I worked in the kitchen, prepped food, and took Sophia's jabs. I scrubbed bath floors, heard pack whispers. Back to the shack, stared at the ceiling cracks.
Every day was the same. But different.
Kayden avoided me.
I felt it. The bond let me sense him. My heart raced when he neared the square. Skin burned in the hall.
But he never looked. Even on the same street, scent-close, he'd veer away.
Like I was plague, flood, a real... mistake.
It tore my heart in two. Diana fretted without her mate, paws scraping restlessly, whines pitiful, head-butting invisible walls for the one who ignored our pleas.
But Kayden sent stuff.
The first day, a servant came with a crate of rare herbs. Mugwort, marigold, purple petals I'd never seen in the woods.
"Mr. Kayden's orders," the servant said.
I sent it back.
The second day came clothes. Deep blue dress, soft as clouds.
"Mr. Kayden said the size should fit."
I shut the door.
The next day, gold coins. The fourth day, a moonstone necklace. The fifth day, hand-stitched boots.
Each time, refused. Each time, the servant eyed me confused, like, who rejects an Alpha heir's gifts?
But I didn't want them.
Not herbs, clothes, coins, necklace, anything.
Just one look from him. Even cold, disgusted—it'd confirm that night wasn't my hallucination.
He didn't give it. He'd bribe with fancy junk, like a sleazy deal. Denied any feeling between us, stingy with an explanation, a glance, like I'd soil his sight.
By the seventh evening, I'd almost convinced myself.
Forget it, Layla. Call that night a dream. Short, beautiful, brutal. You shouldn't have hoped. Stay in your shack, be the hybrid orphan, never touch what's not yours.
I sat on the bed, tears dried up, Diana quiet, like accepting it.
I stared at the old chest in the corner. For ten years, it'd filled my voids, given hope against Sophia's torments.
But this time, different. This time, he was the one who tormented me.
Maybe burn the coat. Then I'd drop the decade-long crush, the night's warmth, all impossible fantasies. We weren't in the same world; even if I love him for another ten or twenty years... Kayden Blackwood wouldn't love me for a second.
The truth hit hard; I shook, breath forgotten. I forced my hand to the chest. Open it, Layla. Destroy it, like nothing ever happened...
Knock at the door.
Not Sophia's. Not a servant's. Steady, rhythmic, with undeniable authority.
I yanked my hand back, wiped tears messily, and opened up.
