I Left Before He Learned My Worth novel Chapter 2

**TITLE: I Left Before He Learned My Worth 2**

**Chapter 2**

**ARIA**

Damon was acutely aware of the depth of my feelings for him, a truth that lay bare in every action I took. My devotion had always been evident, and deep down, he understood how my omega wolf resonated with his own, a connection that should have solidified our destinies together.

Yet here I was, frozen in disbelief, my gaze fixed on the moonstone necklace he offered, refusing to even reach out to touch it. He misinterpreted my silence as acceptance, as if my earlier outburst had been quelled by his grand gesture.

He reached for the necklace, his intent clear: to clasp it around my neck. Just days ago, that simple action would have ignited a flicker of hope within me, a belief that perhaps the bond we once shared could be rekindled. Now, however, the thought of it twisted my stomach into knots of nausea.

“I don’t want this necklace! I just want my mother’s pendant!” I exclaimed, my voice sharp and resolute.

With a swift motion, I batted his hands away, my heart pounding with indignation. “That pendant was the last thread connecting me to my birth pack. How could you even think of giving it to Sera? I only want what is rightfully mine! Give her the damn necklace and return my mother’s keepsake!”

“Still throwing a fit…” he muttered, his patience wearing thin.

In an instant, his Alpha aura surged forth, saturating the small cabin with an overwhelming scent of pine and authority. His expression hardened, radiating a fury that could make the most timid of wolves cower under his gaze.

“Sera truly cherishes that pendant,” he said, his voice icy.

“She’s dying—how much longer do you think she’ll even get to wear it? Why do you insist on squabbling over jewelry with someone whose wolf is fading fast? Aria, when did you become so selfish and cruel?”

Selfish. Cruel. The words echoed in my mind, a bitter reminder of a fight over a pendant with a she-wolf whose life was slipping away.

But that pendant represented so much more to me. It was the only remnant of my slain pack, of my mother who had been taken from me. It was my sole connection to my roots, to a pack that had never truly accepted me.

What was wrong with wanting it back?

Did he genuinely believe I would continue sacrificing my own happiness for him after he had so publicly chosen another omega? Did he think I would simply roll over and expose my belly after being so callously discarded? Even the most loyal dogs bite back when mistreated.

I refused to be that pathetic.

Before I could articulate my thoughts further, Damon’s phone buzzed urgently, pulling his attention away.

It was a message from Sera.

“Damon, I just collapsed right now. The silver poisoning is getting worse… Can you come stay with me? I’m scared I won’t make it through the night.”

I watched as his entire demeanor stiffened, the weight of her words crashing over him like a wave.

He hadn’t even managed to calm me down yet, but deep down, he knew I would never truly walk away from him—an omega without pack protection was a vulnerable soul.

And Sera was genuinely in distress. He made his choice.

“Sera, don’t panic. I’m coming,” he replied, urgency lacing his voice.

I reached out to the largest supernatural trade post in the Northern Territories, and their representatives came to assess what little I had of value—a collection of rare herbs I had gathered, a silver dagger earned through combat trials, and the jewelry Damon had gifted me over the years.

Everything sold for enough to secure my passage to Shadowmere territory, allowing me to start anew. Not a single coin would go to Damon; I had earned that money through my own blood and sacrifice.

As night descended, I tore apart the last scarf I had knitted for Damon during those long winter nights, waiting for him to return from pack duties.

I tossed the remnants into my fireplace, watching as the flames consumed them, a symbolic end to my lingering hopes.

I was just about to leave with my single duffle bag when my eyes fell on the photograph still resting on my nightstand.

In that picture, I was curled against Damon’s chest in wolf form, my smaller silver coat contrasting sharply with his massive black fur. His muzzle lay protectively over my neck, and for a fleeting moment, his eyes reflected a sense of peace I had longed for.

Damon had always despised having his picture taken, claiming it was vanity that weakened a wolf’s spirit.

This photo had been captured last year on the anniversary of the night I had saved him, a moment I had begged to immortalize. It was the only image we had together, a treasure I had cherished deeply.

I had kept it like a sacred relic, placing it on my nightstand as soon as it was printed, gazing at it every morning and night. Even during my travels to gather rare ingredients for his pack’s healers, I had carried it with me, a way to keep Damon close to my heart. I had spent two nights in the woods searching for it without rest, nearly losing consciousness from exhaustion and hunger.

Now, all I felt was the sting of mockery—a reminder of a life I would never have.

With a surge of anger and heartbreak, I smashed the frame against my cabin’s stone hearth, watching as the glass shattered into a myriad of pieces, mirroring the fragments of my shattered dreams.