knives, as if trying to see through me. "Though I don't know why you smell so weak... but as Luna, don't be so dramatic. Intentionally not cleaning up your bloodstains and trying to gain sympathy in front of me, what, feeling threatened now that Phoebe's back?"

Threatened?

I couldn't help but let out a short, bitter laugh.

Seven days ago, maybe I would have.

But now, facing a dying relationship, where was the threat?

"Jackson."

I looked him straight in the eyes, my voice so calm it surprised even myself. "I really don't feel well. And I'm exhausted."

Jackson stared at me for a few seconds.

As if trying to find traces of a lie on my face.

But he failed.

There was no emotion in my eyes—no jealousy, no anger, just a stagnant pool of calm.

This serenity felt alien to him, even a hint of inexplicable irritation.

He released my jaw and scoffed coldly.

"Suit yourself."

With that, he turned to leave.

At the doorway, he paused again.

"Since you're not going, don't regret it. Tomorrow, I'll take Phoebe. Don't come crying to me if people start gossiping."

It was a threat.

He knew I cared about my standing, about the respectability of this relationship.

Unfortunately, he miscalculated this time.

"I won't."

I looked at his back and said softly, "As long as you're happy."

Jackson's body stiffened.

But he didn't look back, merely slamming the door shut.

Bang!

The wall clock trembled.

I looked at the closed door and let out a long breath.

I hadn't lied.

I really didn't feel well.

The dragging pain in my abdomen hadn't disappeared; instead, it grew more intense.

I found the medicine cabinet, pulled out some painkillers, and swallowed them.

The bitter taste of herbs spread across my tongue.

I lay in bed and turned off the light.

In the darkness, my phone screen suddenly lit up.

It was a notification of funds received.

Fifty thousand dollars.

Immediately followed by a message from Phoebe: Scarlett, thank you for clearing out the fragrance lab for me. This money is compensation for your perfume materials. Jackson asked me to send it, said he didn't want you to work for nothing.

I stared at the long string of numbers.

In Jackson's eyes, my dreams, my dignity, were worth this much.

Or rather, it was a hush money of sorts, enabling Phoebe to comfortably usurp my things.

I didn't reply, nor did I refund it.

I kept it.

Why shouldn't I?

It was what I deserved.

Consider it five years of nanny wages, and emotional damages.

There would be many expenses in the human world after leaving the pack.

I placed my phone face down on the nightstand and closed my eyes.

Six more days.

Just six more days to endure.

Then I'd be completely free.

Just as I was drifting off to sleep, a commotion erupted downstairs.

It sounded like something shattered, accompanied by Phoebe's shriek.

I rolled over and pulled the blanket over my head.

Even if the house collapsed, it had nothing to do with me.

That night, I had a dream.

I dreamt I was a bird.

Trapped in a golden cage, I plucked out all my feathers to please my owner.

Finally, the owner opened the cage.

Not to release me.

But to put in a more beautiful peacock.

The featherless bird was carelessly tossed into the trash.

Gasping its last breath.

When I woke up, my pillow was soaked.

Not with tears.

With cold sweat.