The Girl the Pack Treated as a Joke Was Actually a Powerful White Wolf Chapter 10

The Girl the Pack Treated as a Joke Was Actually a Powerful White Wolf Chapter 10

“Lyra!”

His voice was a raw, mangled rasp, torn apart by the storm.

“I pulled every record. Every single tear out of Serena’s mouth was staged.”

He slammed down onto his hands, driving his forehead hard into the rain-slick stone.

“I was blind. I was a vicious fool!”

Another sickening impact echoed off the pavement.

“While you were bleeding into the dirt until three in the morning, I was catering to her every shallow whim.

When pain had you doubled over, I called you cold and distant.”

A third strike. Dark crimson bled into the runoff water carving paths down his face.

“Lyra, take my life. Take whatever is left-just give me one chance. Please.”

Silence settled beneath the colonnade. Even the whispered side-talk died out, smothered by the driving rain.

I looked down at him.

The Alpha who once handed down his validation like cheap scraps was now bowing low in the filth, begging

for mercy.

I turned and walked straight past him into the downpour.

Behind me, an agonized, wolfish roar ripped through the squall.

I never once looked back.

Nolan never returned.

The fallout trickled in through Ethan.

The moment Nolan returned south, he dropped the entire dossier-Serena’s messages, her club receipts, and

underground debt contracts-into the Mercer family and Pack Council channels.

His father, the reigning Alpha, stripped him of his rank before sundown, passing the title straight to his

younger brother.

Not out of moral outrage.

Out of sheer disgust. A future leader so easily led by the collar had no business governing a pack.

As for Serena, the footage of her staged fall at Royal Crescent spread across regional feeds like wildfire,

dragging her true credentials into the open: bottom-tier combat marks, failing percentiles across every

evaluation.

To save face, the second-rate academy she had bought her way into issued an immediate expulsion order,

citing conduct unbecoming a warrior.

What finally crushed my parents, though, wasn’t Serena’s fall.

It was the collectors.

One November afternoon, a brief message from Ethan flashed across my screen:

[Your parents’ front gate was drenched in red paint. “PAY UP” scrawled across the cedar.]

I never answered.

It didn’t take long for the full story to break. Serena had racked up nearly sixty thousand dollars in predatory

loans, using my parents’ forged signatures as her guarantee.

My mother called law enforcement in a panic, but Serena had already slipped across the border in an unregistered rogue convoy.

My father collapsed with a cardiac arrest that very night.

After pacing the critical care wing until daybreak, my mother collapsed from a stroke.

Both ended up confined to adjacent wards in the regional clinic.

A message from Aunt Claire pinged my terminal:

[Lyra, both your parents are hospitalized. Your mother’s right arm is completely paralyzed. Can’t you see them, just once?]

No.

Three days later:

[She weeps non-stop, begging for your voice. Your father swore you can scream right in his face-if you just let them see you once.]

In December, I spearheaded Royal Crescent’s victory at the Inter-Pack Tactical Command Summit, taking

Best Field Commander.

The award photo ran in headlines across the regional news.

Aunt Claire tried one last time:

[They saw you on the ward screen. Your mother won’t stop crying about missing your ceremony. Lyra, they

swore you only have to stand by the door for a second.]

To cut the thread once and for all, I arranged a delivery through a local courier near their facility-a plain

arrangement of white carnations.

No card signed with love. Just cold ink:

[The pack ledger no longer carries our bond. I wish you a swift recovery. Live what remains of your lives, and

never reach into mine again.]

And just like that, the past ceased to exist.