The Mark That Wasn’t Mine Chapter 08

The Mark That Wasn’t Mine Chapter 08

I used the money from selling his belongings to establish the Eleanor Grace Foundation. Grandma was the very embodiment of elegance; she was unconditionally kind. I wanted to honor her memory in this way. 

But Emily taught me a harsh lesson: kindness without wisdom is like handing a weapon over to 

the enemy. 

Consequently, the foundation’s mission was clear yet challenging: to provide full scholarships and mentorship to young women from low–income backgrounds who excel academically. However, the selection process was rigorous. We evaluated not only academic potential but also character, community involvement, and integrity. The awards came with clear contractual terms and annual evaluations. Should any signs of freeloading, exploitation, or manipulative behavior–such as that exhibited by Emily–be detected, funding would be terminated immediately. 

In addition, we collaborated with the human 

resources departments of numerous companies 

to maintain a shared, private industry registry 

containing a watchlist of verified instances of 

malicious behavior and ethical violations. 

The first name on the list was Emily Shaw. 

Nobody knew the list existed, but its effect was obvious. No one in town–or any packs or 

companies–was willing to accept Emily’s resume. 

Before she could even knock, the door slammed 

shut. 

With no other options left, she started taking out 

loans. 

The debt grew. 

The private investigator’s report included photographs. 

A blurry screenshot from surveillance footage shows two burly men leaving a dilapidated apartment building. 

I glanced at it, then closed the file. She’d wanted to 

take everything away from me. 

Now she has nothing left. 

Three months later, on a sunny afternoon, I stood by the floor–to–ceiling windows in my office. The 

city sparkled in the sunlight. 

My beta slipped in quietly, holding two glasses of 

champagne. 

He handed me a glass. “Ms. Walker, we’ve already raised over ten million dollars in seed funding for 

the foundation.” 

I gently clinked my glass against his. “Here’s to a 

fresh start.” 

Another three months passed. 

In the lobby of the Eleanor Grace Foundation headquarters, workers are engraving Grandma’s 

name on the marble wall. 

Grandma’s portrait hangs above the reception area; her smile is gentle yet resolute 

“Miss Walker,” my beta said softly, “Alexander Reed is here again. This is the third time this 

week.” 

I turned to look at the surveillance screen. At the 

entrance, Alex was standing in the rain without an 

umbrella. He looked even thinner than the last 

time I saw him, holding a cheap plastic bouquet 

and staring intently at the gate. 

“Let him in,” I said calmly, “but only to the 

reception area on the first floor. Don’t let him go 

upstairs.” 

Five minutes later, when I stepped out of the 

elevator, he was already waiting there. Rainwater 

dripped from his wet hair, forming a small puddle 

on the floor. The security guard stood nearby, 

watching him warily. 

“Sarah.” His voice was hoarse. 

“Alpha Alex,” I said, keeping a polite distance, “I 

believe you have a bankruptcy agreement to sign. 

My lawyer should be handling that.” 

“No, not that,” he said, waving his hands hurriedly; 

the plastic bouquet rustled softly. “I’m here… I 

want to talk to you. Have a genuine one.” 

“We have nothing to talk about.” I turned to leave. 

“Wait!” He took a step forward, but the guard 

immediately stepped in to stop him. Alex stopped 

in his tracks and raised his hands. “Please, Sarah. 

Just five minutes. I… I know I owe you, and I’ll 

never be able to repay you. But I found this.” 

He pulled a sealed plastic envelope out of his coat pocket and handed it to me carefully. Inside was a faded photograph–a picture of me and my 

grandmother, taken on my sixteenth birthday. 

“Grandma’s house caught fire,” he said quietly. 

“This is the only thing left intact in her bedroom.” 

In the photo, Mom is smiling as she pushes the 

birthday cake toward me, the candlelight 

illuminating her face. I take a deep breath. 

“Why did you do that?” I asked. 

“Because you deserve this.” He lowered his head. 

“I know it’s nothing. It means nothing. But I want 

you to know… I think about you every day, and 

about her. I dream about that day at the hospital, 

when I pushed you aside, carried Emily away, and 

you were kneeling on the floor…” 

His voice choked up. 

“That moment is the greatest regret of my life. I’m 

not asking for your forgiveness–I don’t deserve it. 

But I want you to know that I understand now, 

Sarah. I finally understand what I’ve lost. I’ve lost 

the person who believed in me when I had nothing, 

the one who gave everything for me and the pack, 

the one who… loved me.” 

The lobby was silent, with only the sound of 

raindrops tapping against the glass walls. 

He looked up, his eyes red: “I’m a coward, Sarah. I 

was afraid I wasn’t worthy of the love you gave 

me, so I sought an easy substitute in Emily. I took 

advantage of her vulnerability to escape my own 

shortcomings. I ruined the lives of the two most 

important women in my life–you and Grandma. 

And I didn’t even have the courage to admit it.” 

He burst into tears, 

“Are you done?” I finally asked. 

He looked up, his face streaked with tears: “Sarah, 

please… at least tell me what I need to do to…” 

“There’s nothing you can do, Alex,” I said. “Your 

pain won’t bring Grandma back to life.” 

I took a step closer and looked him straight in the 

eye: “You came here with a cheap bouquet and a carefully rehearsed apology. What do you expect 

to get from me? Forgiveness? Relief? Or another 

chance?” 

He opened his mouth but couldn’t get a word out. 

“I want you to live, Alex,” I continued. “I want you to 

wake up every morning and remember what 

you’ve done. I want you to remember Grandma’s 

last words, and I want you to carry those 

memories to the grave.” 

I handed the folder of photos back to him. “Keep 

1. it. Let it remind you of what you once had–and what you destroyed with your own hands.” 

Alex took the folder with trembling hands; the hope in his eyes was finally and completely extinguished. 

“I understand,” he said softly. “I won’t come bother 

you again.” 

The guard opened the door for him, and he stepped out into the rain without looking back. 

“Is there anything I can do?” my beta asked softly. 

“Have security make sure he leaves the area,” I said, my gaze following the figure as he faded into the rain. “Also, contact our legal team. It’s time to formally dissolve the last remnants of the Blackwood Pack. All assets will be permanently 

transferred to the Foundation.” 

“Yes.” 

I took one last look out the window, then turned 

and walked toward the elevator. The moment the 

elevator doors closed, I allowed myself to shed a single tear–just one–for the girl who had once loved him, and for the naive version of myself who had believed that love could conquer all. 

Grandma used to say that some wounds never 

fully heal, but they become a part of us and shape who we are. 

So I became Sarah Walker. I’ll make sure no girl 

ever ends up like Emily again–and no girl ever 

ends up like me. 

My phone vibrated–a new message. It was an 

update from the private investigator: Emily had 

left the West Coast and was heading to a small 

town in the Midwest. Her debts had piled up to the 

point where she could no longer pay them off. 

P.S.: She won’t bother you anymore. 

I deleted the message. 

The rain stopped, and a faint ray of sunlight 

pierced through the clouds. 

I walked over to the desk and opened the bottom 

drawer. Inside was Grandma’s urn. 

I touched her gently and said, “I did it, Grandma. I’ll 

always be here for you.” 

After work, I turned into an alley where there was a 

small restaurant my grandmother used to take me 

1. to. It was still there, with a warm glow coming 

from the windows. 

I pushed the door open, and the bell jingled. 

“Welcome!” called out an elderly shopkeeper, then 

paused. “My goodness, is that Sarah? Eleanor’s 

granddaughter?” 

I nodded. “Yes. One of your signature stews, 

please. Just like Grandma used to order.” 

“I’ll be right there, honey.” 

I sat by the window, watching the street. People 

hurried by, each caught up in their own lives, their 

own loves, and their own sorrows. 

The stew was served, steaming hot. 

I took a bite, and it tasted exactly as I 

remembered. 

It’s all over. 

It starts all over again.