Fated reborn - Chapter 283: Chapter 283

Luciano's Pov.
By the time Elias finally told me to get lost, I could barely stand. Every muscle in my body was on fire, my ribs ached like hell, and my arms felt like dead weight. But I didn’t say anything. Just nodded, wiped the sweat from my forehead, and walked off the training ground.
I didn’t go straight back to the pack house. Didn’t even think about it. Instead, I went to my villa. The place felt empty as always, too big, too quiet, but I didn’t care. I grabbed a drink, stepped out onto the balcony, and let the wind hit me. It was harsh, almost violent, cutting against my skin like it was trying to wake me up. Maybe that’s what I needed.
I sat down, the cold drink pressing against my palm. Took a slow sip. Bitter. Strong. Exactly what I wanted.
Training was getting old. This whole process was getting old. I already knew I was strong—hell, I was stronger than most wolves in the pack. But my father had still made arrangements before he died. Had still decided Elias was the one to train me. The one to make sure I was "ready."
Ready for what?
I sighed, running a hand through my hair.
Maybe I thought all this training would make me even stronger, like there was some hidden power waiting to unlock if I just kept pushing. But right now? All I felt was exhaustion.
And, for the first time in a long time, I felt like going home.
Not the villa. Not this empty place with its empty rooms.
The pack house.
I exhaled, set my drink down, and stood up. Walked back inside, through the wide halls, past the ridiculous decorations I never cared about. Made my way down the stairs, out the door, straight to the pool.
The water was calm, smooth, reflecting the moonlight. I kicked off my shoes, pulled my hoodie over my head, and stepped in.
The cold hit me immediately, but I didn’t flinch. Just let it wash over me, let it pull me under.
I swam.
Back and forth.
Again.
And again.
For hours.
Until my arms were too tired to move, until my lungs burned, until the sky had gone completely dark.
And still, I didn’t stop.
The water was freezing, but I didn’t care. I swam until my muscles ached, until my thoughts blurred into nothing but movement. Back and forth. Again. And again. The night stretched on, silent except for the soft ripples of the water and my own breathing.
At some point, I floated on my back, staring up at the sky. The moon was bright, casting a pale glow over everything. It reminded me of all the nights I used to spend looking at the sky as a kid, wondering what kind of Alpha I would be.
Now I wasn’t even sure if I wanted it anymore.
I sighed, letting my body sink beneath the surface for a moment before pushing myself up and climbing out of the pool. Water dripped from my skin, my breath coming in steady pulls as I grabbed a towel from the chair nearby. I rubbed it over my face, over my hair, before throwing it over my shoulders and sitting down at the edge of the pool.
I knew I couldn’t stay here.
Not forever.
I had already made up my mind—I was leaving.
I was done with all this.
With the training. With proving myself over and over again to people who already knew what I was capable of. My father’s arrangements didn’t mean anything to me anymore. He wasn’t here, and nothing I did now would change that.
But before I left, I had one last thing to do.
One last fight.
If I was going to walk away, I was going to do it on my own terms. Not as someone running from the pack, not as someone giving up. But as someone who had *
earned his place, who had nothing left to prove.
And to do that, I needed to fight someone at the top.
A real challenge.
A fight that would mean something.
I made my decision right there, sitting by the pool, the cold night air pressing against my wet skin. Tomorrow would be my last fight. After that, I was gone.
I stood up, stretching my arms, feeling the exhaustion settle deep in my bones. My body was already wrecked from training, and I knew I’d feel it even worse in the morning. But it didn’t matter. None of it did.
I grabbed my towel, draped it over my shoulders, and headed back inside.
The villa was silent, just like always. The floors were cold against my bare feet as I walked through the halls, passing by rooms I never used, past the empty spaces that never really felt like home.
I made my way to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me. The bed was massive, too big for just me, but I dropped onto it without a second thought. My body melted into the mattress, the soreness in my muscles catching up all at once.
For a long time, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling.
Thinking.
Planning.
Tomorrow would be the last time I stepped onto that training ground. The last time I threw a punch for this pack. The last time I let them tell me what I needed to be.
I let out a slow breath, closing my eyes.
And then, finally, I slept.
When I woke up, the sun was already rising, streaks of orange and pink bleeding into the sky. My body ached, every movement a reminder of yesterday’s training and the hours I spent in the pool.
I pushed myself up, stretching my arms over my head. Cracked my neck. Blinked against the morning light.
Today was the day.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand down my face before standing up. My body protested, but I ignored it. There was no time to waste.
I grabbed a fresh pair of sweats, threw them on, and stepped into the bathroom. The cold water shocked me awake as I splashed it over my face, running my fingers through my hair before staring at my reflection in the mirror.
I looked the same.
But something felt different.
I dried off, grabbed my hoodie, and walked out of the room. The villa was quiet, like always. I didn’t bother making breakfast. Didn’t need it. My mind was already set on one thing—the fight.
My last fight.
I stepped outside, taking in the crisp morning air. The wind had died down, the world still waking up around me. It was almost peaceful.
Too bad it wouldn’t stay that way.
Because today, I was going to shake things up one last time.