Rejected by My Alpha, Forgotten by My Son

When the rogue attacked, my Fated Mate, Alpha Jackson, shielded Phoebe without even a glance my way.

My son, Thomas, clung to Phoebe's leg, screaming bad woman at me.

In the chaos, a chilling numbness spread through me.

The pregnancy test report clutched in my hand had long since fallen into a puddle.

Just ten minutes ago, I thought it was just another accident.

Until Alpha Jackson chose to protect Phoebe.

Until my son, Thomas, shoved me, leaving me exposed to danger.

It turned out Jackson's love for me was a lie from the start.

I was nothing more than a full-time nanny Jackson hired while Phoebe was away.

And I had seven days left until I completely vanished from this world.

Scarlett POV

After the chaos subsided, the pack's lead medic was already on site.

They swarmed around Phoebe, who was hiding behind Jackson, checking on her and offering treatment.

Jackson followed close behind, his brows furrowed in a tight knot.

The hand wearing his wedding ring was now clasped tightly around Phoebe's wrist.

Thomas stood beside them, crying so hard his voice was hoarse, repeatedly sobbing, "Phoebe, please don't die."

Phoebe, the Beta's daughter who grew up with Jackson.

She had only recently returned from the Werewolf Academy.

Her mere presence was enough to command his full attention.

I stood alone, unnoticed by anyone.

The wind dried the blood on my clothes, making the fabric stiff and chafing my skin raw.

My abdomen throbbed faintly where Thomas had kicked me hard.

Before I could even move, Jackson suddenly turned back.

His gaze, cutting through the throng of people, landed on me.

It was cold, filled with impatience.

"Scarlett, don't just stand there."

He called my name, his tone like scolding an incompetent subordinate. "Phoebe's shaken. Go back home, make her a soothing hot tea, and bring it to the hospital."

I wanted to say I was hurt too.

I wanted to say my stomach ached.

I wanted to say that the ruined paper showed I was six weeks pregnant.

But a metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

I swallowed it down.

"Okay."

I heard my own voice, eerily calm.

Jackson seemed satisfied with my obedience. He turned and followed the medics away.

The crowd gradually dispersed.

I returned alone to the Alpha's residence in Frostveil Pack.

As I walked in, Gamma Lena was pouring a pot of freshly brewed calming tea into a thermos.

Seeing me enter, disheveled and covered in mud, she froze, her eyes darting away.

"Luna Scarlett... Alpha Jackson called, he asked me to bring Ms. Phoebe a hot drink. He didn't mention you were also..."

She didn't finish, but I understood.

In the werewolf world, pack members must obey the Alpha's orders.

I ignored her awkwardness and went straight upstairs.

Passing Thomas's room, toys were still scattered everywhere.

His favorite limited-edition wolf plushie lay alone on the rug, an arm torn off.

I had queued all night six months ago to get that limited edition for him.

This morning, before we left, Thomas had thrown a huge tantrum because I accidentally knocked over that toy.

He pointed a finger at me and yelled, "I knew you weren't my real mom! If it were Phoebe, she'd never ruin my stuff!"

Back then, I just dismissed it as childish talk.

Now, it seemed, children's instincts were often the most accurate.

He had known all along who the outsider in this house was.

I went back to the master bedroom and locked the door.

The bathroom mirror reflected a pale face.

A scar marred my forehead, a wound from the chaos. It had healed, leaving only a small mark.

I lifted a hand to touch it, feeling nothing.

Stripping off my blood-stained clothes, I balled them up and tossed them directly into the trash.

Along with the crumpled report, its words now illegible.

The wounds on my body had already healed, but the hot water brought a fine sting as it hit my skin.

I looked down at my flat lower abdomen.

A tiny life had once grown there.

Just hours ago, I had been overjoyed, wanting to tell Jackson the good news.

Now, there was nothing.

That kick had been hard.

Compounded by the cold and the shock.

Blood streamed down my thighs, forming winding rivulets on the white tiles, before spiraling into the black hole of the drain.

I didn't cry.

I just felt tired.

After my shower, my phone screen lit up.

It was a message from Jackson.

Just one short line: Is the soup here yet? Phoebe's hungry.

He didn't ask if I was hurt.

He didn't ask how bad that kick had been.

I stared at the screen for a long time until my eyes ached.

Then, I replied: On its way.

After sending that message, I pulled open the bottom drawer of my nightstand.

Inside lay a one-way ticket to Europe and a bottle of mate-bond breaking potion I'd bought from Elara the Witch.

I had thought I wouldn't need them anymore.

With a child on the way, I'd wanted to give this relationship another chance.

But now, I was glad I hadn't destroyed them.

I took out the ticket, my thumb tracing the date.

It departed in seven days.

That was Jackson's birthday, and the deadline I'd set for myself.

I picked up a pen and drew a heavy circle around the date on the calendar.

The countdown began.

Scarlett POV

The next morning, I was woken by noise downstairs.

Jackson was back.

He'd brought Phoebe and Thomas with him.

I stood at the top of the stairs, watching the cozy scene in the living room.

Phoebe wore Jackson's shirt, its oversized hem covering her thighs, making her look small and delicate.

She sat on the sofa, a mug of warm milk in her hands.

Thomas nestled in her lap, mouth open, waiting for her to feed him.

Jackson sat next to them, cutting fruit. His knife skills weren't great; the peel broke several times.

But he was patient.

Before, if I wanted fruit, he'd just frown and say, "Cut it yourself. I'm not your servant."

"Scarlett's awake?"

Phoebe noticed me first.

She started to stand, but Jackson pressed his hand to her shoulder.

"Sit still. The doctor said you're weak, don't move around."

Jackson's voice was deep. When he turned to me, it immediately turned cold.

"Since you're awake, come down and make breakfast. Lena's off today, and Phoebe wants your seafood chowder."

My fingers tightened on the railing, knuckles white.

Seafood chowder.

Everyone in the Pack knew Phoebe was allergic to seafood.

Was he testing me, or trying to humiliate me?

Or perhaps, between me and Phoebe, he simply forgot who had the allergy.

"She's allergic to seafood," I said blandly.

Jackson's hand, cutting fruit, paused. The knife blade nicked his thumb.

A bead of blood welled up.

Phoebe gasped, quickly taking his hand and putting it to her lips.

Jackson didn't pull away. Instead, he looked at her with tender eyes.

"Phoebe, you're so thoughtful."

Then, he looked up at me, his eyes filled with blame. "So you got it wrong. No need for excuses. You weren't this forgetful before."

Before?

How did I live before?

Every meal, I had to cater to everyone's tastes.

Jackson didn't eat garlic; Thomas wouldn't touch carrots or bell peppers.

If even a hint of something they disliked appeared in a dish, the entire spread would be dumped directly into the trash.

I remembered everyone's preferences, yet no one remembered I didn't eat cilantro.

"Maybe I got it wrong."

I didn't argue, turning to enter the kitchen.

If he wanted his darling to drink seafood soup, I'd make it.

Cleaning the lobster, chopping onions, simmering the broth.

I performed each step methodically.

The kitchen's glass door wasn't fully closed.

Fragments of conversation drifted in from the living room.

"Jackson, is Scarlett angry?"

It was Phoebe's voice, laced with a hint of grievance. "Maybe I should move out. I'm not as clingy as Thomas, it's fine."

"This is my home, and it's your home. Stay as long as you like."

Jackson's voice was firm. "As for her, don't worry about it. Taking care of pack members is the Luna's responsibility. Just ignore her."

"But..."

"No buts. Thomas can't be without you. Look at him this morning, has he asked for Scarlett even once?"

Thomas's childish voice followed immediately: "I don't want that bad woman! I want Phoebe to be my mom!"

Whoosh

I turned the faucet to full blast.

The water rushed over the cold ceramic bowl, washing away those grating voices.

I looked down at the sink.

A blank face stared back from the reflection.

Before, hearing these words would have made me sad. I would have cried all night, buried under my blankets.

I would have wondered if I wasn't good enough, not gentle or considerate enough.

But now, my heart was surprisingly calm.

It was like watching a clumsy performance.

Only laughable.

Half an hour later, I carried the steaming soup pot out of the kitchen.

Jackson was leaning over, feeding Phoebe freshly cut apple slices.

Seeing me, he didn't even lift his gaze.

"Just put it down. Let it cool before serving."

I placed the soup on the dining table, said nothing, and turned to go upstairs.

"Stop."

Jackson called out.

He put down the apple, pulled a napkin to wipe his hands, and said carelessly, "Clear out your fragrance lab. Phoebe wants to use it for yoga."

My steps froze.

That fragrance lab was my only private space in this house.

It held my unfinished perfumes.

That was my red line.

"There's a gym downstairs," I said.

"The gym doesn't get enough light." Jackson frowned. "Just clear it out. Why so much fuss? Your blending stuff isn't worth anything, it's just taking up space."

"Blending stuff."

That was my passion.

It was the only thing that proved I was once a werewolf warrior with exceptional herbal talent, not just a nanny.

But in the eyes of this powerful Alpha, it was just space-wasting trash.

"Got it."

I heard myself say.

No argument, no hysteria.

Jackson seemed somewhat surprised by my obedience, but he didn't dwell on it. He just waved me away.

I went back to my room and pulled out a large black trash bag.

Entering the fragrance lab.

The bottle of perfume I'd spent three months blending, named "Deep Sea," stood silently on the workbench.

I picked it up.

I slammed the bottle to the floor.

Glass shattered, a jarring sound.

My carefully blended essential oils flowed across the floor, and the scent of herbs instantly permeated the air.

I scooped the shards into the trash bag, along with the essential oils, measuring cups, and droppers.

Everything was cleaned up.

It took less than ten minutes.

The once-full room became instantly empty.

Only a faint, lingering mixed scent remained in the air.

There was no trace of Scarlett left here.

Just like in this house.

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.

"WahDaddy! 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.

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 eyesno 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.

Scarlett POV

I don't remember how I walked out of the mansion.

Only that the sunlight outside was blinding, yet held no warmth against my skin.

I went to the Pack's medical center.

It was more like a small clinic.

Since werewolves rarely needed extensive treatment, it was quiet and empty.

I registered, underwent some necessary exams, and finally found the doctor.

"Scarlett?"

The doctor, an older woman, pushed up her glasses, her gaze falling on my report. Her brows immediately drew together.

"Your condition is very dangerous. You have an incomplete miscarriage, with retained tissue, and you've got a wolf venom infection. You need surgery immediately."

Surgery.

I knew what that meant.

Cold instruments probing my body, scraping away that unformed blood clot, along with all my hopes for the past.

"I won't have surgery."

I heard my own calm voice. "Just give me some strong painkillers."

The doctor looked up sharply, staring at me as if I were insane.

"Are you trying to die? This kind of infection is very hard to heal on its own, and it will harm your wolf..."

She paused, pointing to the alarmingly low number on the lab report. "Are your wounds healing slower recently? And has your wolf been responding less?"

I instinctively pulled down my sleeve, covering the bruise on my wrist.

It was from Jackson's grip yesterday, still not healed.

Normally, it would disappear quickly.

"I know what I'm doing."

I stood up, didn't wait for the doctor to say more, and walked out of the examination room.

Only I knew that this body was broken.

It couldn't be fixed.

Even if I fixed this, there would be something else waiting for me.

Rather than let my wolf and I endure this torment, I'd rather finish these last few days with dignity.

While picking up my medication, the wall-mounted TV in the lobby was broadcasting news from the werewolf world.

"Frostveil Pack's Alpha Jackson attends Full Moon Gala with a mystery lady, spending millions on a pink diamond necklace..."

On screen, Jackson stood tall in a perfectly tailored formal suit.

Phoebe clung to his arm, the shimmering pink diamond necklace adorning her neck, smiling blissfully.

The reporter's microphone was practically shoved into their faces.

"Mr. Jackson, is this lady your mate?"

Jackson didn't deny it, only looking down at Phoebe, his eyes so tender they could drip honey.

"She is the most important person to me."

Many in the lobby were watching, some envious, some gasping.

No one remembered that I was the true Luna.

I stood behind the crowd, clutching a bag of painkillers, a bitter taste of bile in my mouth.

The most important person.

Then what was I?

Five years of shared life, I stood by him from Alpha heir to true Alpha.

To garner support, I fought alongside him until I collapsed from exhaustion; to care for his ailing mother, I stayed by her bedside for three months, missing my own mother's final moments.

In the end, I was just an invisible person, not even worthy of a name.

I lowered my head, popping a pill into my mouth. I swallowed it dry, without water.

The rough tablet scraped my throat, leaving a burning pain.

But this pain felt good.

At least it reminded me that I was still alive.

Scarlett POV

By the time I returned to the mansion, night had fallen completely.

The living room was brightly lit.

Thomas was sprawled on the rug, drawing, while Phoebe sat beside him, sharpening pencils. Jackson was reviewing documents.

If not for the few large cardboard boxes piled in the corner, this would indeed be a picture of a warm family scene.

Those were my things.

My books, my tea set, even the few coats I often wore.

All haphazardly stuffed into cardboard boxes, like a pile of garbage waiting for disposal.

"What's all this?"

I changed my shoes and walked over to the boxes.

Gamma Lena, who was sealing a box with tape, startled when she saw me, making the tape rip with a sharp, grating sound.

"Luna Scarlett... Ms. Phoebe said the house was too cluttered, easy to collect dust, and not good for Thomas, so..."

"I asked Gamma Lena to tidy up."

Phoebe put down her pencil, stood up, and looked at me with an innocent expression. "Scarlett, don't overthink it. I saw you hardly ever use these things, they were just taking up space. Besides, the doctor said Thomas has a bit of allergic rhinitis, and the house needs to be kept clean."

Allergic rhinitis.

Though children at that age often got sick, I didn't recall him having that condition.

I looked at the unsealed box.

Inside was a bedtime storybook, its corners worn from use.

That was the storybook I read to Thomas every night when he was three.

Now it was an allergen.

"Just throw them out."

Jackson didn't even look up, turning a page of his document. "They're useless anyway."

I looked at the man's profile.

Cold, entitled.

As if he wasn't throwing away my belongings, but me.

"Okay."

I bent down and picked up the box.

It was heavy.

Lena started to help, but I dodged her.

"I'll do it myself."

I carried the box and walked out.

As I passed Thomas, he suddenly looked up, holding out his drawing, and called out to Jackson, showing off, "Daddy, look! My family portrait!"

Jackson put down his document, took the drawing, and a smile touched his lips.

"That's good."

I instinctively glanced over.

There were three people in the drawing.

A tall daddy, a pretty mommy, and Thomas in the middle, holding hands.

The "mommy" wore a pink dress and a sparkling necklace.

That was Phoebe's outfit today.

I wasn't in the drawing.

I felt the box in my arms suddenly weigh a thousand pounds, suffocating me.

"Thomas is so talented."

Phoebe patted Thomas's head, giving me a defiant look. "How about I take you to art classes later?"

"Yes! I love Phoebe the most!"

Thomas hugged her neck and gave her a loud kiss on the cheek.

I averted my gaze and quickened my pace.

I walked out the front door, all the way to the open yard outside.

I dropped the box heavily to the ground.

Thud!

A cloud of dust rose.

Looking at the storybook, a corner peeking out.

It suddenly felt ridiculous.

Scarlett, look.

The memories you cherished like treasure are, in others' eyes, nothing but trash to be discarded at any moment.

I pulled a lighter from my pocket.

Click!

A blue flame danced in the night wind.

I lit a corner of the box.

The fire spread quickly, the dry paper curling and blackening, turning to ash.

The firelight reflected in my eyes, feeling hot.

At some point, Jackson stood behind me.

"What are you doing?"

His voice was deep, tinged with surprise.

He probably hadn't expected me to burn my own things.

After all, before, even a sticky note, if he'd given it to me, I would have carefully saved it.

"As you said."

I watched the dancing flames, not turning around. "Cleaning up trash."

Jackson was silent for a few seconds.

"Scarlett, you've been acting strangely lately."

He walked over to me, scrutinizing me. "If this is to get my attention, you're overacting."

Overacting?

I turned, looking at the man I had loved for seven years.

In the firelight, his profile was still breathtakingly handsome.

But my heart, like this pile of ashes, was utterly cold.

"Jackson."

I called his name. "If I died one day, would you be sad?"

Jackson froze.

Then, he frowned, an obvious look of disgust appearing on his face.

"Don't say such morbid things."

He flicked his cigarette ash, his tone cold. "Someone like you, you're tough as nails. How could you die so easily?"

I smiled.

Yes.

Someone like me, like a wild weed.

Stepped into the mud, burned by fire, as long as there's a root left, I can cling to life.

But Jackson.

This time, I'm pulling up the roots too.

"That's good."

I said softly. "That's good."

I won't love you anymore, Jackson.

You destroyed me with your own hands.