Ronan hadn’t even brought a single flower to Elior’s grave.
Not one.
Of course he didn’t. He had convinced himself that Elior wasn’t his. Wrapped himself in lies he either created or chose to believe just to appease the woman who had once turned her back on him.
The fury boiled over. Before I could stop myself, my fist connected with the vanity mirror. The glass splintered under my skin, shards embedding in my knuckles.
Blood oozed down to the countertop.
But I felt none of it.
I was numb to pain now.
Earlier that morning, Hannah had handed me a letter. Ronan’s handwriting.
He was asking me to recognize Carmela and her son as part of the pack.
To acknowledge Gabriel as his rightful heir.
I didn’t even flinch.
As soon as I read the last word, I struck a match and burned it to ash.
Then I grabbed a pen and wrote my own message.
This was the only channel he could reach me through now. I had destroyed my phone months ago—burned it like everything else he left behind. The only relic I had kept was a printed photograph of Elior, tucked carefully in an album—the last remaining evidence of the life Ronan shattered.
It was time to go back.
To Ashfen Pack.