Chapter 188 Ingrid POV
Chapter 188 Ingrid POV
Goddess, he looks so happy. I watch him from my bedroom window with the lights off, of course—like some sad, stalking she-wolf. I don’t know what I was thinking, coming here with his family. I do know, this was supposed to be an ascending ceremony, and he told no one about his mate...mates. There are two of them, and they are stunning. I wanted to admit to him that I had made a mistake—that I rushed it. Listening to my friends was a bad idea. They are all mated now, and I have been left behind. But I am too late. He moved on.
Red Moon Pack is beautiful. Spanish-style homes scatter across the California hills, surrounded by mature trees and wildflowers, with massive fountains everywhere. It looks like a fairytale. Rage belongs here. The packhouse sits right on the beach, the size of a hotel, currently housing all the guests for the upcoming events. I heard his place is on top of a hill about forty minutes from here, overlooking everything. Beta Mitch is kind and welcoming, Delta Carl as well. The one that unsettled me was Gamma Diego, a heavily tattooed man who doesn’t speak much, more of a grunter. His sheer size is overwhelming. All of them are mated too, just like Rage’s new friends. Lucas, I already knew, he’s a piece of shit. A player. Always looking at she-wolves like they’re something to devour.
I don’t know how he ended up mated. He seems...different now. More serious than he was this summer when I met him and his father, Alpha Matteo. His mate, Lacy, is gorgeous. I overheard Cross saying she’s wilder than Lucas, his perfect match. She must be a saint to deal with him every day. I can only tolerate him in small doses. Fury told me he walked in on Rage and Ares—the serious one. She was a virgin. At least I can get gossip from his brothers; they seem fascinated by Rage having two females. Nova is the touchy-feely one.
Retreating back to my bed, I collapse onto the soft comforter. I toss and turn, unable to sleep for what feels like a lifetime in the darkness. I stare at the ceiling, replaying every thought I’ve ever had about him, every moment, every encounter. I bite my lip, recalling how intensely he could make me come. I am unraveling. I want him back.
I reach for my phone to check the time. The beach is dark and empty. Only the shadows of security linger in the moonlight. They are everywhere, in the halls, outside the house, along every street. The dockyard and container area even more so. I had a chance to drive around earlier. I glance at my phone again. Rage will be in the kitchen now, just like he always is at 3 a.m.
Opening my door quietly, I slip into the empty hallway. Down the stairs, past the pack dining room, and through the double glass doors into the kitchen. There he is, in his boxers, the fridge door open, its light illuminating every defined line of his chest. His arm braces against the door as he decides between food or water. I freeze, watching him, my breaths slow and deep.
"What?" he asks coldly. "Say what you came to say. Or are you just going to stand there breathing heavily in the dark?"
He feels nothing for me anymore, I can tell. That dismissive tone he uses when he’s irritated, he is using it with me, now. Rage grabs a small container of berries, rinsing them under the sink. Then he slides onto the kitchen island, dragging a hand over his face.
"Why did you even come here with my family?" he asks, his voice softening just slightly.
"I love you," I exhale, the words tearing free, releasing a weight I’ve carried too long.
Silence.
Long, heavy silence.
Then laughter.
He’s laughing at me, at my words. The sting of rejection crashes back into my chest, sharp and suffocating.
"Did you think I’ve been sitting around, waiting for you to come back? To take me back?" he asks, pausing just long enough for me to try to speak, then cutting me off. "Is that why you came here? After what you said to me before you rejected me? After two fucking years of dating, you unloaded all your crap on me, while rejecting me? Fuck you."
Rage slides off the counter, berries still in his hand. "After telling me I wasn’t worth moving across the Atlantic for, because I can’t give you pups. That you wasted two years on me. That you could replace me with someone better. That I wasn’t good enough for you." His voice rises now, anger bleeding through every word.
I’ve never seen him like this. He doesn’t yell. He avoids conflict, always choosing kindness. I don’t recognize the man in front of me, except I do. I made him this way. I put that pain inside him. Those words were mine.
"I’m sorry," I whisper, my voice breaking with each syllable. "I don’t know what I thought. This was a mistake. I made a mistake, and I understand it’s too late now." I swallow hard. "You belong here—with them. I’m happy for you." The words burn as they leave me, bitter and hollow.
Rage steps around me, stopping at the door. He doesn’t look back.
Silence falls again, heavy, suffocating.
"I hope you find someone who deserves you," he says finally, his voice cold, more curse than kindness. "Like I did."
I stand there waiting in the darkness until I can hear him close his bedroom door. Then I let my feet take me back to my room. I can feel each gaze from each guard. They all heard our conversation, my face burns from embarrassment. I need to figure myself out, where do I go from here.
I am a dead end.