❝Heartbreak was just grief repackaged into the romanticization of an unsightly feeling. ❞

TW: light (i do mean light) mentions of self harm. As always, recaps will be at the beginning of the next chapter in case you feel uncomfortable reading.  

A month later

Their limbs tangled together like they would never part. Lester's fingers trailed through her hair as he held her head to his chest, eyes closed. This was what she felt like, he memorized. The warmth of her body was traitorous to his heart.

This morning, he knew for certain, would be the hardest of his life.

It was unfair of her to leave. It was unfair of him to make her stay. Despite his anguish, Dahlia Keegan would always come first.

And so Lester pressed a kiss to her hairline, pressed his forehead against hers, and pressed his body closer like he had just another moment to spare. Like he wasn't leaving.

He swore his chest burned as he pulled away from her, softly whispering that he loved her, like anything would change. She stirred softly under his last touch, and he pulled the blanket up to her chin as the bed dipped.

Quietly, he pulled his clothes from the wardrobe and dressed, making as little sound as possible. They had said their farewells last night. As a mate, this was his duty to her.

Lester's throat felt as though it was closing as he left the room. He almost stilled just at the mere sight of her lying there, the pounding in his chest accelerating. Light had briefly poured across the floorboards as he shut the door behind him, illuminating Dahlia's sleeping form.

Would he ever see her again?

Lester's skin crawled as he made his way out of the wing, dread pouring down his spine. The thought did nothing to ease his worry in the least, the feeling ever constant.

Dahlia was leaving the castle without him. There had been no time limit, no mission that she'd told him, no reasoning that he'd fully understood. Just that she needed some space to think for herself for some time. Just that she was going to go, and that he would be without her.

The halls to the offices were empty on weekend mornings. Lester was glad as he stopped to lean against a wall, fists balling until tears sprung into his eyes. He pressed his backbone to the stone-cold surface like a reminder. Something slipped down his cheek as he glanced at the ceiling, helpless.

She was leaving.

She was leaving him.

Lester hunched over, burying his head in his hands as tears continued to stream down his cheeks. He didn't cry often – men weren't supposed to cry – but the crushing pain was overwhelming.

What was it that he had done to fail her as a mate? Why was he not good enough? Why did she need to go?

She'd told him, every time that he'd asked, and yet he still couldn't understand. The blame seemed to fall to him, no matter which way he thought about it in his head.

Dahlia was always too strong, too skilled, too unwaveringly uncertain for her own good. They were both incredibly flawed, but she was the brave one of them. Not kind, but honest. Scarred by the world, hurt at every opportunity, and the wolf that came out on top despite it all. That was Dahlia.

Most of the time, Lester swore, she was too good for him. His identity was solely built upon what he had been taught, his duty, and his rank. His life demanded order above all. She was the exception, infinitely the exception.

And he loved her.

For her, he stood and walked to his office as though it was a normal morning. He dried his tears, straightened his jacket, and marched. He sat at his desk and did his duty as though he could focus.

Lester didn't leave for their wing. He didn't leave at her time of departure. He wouldn't spare her a second because she wouldn't have wanted him to, he thought.

Lester worked nonstop until midnight, his shoulders heavy and his mind blank as he completed paperwork. When he finally retired for the night, it was all effectively numb.

It was all effectively numb, but evidently not numb enough.

Through the fatigue, the dread, and the lack of emotions, Lester's hand reached for her on the other side of the bed, only to come up empty. His fingers shook as he stared at them, trembling. He fumbled for the lamplight.

Lester made his way to the kitchen. Nothing could put into words the way he was feeling. He drew a sharp knife from the drawer, examining it carefully to make sure that it was clean.

His footsteps barely made any noise at all as he went into the bathroom.

Lester's eyes met his reflection's carefully, momentarily. He discarded his shirt. His ribs seemed more prominent than they had yesterday, his face more gaunt.

He had no words.

In one singular motion, he drew the blade of the knife across his stomach, making a cut along the top edge of his skin.

Lester laid the knife down against the sink's edge, his eyes resting on the mirror. His lips curled into a sad smile. Fitting, he thought, fixated on his reflection.

The scarlet pain against his pale skin was the most genuine emotion he had felt all day.

Dahlia Keegan had left him to bleed on his own. The blade's mark still didn't sting nearly as much as the tears in his eyes did.

Lester was heartbroken for the first time, and he called for a physician.

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so, first chapter from Lester's perspective. ever. how are we feeling? how was it?

i'm incredibly proud of the prologue and the first chapter of this story. i feel like there's a lot to unpack simmering beneath the surface. i can't wait to get into both Dahlia and Lester as characters.

updates on wattpad will be every other week, as continued from TBF. updates on patreon will be at least once a week. i am already a few [six] chapters ahead on there if anyone is interested in reading ahead. you all know the drill. the link to my patreon is below as the external and in my bio.