Chapter 4

The silence settled heavily between them, the echoes of Derek's taunts lingering like smoke in the air. Camille felt the sting of his words, but she let them wash over her, hardening her resolve. She wasn't going to crumble-not now, not after everything.

Hannah pulled her into a tight embrace, her warmth grounding Camille, and for a moment, they stood there, two women against the world. When they finally pulled apart, Hannah's eyes were filled with unshed tears.

"I'm so proud of you," she whispered. "You stood up to him. You didn't let him push you down."

Camille forced a smile, though her insides still felt like they were tied in knots. "I'm tired of being the weak one, Hannah. I'm tired of being the girl everyone pities. If Joffrey won't be my strength, then I'll find my own."

Hannah's expression shifted, turning thoughtful. "Maybe it's time we did something about it," she said carefully. "Maybe it's time you stopped letting them control the narrative."

"What do you mean?" Camille asked, her brow furrowing.

Hannah bit her lip, hesitating. "You know, there are rumors. Whispers of a group outside the pack-werewolves who left because they were tired of being ruled by Alphas like Joffrey. They call themselves the Rogues, but they're not the wild, feral ones the pack elders warn us about. They're organized, strong. They take in the broken, the rejected."

Camille's heart skipped a beat. It sounded like a fairy tale, like a far-fetched story, but the idea planted a seed in her mind. A place where she could belong, where she wouldn't be judged by her rank or status.

"Are you saying I should leave?" Camille asked, her voice small.

Hannah sighed, sinking down onto the sofa. "I'm not saying it would be easy. Leaving the pack is dangerous, especially for an omega. But what do you have here, Camille? A life of servitude? Being reminded every day that you're less than them?"

Camille looked away, staring at the flickering flames in the hearth. "I don't know if I can do it," she admitted. "I've never been on my own before."

"You won't be alone," Hannah said softly. "I'll help you. We'll figure it out together. And if you do decide to stay, then I'll stand by you here too. Whatever you choose, you have me."

Camille swallowed hard, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. The idea of leaving the pack, of venturing into the unknown, terrified her. But the thought of staying, of enduring the same looks of pity and scorn day after day-it felt like a slow death.

"I need time," she said finally. "I need to think."

Hannah nodded. "Take all the time you need. But just know that whatever you decide, I'm with you."

They sat in silence for a while, sipping their tea as the fire crackled and popped. The warmth seeped into Camille's bones, and she felt herself relaxing, the tension of the night easing away, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion.

"I should go," Camille said, setting her empty mug on the table. "I need to get some rest."

"Are you sure?" Hannah asked, her concern evident. "You can stay here tonight. You don't have to go back there."

Camille hesitated, tempted by the offer, but she shook her head. "No, I need to face it. I can't keep hiding."

Hannah sighed, but she nodded, understanding. "Alright. Just... be careful, okay? If you need me, come back here. No matter what time it is."

"I will," Camille promised, squeezing her friend's hand one last time before stepping out into the night.

The walk back to the packhouse felt longer than usual, the forest pressing in around her, the shadows darker, deeper. Camille kept her head down, moving quickly, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the eyes of the night creatures on her, could hear the rustle of leaves as the wind whispered through the trees.

When she finally reached the packhouse, it was quieter now. The party seemed to have wound down, the lights dimmed, only a few figures lingering on the porch. Camille slipped inside, hoping to make it to her room without being noticed.

But of course, she wasn't that lucky.

"Look who decided to show her face."

Camille froze, her pulse spiking as she recognized the voice. It was Elara, leaning against the wall with a glass of wine in her hand, her expression smug and predatory. She pushed off the wall and sauntered closer, her gaze raking over Camille with thinly veiled contempt.

"Out for a midnight stroll, were you?" Elara asked, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Or were you licking your wounds somewhere private?"

Camille straightened her spine, meeting Elara's gaze head-on. "Leave me alone, Elara. I'm not in the mood."

Elara's smile widened, and she stepped closer, crowding into Camille's space. "Oh, but I'm just trying to be friendly," she purred. "After all, it's not every day that our dear Alpha rejects his mate. It's practically a celebration."

"Is this how you get your kicks?" Camille snapped, her voice low and dangerous. "By tormenting someone who's already down?"

Elara's smile faltered, just for a second, before she recovered, her eyes narrowing. "Careful, little omega. You're already on thin ice. I'd hate for you to fall through."

Before Camille could respond, another voice cut through the tension.

"That's enough, Elara."

Joffrey's voice was like ice water down Camille's spine. He stepped into the room, his presence commanding, and for a moment, Elara looked almost afraid. But she quickly masked it, flashing him a bright, false smile.

"Just having a bit of fun, Alpha," she said lightly. "No harm done."

Joffrey's expression was unreadable, his eyes flicking to Camille for the briefest of moments before settling back on Elara. "Go to bed, Elara. Now."

Elara's smile faltered again, but she gave a mocking little bow. "Of course, Alpha. Whatever you say."

She turned on her heel and stalked off, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. Camille let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, the tension draining from her shoulders.

"You shouldn't be out here," Joffrey said, his voice softer now, but still edged with something she couldn't place.

Camille forced herself to look at him, to meet those piercing blue eyes that once made her heart flutter. Now, they only filled her with a dull, throbbing ache. "Why do you care?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Joffrey's jaw clenched, and he stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, smell the woodsy, smoky scent that was uniquely his. "You think I don't care?"

"You made it very clear tonight," she said, her voice hardening. "You rejected me, Joffrey. You told the entire pack that I'm not good enough for you."

His face twisted, like her words had physically struck him. "I did what I had to," he bit out.

"No," Camille retorted, her own anger bubbling to the surface. "You did what you wanted to. You chose this."

"I chose what was best for the pack," Joffrey said, his voice rising. "Do you think I wanted this? Do you think it was easy for me?"

Camille laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "It looked pretty easy from where I was standing."

Joffrey's hands clenched into fists at his sides, his eyes blazing with a mixture of frustration and something that looked almost like regret. "You don't understand."

"Then make me understand," she challenged, stepping closer, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst. "Tell me why, Joffrey. Tell me why you rejected me."

For a moment, she thought he might actually say something, might give her the answer she so desperately craved. But then he turned away, his shoulders stiff, his voice hollow.

"Go to bed, Camille. This conversation is over."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving her standing there in the dimly lit hallway, her heart aching with everything left unsaid.