She had swallowed her disappointment then, telling herself he was simply burdened by responsibility.
Until that same night.
Standing on the balcony outside their chamber, she had paused when she heard his voice drifting from the shadows below.
“Don’t worry, Olivia,” he murmured softly. “There won’t be any ceremony. If I choose not to hold one, no one can compel me.”
The tenderness in his tone had pierced deeper than any blade.
In that instant, she understood.
It wasn’t the pack’s unrest that made him refuse a public bond.
It was Olivia.
The realization left her strangely empty, as though something vital inside her had already been severed.
Their engagement—if it could even be called that—felt like a hollow promise.
Leaving the territory suddenly seemed less like escape and more like mercy.
But would he allow it?
Her thoughts tangled as she crossed the stone courtyard. Distracted, she failed to notice the solid figure stepping into her path.
She collided with a broad chest and stumbled.
A sharp cry escaped her as her ankle twisted painfully. She would have fallen if not for a strong arm circling her waist, pulling her upright.