My stomach dropped. "Her gut can't handle sour food," I said, voice tight.
Charlotte glanced at me, then grabbed a spoon.
"It's fine once in a while."
She scooped up a piece of lemon salad and ate it without flinching.
My hand clenched around the bag of meds, knuckles white.
It didn't take long for sweat to bead on her forehead, her fingers trembling as she gripped her pen.
"You okay, Charlotte?" Sebastian asked, concern in his voice.
"I'm fine," she said, forcing a smile.
"I've got work to do. You guys head out."
I gave her a long look, set the meds on her desk, and walked away.
Downstairs, I couldn't hold it in.
"Her stomach's fragile," I told Sebastian. "Maybe think about that next time you bring her food."
He laughed, a sharp, mocking sound.
"Ethan, you still don't get it, do you? To Charlotte, you're just a glorified caretaker. You're supposed to keep track of that stuff. Me? I'm different. She loves me. I don't have to play by those rules."
He leaned closer, his grin cutting like a blade. "If I handed her poison, she'd swallow it with a smile. You get that, right?"
My fingers shook, my heart ripping open all over again. He wasn't wrong. I'd spent Five years fighting to earn a single glance from her. Sebastian? He didn't have to try. She'd take his poison and thank him for it.
That night, Charlotte came home looking like death warmed over, her face pale as moonlight. I was in the kitchen pouring water when I heard her stumble in.
The glass nearly slipped from my hand.
"You didn't take your meds?" I asked, my voice tight.
"It got bad. Had to get my stomach pumped at the hospital," she said, collapsing onto the couch, her bangs plastered to her forehead with cold sweat.
My hand shook, hot water splashing across my knuckles, leaving a red burn. She loved Sebastian that much?
Enough to eat his food even if it meant a trip to the healer?
I grabbed a glass of warm water and knelt beside her, gently rubbing her stomach. She sipped the water, and as my hands worked to ease her pain, her furrowed brow softened. She slumped against my shoulder, drifting off like she had a hundred times before.
But this time, I didn't linger on the curve of her face or the way her breath steadied against me. I laid her down on the couch, draped a blanket over her, and walked upstairs without looking back.
The next morning, Charlotte was already dressed in a sharp suit, standing in the living room, frowning at the bare spaces where my stuff used to be.
"Why's the house looking so empty?" she asked.
I opened my mouth to explain, but she cut me off. "Sebastian's got an art show today. He invited us."
"I-"
"He just got back to the pack," she said, her tone firm. "He doesn't have many friends here. Come on, let's show some support."
My fingers clenched, but I nodded.
At the gallery, Sebastian lit up when he saw Charlotte, looping his arm through hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Charlotte! You've gotta see this one," he said, pointing to an oil painting of a snow-capped mountain, his voice soft as a whisper. "I painted this in Redmont. I was thinking of you every single day."
Charlotte listened quietly, her eyes fixed on the canvas, unreadable. By the end of the show, she bought every single painting.
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
