Chapter 166
ASTRID
The ride to Alpha Oliver’s territory was filled with nervous energy. I sat by the window, watching the landscape shift from dense forests to sprawling modern cities. When we finally pulled up at the gates, I couldn’t help the way my mouth parted slightly in awe.
Alpha Oliver’s pack grounds were unlike anything I’d ever seen. Bright, clean lines of glass and stone buildings stretched toward the sky. Solar panels glittered on rooftops, and green spaces overflowed with vibrant gardens. It was so fresh, so open — a stark contrast to the traditional, shadowed feel of my own home. A breath of fresh air.
The place was buzzing. Junior ambassadors from every pack were everywhere, laughing, introducing themselves, exchanging banter in sharp suits and elegant dresses. A few Alphas stood off to the side, discussing politics with serious expressions, and I caught sight of Oliver himself — tall, dark-skinned, sharp-eyed — overseeing it all with a calm confidence.
A part of me itched to disappear into the crowd, but I reminded myself why I was here: for the Summit. For my future. For Jeremiah.
And maybe... a little bit for me too.
Before leaving home, I’d begged Aunt Fatima not to mention who I was. I didn't want to be "Alpha Alexander's daughter" right now. I wanted to stand on my own. I also told my guards to keep their distance, blending into the background. I needed space to breathe. To learn. To make my father proud — he had always wanted me to take politics seriously, and for once, I wanted to show him I was ready.
A tall woman wearing a navy blue sash — one of the Summit organizers — clapped her hands, calling for attention.
"Junior Ambassadors! Please gather here. We’ll show you to your rooms."
I grabbed my bag and merged with the group, the buzz of conversation all around me. We were led down gleaming hallways, the floors polished to a mirror shine. I took in every detail — the minimalist decor, the scent of fresh flowers, the faint hum of voices from conference rooms beyond.
"Room assignments are posted on the doors," the woman explained, handing out keycards.
I scanned the names until I found mine: Astrid.
And next to it — Anna.
The door creaked open, revealing a sleek, modern room with two neatly made beds, a glass desk, and a large window overlooking a manicured garden. Sitting cross-legged on the bed by the window was a girl with long dark curls, deep blue eyes, and an air of quiet confidence. She wore black jeans, a fitted black T-shirt, and silver rings on nearly every finger.
She looked up and gave me a small, polite smile.
"Hey. I’m Anna."
"Astrid," I said, smiling back, immediately liking her vibe. She was a little on the goth side, but not in a heavy, intimidating way. More...cool. Effortless.
I tossed my bag onto my bed. "First time?"
"Yeah," she said, standing and stretching. "Feels kinda surreal, doesn’t it?"
I nodded. "Completely."
"Want to check it out? The debates already started downstairs."
I hesitated for half a second — part of me wanted to find Jeremiah immediately — but I pushed that down. I needed to ground myself first.
"Yeah. Let’s go."
We made our way to the main hall, where rows of seats were filled with young wolves eagerly debating. The topics ranged from territory agreements to trade routes to peacekeeping methods. I was impressed — most of them were articulate, passionate, smart.
One boy in particular stood out. Thomas. He was tall, with messy brown hair and a determined look in his hazel eyes. His voice rang out clear and strong as he proposed new methods to maintain peace among packs.
"Instead of just relying on treaties that barely hold, we need active ambassadors—wolves who live among different packs to build real relationships," Thomas argued, thumping his fist lightly against the podium for emphasis. "Peace isn’t words on paper. It’s trust. It's earned."
The room hummed with murmured agreement and low dissent. I found myself nodding before I even realized it. Thomas had a point. Real peace took work, not signatures.
But even as I tried to focus, something tugged at the edge of my awareness — a sensation low and deep in my gut, like gravity pulling me sideways.
I knew that feeling.
I scanned the room instinctively, heart slamming against my ribs. It was him.
Jeremiah.
He was here. Somewhere close.
I excused myself from Anna with a rushed mumble, following the invisible thread connecting us. His scent hit me first — crisp pine, rain on stone, a touch of something wild.
And then I saw him.
Standing near the side of the room, half-shadowed under a skylight, talking to someone.
My heart twisted painfully at the sight of him. Jeremiah looked the same and yet different — older somehow, harder around the edges. His dark hair was tousled perfectly, his black button-down hugging the strong lines of his chest. His face was blank, unreadable.
Beside him stood a beautiful woman. Striking was the only word for her — tall, willowy, with long blond hair that shimmered like gold, green eyes like emeralds, and porcelain skin. She wore a fitted white dress, her posture straight and proud.
I swallowed hard.
No assumptions, I reminded myself fiercely. No spiraling.
Focus.
Gathering every ounce of courage I had, I walked toward him.
The moment his eyes met mine, something flickered across his face — a tightening around the mouth, a narrowing of the eyes. But otherwise... nothing.
No smile. No relief. No warmth.
Just...blank.
I stopped a few feet away, my palms damp with nerves.
"Jeremiah," I said, my voice low but steady. "Can we talk? In private?"
He raised an eyebrow, the faintest smirk playing at the corner of his mouth — but not a kind one.
"You can say whatever you need to say right here," he said coolly, hands sliding casually into his pockets.
The woman beside him stayed silent, her expression unreadable but somehow judgmental. Watching me like I was a bug under a microscope.
I felt a flush rise to my cheeks but forced myself to hold his gaze.
"Please," I said again, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. "We need to talk. Stop being so hard on me. I never meant to hurt you."
A muscle in his jaw ticked. For one stupid, hopeful second, I thought he might crack. That he might listen.
But instead, Jeremiah let out a cold chuckle and shook his head.
"You’re trying too hard, Astrid," he said, his voice like ice. "It’s pathetic."
I flinched. Couldn’t help it.
"You should go home," he added, voice soft but cutting. "Desperation doesn’t look good on you."
Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, the beautiful blond gliding after him like a ghost.
I stood there, frozen, as the sound of my heart shattering filled my ears.
He was trying to hurt me. I saw it now — clear as day. This wasn’t just anger. He wanted me to suffer. To regret ever coming here.
And yet...
I swallowed down the lump in my throat, blinked away the tears burning the back of my eyes.
I wasn’t giving up.
Not that easily.
Jeremiah could push, he could lash out, he could pretend he didn’t care — but I knew the truth. I knew the bond between us was still there, buried beneath all the hurt and anger.
I would find a way to reach him.
No matter how long it took.
No matter how much it hurt.
I turned on my heel and walked back toward the debates, my spine straight, my head high.
This was just the beginning.
And I wasn’t done fighting for us.
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