No Return Ticket for Our Lost Love Chapter 03

No Return Ticket for Our Lost Love Chapter 03

The following morning, the career fair was packed.

I walked straight past the crowded booths to the furthest corner of the hall, stopping in front of the banner for Eastgrove Publishing House.

They were the largest publishing group in the eastern territories of the werewolf continent, operating directly under the Eastgrove Pack.

Their umbrella included the War History Bureau, the Covenant Archives, and the Pack Chronicle department—they were responsible for cataloging battle records and writing biographies for every major Luna across the territories.

After waiting in line for half an hour, the recruiter finished reviewing my resume and portfolio. She looked up, a pleasant gleam of surprise in her eyes. “Your prose has incredible narrative tension. Would you be interested in joining us?”

“Our headquarters is in Eastgrove, though, and that’s where all our growth is centered. Are you willing to leave Southerland?”

“I am,” I answered without a shred of hesitation.

She clearly hadn’t expected me to be so decisive. Pulling my resume from the stack, she set it aside and handed me a sleek business card. “Come to Eastgrove next week for the formal interview. If you pass, you can start immediately. We’ll fully reimburse your travel expenses.”

As I stepped out of the exhibition hall, the midday sun flared bright, forcing me to squint.

I realized then that completely erasing someone from your future was far simpler than I had ever imagined.

That afternoon, Vanessa practically dragged me into the lecture hall for a debate tournament. “You’re definitely going to want to hear today’s topic,” she insisted.

It turned out to be an exhibition match between Argent Academy and our university. The moment I took my seat, my eyes locked onto the stage.

Matthew was the second speaker for the opposition. Sitting right next to him, as the third speaker, was Rebecca.

Today’s resolution: In a relationship, should one choose their fated mate, or their chosen mate?

The opposition’s stance was clear: Choose the chosen mate.

When the floor opened for rebuttal, Matthew stood up with practiced ease. Pressing one hand flat against the podium, his sharp gaze swept across the auditorium before coming to a rest directly on Rebecca.

“I firmly advocate for choosing the chosen mate,” he began, his voice echoing cleanly through the speakers.

“A fated mate is a partner assigned to us by the Moon Goddess. Her authority is absolute, yes. But if a relationship is sustained by nothing more than the fated bond itself, then it is inherently devoid of love. The very essence of love requires one soul to truly be seen by another.”

“Furthermore, romance is not a charity. I am under no obligation to return feelings simply because someone is good to me.”

“If I do not truly love them, then no matter how much one-sided effort and companionship they pour into the relationship, it is nothing more than a performance—a delusional monologue to comfort themselves.”

“The Moon Goddess gave us a shortcut to affection, but she never mandated that we must accept her choice. That is exactly why the right of rejection exists.”

“She granted us that right because she believed there would always be wolves willing to break down walls for the one they desire. Just as I am willing to resist the overwhelming pull of a fated bond for the sake of the chosen mate I love.”

His voice grew more impassioned, carrying an undeniable weight.

“I have never wanted someone whose only merit is that they treat me well.”

“I want someone who can read me—someone I can read just as clearly in return.”

“That kind of unspoken chemistry, where a single glance communicates everything, is not something you can manufacture with time or guilt.”

“Therefore, even if it means breaking my fated mate’s heart, I will always choose my chosen mate.”

“Because at the very least, I owe it to my own heart to be honest.”

The second the words left his mouth, Rebecca turned her head, and their eyes locked in an intimate, effortless gaze.

The auditorium erupted into thunderous applause.

But I sat there like I had been plunged into a frozen lake, my body nailed to the seat.

Though he hadn’t spoken my name, every single word had been a public execution. Four years of waiting, five years of a fated bond—in his eyes, it was all just a delusional monologue to comfort myself.

Inside me, my inner wolf suffocated, trembling from the agonizing weight of it.

As the crowd filed out, Vanessa tried her best to offer a cautious comfort. “It was just a debate, Hannah. You know how it is—speakers take extreme stances on stage that don’t actually reflect how they feel in real life.”

I shook my head, telling her I needed to use the restroom and that she should go on ahead.

But as I rounded the corner near the backstage corridor, my footsteps faltered.

The afternoon sun streamed through the high windows at the end of the hall, casting a warm, golden glow.

Rebecca was looking up at Matthew, animatedly gesturing with her hands as she pointed out a logical flaw from the round. Matthew showed no hint of his usual impatience. Instead, a soft, rare smile played on his lips as he tilted his head, matching his stride perfectly to hers.

Enveloped in the shifting light and shadow, they looked like a flawless masterpiece. I was just a clumsy intruder, a stray piece of dust scattered by their presence.

Without a sound, I turned on my heel and walked toward the opposite exit.

Just then, my phone buzzed in my palm. It was a text from Matthew.

Matthew: [Rebecca said she saw you in the audience. Did you want to come find me?]

Matthew: [We have a victory dinner tonight, though. If you want to join, I can check with the faculty advisor and ask for permission.]

A simple team dinner, and he needed to clear it with an advisor?

He didn’t want me there. He was just putting up a barrier, waiting for me to take the hint and step back on my own.

The old Hannah had always missed the subtext in his messages.

I suppose every time I had happily accepted his reluctant invitations in the past, he must have been deeply frustrated by our complete lack of chemistry.

But I finally understood him now. I could finally read between the lines.

I stared at the screen for a moment, my thumb hovering over the glass before typing a brief response.

Hannah: [I’ll pass. It’s your victory dinner, there’s no reason for me to be there.]

After hitting send, I opened a travel app.

A single one-way ticket popped up on the screen.

Departure: Southerland.

Destination: Eastgrove.