I Left Before He Learned My Worth novel Chapter 120

**TITLE: I Left Before He Learned My Worth**

**Chapter 120**

**ARIA**

The dawn following my harrowing brush with death began with an unexpected knock at my chamber door.

Sleep had eluded me entirely, my mind trapped in a relentless loop, replaying the horrifying events that had unfolded on that platform. The noose’s rough fibers against my throat, the suffocating certainty that my life was about to be extinguished. Then, the shocking twist as Ivory apprehended the spy—a moment of salvation that felt surreal. Yet, the bitter truth lingered: my mate had been ready to endorse my execution based solely on someone else’s accusation.

Each time I closed my eyes, the memories surged forth—the rope biting into my skin, the ominous creaking of the platform beneath me, and that dreadful moment of resignation when I thought I was facing the end of my life.

So when Celine knocked softly and entered with a breakfast tray, I was already awake, seated by the window, gazing at the sun rising over the territory I had nearly forgotten.

“Luna Aria,” Celine spoke softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she placed the tray on the small table between us. “There are… there are people outside. Pack members. They’re asking to see you.”

“Why?” I croaked, my voice raspy from a night filled with silent tears.

“They’ve brought gifts,” she replied, her discomfort evident. “Apologies, they’re calling them. For doubting you. For believing you were guilty.”

A bitter laugh almost escaped me, the absurdity of it all threatening to break through my stoic facade. Pack members who had once been ready to watch me hang now sought to atone with trinkets and tokens. It felt almost too surreal to comprehend.

“Tell them I’m not receiving visitors,” I stated firmly, my resolve hardening.

“Luna, I really think you should—”

“I said no,” I interjected, my tone sharper than I had intended. “I don’t want their apologies. I don’t want their gifts. I just want to be left alone.”

Yet, solitude was a luxury I didn’t seem to possess. Throughout the morning, gifts continued to pour in, each one a reminder of how quickly the pack had been willing to condemn me. Celine entered repeatedly, her arms laden with offerings until our chambers resembled a bizarre bazaar.

There were flowers from the gardens—delicately arranged bouquets accompanied by notes of regret. Baked goods from the kitchens—Martha’s signature honey cakes, fresh bread, and pastries that must have taken hours to perfect. Handcrafted items—intricately carved wooden boxes, woven blankets, and small sculptures that displayed genuine craftsmanship and effort.

Each gift bore a note, each one echoing a similar sentiment: *We’re sorry we doubted you. We should have given you the benefit of the doubt. We hope you can forgive us.*

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