CASSANDRA P. O. V
I stood in the warmth of the kitchen, flour dust swirling in the air like a ghost of my past. The golden brown cookies perched on the cooling rack, a spell of comfort in a world spiraling into chaos. Yet, no amount of chocolate chip or vanilla essence could mask the bitterness that coated my thoughts.
If I closed my eyes, I could still hear the growl—the deep, guttural sound that had rattled the very foundation of my being.
That night, the pain still fresh in my memory, had carved a schism between me and my own mate, Alpha Dean. I remembered the way he had turned away from me, opting instead to shield our servant, Winona, as if she were a precious artifact about to shatter.
It hurt to think of the betrayal, simmering beneath my heart like molten lava. Perhaps it was merely a mistake, a fleeting moment of cowardice—a wolf too afraid to confront a pack. Or perhaps it was more than that.
Days turned into a mundane blur, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. With every passing hour, I noticed the way Winona flicked her eyes toward Dean, her laughter a bloom of insincerity in the expansiveness of our dining room. Coldness prickled at my skin, and a frown settled deep in my brow.
The witching hour settled over us before I made my decision. A moonless night wrapped the world outside in shadows, concealing my intentions as I followed Winona outside. My heart thudded a furious rhythm in my chest, keeping time with the rising storm of my emotions.
I watched Winona as she slipped through the trees, padding softly against the mossy ground. The woods were thick with secrets and treachery, and tonight, I was the hunter.
I caught my breath when I reached the old cabin, thick with vines and memories that seeped from rotting wood. As I lingered in the shadows, my heart plummeted at the sight unveiled before me.
Dean stood there, his laugh slicing through the stillness like silver. And I saw him embraced Winona.
My heart crumbled into dust; anguish wrapped itself around me like a vice. I gripped the tree beside me, the feel of bark digging into my nails grounding me, but the torment in my chest drowned out any resolve.
They stepped inside the cabin and the door creaked softly, sealing my fate.
****
The following day, the ordeal clung to me like a shroud. I sat at the dining table, avoiding Dean’s gaze while he attempted to decipher the distance in my silence. I could almost hear the gears grinding in his head as he played the concerned mate.
"Cassandra, are you alright?" His voice cut into my quietude.
"I’m fine, just not hungry," I replied icily, my fork scraping against the plate in a symphony of defiance.
"Please, talk to me," he urged, his brow furrowing, betraying concern.
Talk? About what? About how his betrayal unearthed a monster within me, a part that craved vengeance? How the sawdust of our love felt more like splinters under my skin?
"No, Dean. I don’t think I’ll be needing to talk." I taunted, my voice thin and brittle.
Every word dripped with intention, and beneath my composure, a tempest brewed. I hated him for the ignorance he wore like a cloak, never once considering the storm I would unleash.
I was done being the dutiful mate, the broken soul. No more cookies. No more waiting by the window for a husband who had chosen his lust over my loyalty.
Late evening, I meticulously folded my clothes, my heart ached with every item I packed, a physical manifestation of the pain that had been gnawing at me for weeks.
Tonight, I was leaving.
Suddenly, a shadow fell across the doorway, and I instinctively stiffened, my fingers tightening around the silk scarf I was folding. Dean stood there, his face etched with concern and his brow furrowed.
"Cassandra, what are you doing?" he began, his voice a low rumble.
"Packing," I said, my voice betraying none of the turmoil within. "I'm going to visit my family."
His eyes narrowed, "Your family? But you just saw them last month."
"I know, but I haven't seen them in a while," I lied, my voice steady, though my throat felt constricted. "I need to spend some time with them."
He stepped closer, his gaze piercing, searching. "Cassandra, you're not being truthful. What's going on?"
I swallowed, my heart pounding in my chest. "There's nothing going on, Dean. I just need some time away."
"I know you're upset," he said, his voice softening. "But please, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."
"I'm fine," I insisted, my voice rising a notch. "I just need some space."
His gaze lingered on me, his expression unreadable. "Alright," he finally said, a hint of resignation in his voice. "But promise me you'll call when you get there."
"I will," I promised, my voice strained.
He turned and walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my carefully packed belongings. As the door clicked shut, I let out a shaky breath, the weight of my lie crushing me. I couldn't bear to stay here, to be constantly reminded of his betrayal, of the way he had chosen to spend his nights with our servant, the woman who had been entrusted with our home.
I had to leave. For my own sanity, for my own dignity.
