Third Person's POV Silas stared at her as if he were drowning, his hand clamped desperately around Freya's wrist. His voice cracked, raw with desperation. "You promised me, Freya. You said you'd forgive me-no matter what. You can't take that back now. You can't!" Freya froze, startled by the sheer panic in his tone. Her lips curved into a bitter laugh, sharp and trembling, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. "Forgive you?" she echoed, almost choking on the word. "Of course. The great Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition, so cunning, always thinking ten steps ahead. And to think-I never realized you calculated even this. That's why you pushed me into making that promise, isn't it? Insurance for when your lies finally came crashing down?" "I-" His lips pressed tight, pale and dry. Shame scalded his throat. He knew it was true. He knew he was despicable. But the thought of losing her ripped through him like a blade. He shook his head, voice breaking. "Don't go. Please." "Let me go, Silas." Her tone was iron, her gaze fixed on his hand still clamped around her wrist. "And if I refuse?" His voice was hoarse, trembling, but stubborn. His fingers tightened, wolf instincts clinging with primal possessiveness. She didn't argue further. She simply moved. Her free hand wrapped around his, prying, forcing. But he wouldn't release her-his grip only grew stronger, the cords in his arm standing out, veins pulsing. Her eyes hardened. Crack! Silas gasped, his face draining of color as the sound of bone splintering filled the room. His forefinger bent grotesquely, but he didn't let go. "If this is the price," he panted through the pain, "then break them all, Freya. Ten fingers, every last one-if it means you'll stay." Her stomach twisted with fury and grief. "Does this amuse you, Silas? Do you think this pathetic display can change anything?" "It's meaningless," he admitted, his breath ragged. "But I can't release you." Her jaw clenched. "Then I'll say it once more. Let go."He said nothing. His silence was answer enough. Crack! Another finger snapped, followed by another. The sound echoed like gunfire in the room, and with each break, it was as if something inside Freya's chest splintered too. Pain ripped through her heart as though her own bones were being crushed. Finally, his grip faltered. She tore her wrist free from his ruined hand. But Silas only stared at her, his hand twisted and broken, his face pale with agony-and yet, his eyes never left hers. His voice was low, pleading. "Don't leave me. You can do anything to me, Freya. Anything. Just… don't walk away." "Anything?" Her laughter was brittle, hollow. "Can your pain bring back my brother, Silas? Can shattered bones erase your deception? Can your suffering undo your lies?" Her gaze flicked to his mangled hand, her expression cold. She had never once imagined she would do this to him, never thought she could be this merciless. But he had forced her hand. "If you don't want this to get uglier, then stop standing in my way." Silas's body went rigid. He didn't move. Couldn't. He could only watch, stricken, as she turned from him. Freya dragged out her luggage, filling the suitcase with the few possessions she still had in this apartment. Each item folded away was a piece of herself severed from him. When she pulled the suitcase to the door, brushing past him without so much as a glance, he found his voice again. "Freya!" His cry cracked like a whip, desperate and raw. "I was wrong. I know I was wrong. But please-don't abandon me. Don't cut me out of your life." Her grip tightened around the suitcase handle. She drew in a sharp breath, her voice trembling but firm. "Silas, there is no ‘us' anymore. Between us-it's over." She never got to finish. A dull thud split the silence. She spun around, eyes wide, only to see him collapse onto his knees, his body hitting the floor with brutal force. "You-" She faltered, stunned. She had never imagined him kneeling. The Ironclad Alpha, feared by enemies and respected by allies, reduced to this. "You said you wanted me," Silas rasped, his voice shaking. "Then want me still. Want me forever. Don't walk away like this. I can't take it. I was wrong, but only once. Is there truly no forgiveness for a single mistake?" Freya's breath hitched, her chest constricting painfully. Her hand tightened on the suitcase handle until her knuckles whitened. "Some mistakes," she whispered, "allow no second chances. You should have saved him, Silas. You should have saved Eric. I swore to you once that nothing-short of crime-could break my promise of forgiveness. But this…" Her voice fractured, her eyes burning. "This I can't forgive." She turned her back on him, the finality of her decision cutting deeper than any blade. The door slammed behind her, the echo reverberating through the apartment like a death knell. For Silas, the world collapsed into shadow. Just one mistake. Just once. And yet she had left him as though every moment they had shared had meant nothing. Regret ripped him apart. Why hadn't he saved Eric that night? Why hadn't fate brought him to Freya sooner, years earlier, when he might have known her brother's face, his scent, his bloodline? If only he had recognized him then. If only he had acted. Then Freya might not hate him. Then she might still be here, in his arms, where she belonged. But now she was gone. He remained on his knees long after she left, his broken hand dangling uselessly at his side. Time passed unnoticed. The daylight outside dimmed into twilight, shadows stretching across the Ironclad Alpha's home. At last, he staggered to his feet, swaying, disoriented. His injured hand hung limp, three fingers grotesquely twisted, but he felt nothing. Not the pain, not the blood, not the throbbing in his bones. Only the hollow ache inside him. His eyes scoured the apartment like a feral beast searching for prey. She had taken everything-every belonging, every trace of herself. As if she had never lived here at all. No-there was something. He stopped before the nightstand in their bedroom. His chest heaved as he opened the drawer with trembling hands. There it was. A small box, untouched. He remembered-the gift she had once said she would give him for his birthday. She had taken everything else but left this behind. His breath hitched, chest seizing as he stared at the box. It was not mercy. It was not love.It was the cruelest wound she could have given him. Because leaving the gift behind meant only one thing. Freya was never coming back.