My father flinched. My mother’s death was the one subject no one touched, as if she never existed.
“With this, we are no longer father and daughter, Alpha Atlas,” I said quietly.
“I am cutting off all ties. Live well with your mistress and your other pup.”
My voice sliced through the room. His mouth opened, then shut again. His shoulders tightened, but he didn’t try to argue.
At the hallway outside my room, Gareth stood like a shadow. He was watching, waiting. Normally, a slap to the Alpha of the Grey Wind Pack would make him furious. But after what I said yesterday, even he knew he had crossed a line. He took that slap without a word.
His eyes narrowed as he took in the boxes, the folded clothes, the empty perfume stands. When he noticed my old painted portraits thrown into the trash beside torn journals, his voice dropped into low frustration.
“Lady Freya, you could have at least told me you were leaving. Now I have to pack everything in a rush.”
I didn’t respond.
“You always do this,” he muttered under his breath. “No warning, no plan. Just running away like the sky is falling. What’s going on, Freya?”