I Left Before He Learned My Worth novel Chapter 60

**Chapter 60**

**ARIA**

I found myself standing at the threshold of the pack’s bustling kitchen, a place alive with the sounds of clattering pots and the rich aromas of simmering stews. The head cook, a formidable woman named Martha, had been the backbone of these kitchens for an impressive thirty years. As she orchestrated the younger wolves on the art of vegetable chopping, her gaze flicked toward me. The chill in her expression was unmistakable—polite, yet utterly devoid of warmth, like a winter’s morning.

“Luna Aria,” she greeted, her voice a perfect blend of respect and frost. “Is there something you require?”

It had been five long days since the council delivered its harsh verdict. Five days since Damon had been stripped of his title, forced into a confinement that echoed with the weight of his past actions. Five days since I had reluctantly begun to embrace the responsibilities of being Luna, grappling with my new role in a pack that still seemed to question my very presence.

“I thought I might check in,” I replied, striving to keep my tone light and friendly. “Is there anything I could assist with for tonight’s meal? Perhaps I could learn a bit about the kitchen operations?”

Martha’s face remained as impassive as stone, but I noticed the subtle glances exchanged among the other kitchen staff. The kind of looks that conveyed a silent agreement—they had been discussing me before my arrival, and my presence was clearly an unwelcome disruption.

“That’s very kind of you to offer,” Martha said, her tone dripping with insincerity. “However, we have everything under control. We’ve been preparing meals for the pack for decades without needing assistance from the Luna. I’m certain you have more pressing matters to attend to.”

Her dismissal was courteous yet unyielding, a familiar refrain I had encountered multiple times throughout the day.

Earlier in the morning, Marcus, the head of the guard contingent—the same wolf who had tried to prevent me from entering Kael’s den during his transformation—had coolly informed me that they did not require a Luna overseeing their training schedules. They had managed just fine during the three years of Kael’s curse, he asserted, and there was no reason to alter their established protocols now.

The day before, Bernard, the meticulous pack treasurer, had made it abundantly clear that my inquiries regarding pack finances were not only intrusive but entirely unnecessary. “The Alpha reviews these quarterly,” he had grumbled, irritation barely concealed. “There’s no need for redundant oversight.”

And the day prior to that, three different department heads had each found ways to explain why my input was unwelcome, my presence unhelpful, and my attempts to understand their operations were actually hindering their work.

The pattern was unmistakable. The majority of the pack was not warming to me. They performed the obligatory courtesies required in the presence of Kael or Nina—bowing their heads, using my title, maintaining a facade of respect. But when I was alone, when no one was watching, the walls went up. The polite dismissals were served cold, and the underlying message was clear: we don’t want you here; we’re merely tolerating your presence.

“Of course,” I replied to Martha, maintaining my facade of pleasantness. “I’ll leave you to your work. Please do let me know if there’s ever anything I can do to support the kitchen operations.”

“Of course, Luna Aria,” Martha replied, already turning her attention back to her tasks with a dismissive wave.

Margo, my other maid, was a stark contrast to Celine’s neutrality. Her disdain for my presence was barely disguised. While she performed her duties impeccably, every task was executed with a tight-lipped disapproval that made it abundantly clear she found serving me distasteful. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, avoided my gaze whenever possible, and had perfected the art of a contemptuous curtsy.

“Thank you,” I said, forcing a smile. “Please let Margo know I appreciate her efforts.”

Celine nodded and disappeared back down the corridor, leaving me once again to my swirling thoughts.

I made my way toward the stairs that led to the residential wing, eager to indulge in the bath Margo had prepared. However, as I passed one of the sitting rooms, I noticed movement through the partially open door and halted in my tracks.

Ivory was seated at a table cluttered with herbs and botanical specimens, her head bent over a mortar and pestle as she ground something with meticulous care. The bruises on her face had faded to a yellowish-green, and the swelling had diminished enough that both her eyes were now fully open. Yet, she moved with caution, as if any sudden twist might provoke discomfort in her ribs or head.

I hadn’t seen much of Ivory since the council hearing. I was aware of her presence—Nina mentioned her frequently, and I caught glimpses of her moving through the pack house or tending to the healing gardens. But Ivory had been carefully avoiding me. On the rare occasions our paths did cross, she would make immediate excuses to leave, her avoidance palpable.

I felt an odd mix of longing and frustration as I observed her. I wanted to reach out, to bridge the chasm that had grown between us, but the fear of rejection held me back. What if she, too, viewed me as an unwelcome specter in this new life? Would she see me as a reminder of everything that had gone wrong?