His face carried such sincerity that any outsider might have believed his lies. But I, bound to him by mate bond and betrayal, knew better.
The ache within my chest hollowed me, but I refused to break in front of him. I refused to allow him to see the depth of my pain.
I said nothing.
His smile faltered; the flicker of disappointment was undeniable. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached for my hand.
I neither pulled away nor accepted his touch. I simply turned my gaze toward the window, letting the silence between us grow heavier than any words, a silence that carried the weight of all the truths I could no longer ignore.
Later that evening, the sterile quiet of the hospital room pressed down on me like a suffocating shroud, the faint hum of the ventilation system mingling with the distant calls of night wolves echoing across the estate.
My eyes remained fixed on the photo Nyra had sent, the image burning itself into my mind: Alpha Alaric, leaning over her hospital bed, pen in hand, his expression tender, meticulous, and frighteningly devoted. Beneath it, her caption cut sharper than any fang: