And there she was—Vivian. My sister. Smirking from the couch like the queen of his world. She loved this. Thrived on it. Vivian, the golden child. The one who always shone brighter. Prettier, smarter, more loved. And now? Now she had him, too.
But blood or not, I wasn’t letting her win.
I wiped my face, keeping my voice steady. “I don’t care what you think anymore, Mavros. I’m leaving.”
I turned, dragging my suitcase toward the door.
Behind me, Vivian’s sugary voice piped up, fake concern dripping from every word. “Alpha Mavros, is Sis Izara upset because you missed the Moon Festival? I heard she and Kallias were hoping you’d come.”
“You’re unwell, Vivian,” he said gently, his tone soft—comforting. For her, of course. Not for me. “Izara can celebrate next year. She’s just being dramatic, as always.”
Dramatic. Guilt-tripping. Manipulative. I bit down the bitter retort clawing its way up my throat and reached for the door. My fingers barely brushed the handle when his hand gripped my arm.
“What are you doing, Izara? Enough of your—” His words cut off as he stared at my face, tear-streaked and angry.