Caelia’s POV
I wasn’t sleeping in my own room anymore.
That realization cut deeper than any injury I’d sustained, deeper than the gashes that had nearly ended my life weeks earlier. They had relocated me to a guest room—four bare walls, a narrow bed, no trace of warmth or belonging. Nothing about it felt like home. My belongings were packed into boxes, stacked neatly as if I were nothing more than a temporary visitor. A stray passing through.
And Calista—she had taken my place.
She slept in my room.
In my bed.
The very space where I had once dared to imagine a future—where I’d pictured raising pups with Alpha Lucien, where I’d whispered dreams into the dark, believing they mattered.
I folded my clothes slowly, carefully, as though the simple act of order might keep me from falling apart. Each garment carried memories stitched into its seams. A scarf I wore when he smiled at me once—just once. A shirt I’d worn on a night I thought we were happy. Ghosts clung to everything, tugging painfully at what little remained of my composure.
Cassian’s words resurfaced again and again in my mind. One message, and I’ll come. He had said it without hesitation, without doubt. If I reached out, he would take me away from all of this—from Lucien, from this suffocating pack, from the slow erosion of my soul. The thought made my heart quake. And yet, my fingers never typed the message. Pride—or perhaps foolish hope—held me back. Some naïve part of me still waited for Lucien to choose me.
Footsteps echoed outside, snapping me from my thoughts. A sharp clink followed—the sound of metal against stone. A delivery.
Curiosity tugged at me despite myself. I went downstairs, my steps hesitant, until I reached the entrance of the packhouse.
The mailbox sat there, unremarkable.
Until I opened it.
Inside was a velvet box.
My breath caught. My hands trembled as I lifted the lid.
A ring lay nestled inside.
No—not just any ring.
My ring.
The one I had designed myself, sketch after sketch, obsessing over every curve of the band, every angle of the diamonds. I’d once shown the design to Lucien half-jokingly, half-hoping, telling him that if we ever had a real wedding, this was the ring I wanted to wear.
And now it existed.
Perfect. Tangible.
Tears burned behind my eyes. Was this his way of making amends? A silent apology? Proof that he was finally ready to acknowledge me—to give me the ceremony, the bond, the marriage I’d waited years for?
My wolf stirred weakly inside me, a flicker of hope sparking after weeks of numb despair.
I slid the ring onto my finger.
It fit as though it had always belonged there.
Then his scent crashed into the room.
Lucien.
His presence swept through the hall like a storm front, sharp and overwhelming. His eyes locked onto the ring, and the warmth I’d been yearning for was nowhere to be found. Rage twisted his expression.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he barked.
I stared at him, stunned. “What—? Lucien, it’s my ring. My design. You had it made for me… didn’t you?”
His jaw clenched hard. “That ring isn’t yours.”
The words struck like a blade.
“Not… mine?” My voice fractured. “Then why does it exist? Aren’t you finally ready to marry me properly? Is that not why—”
“Marry you?” He scoffed harshly, raking a hand through his hair. “We’re already married, Caelia. Don’t start inventing problems.”
Married.
That word again. Always thrown at me like a shield. A contract signed in ink, absent of vows, ceremony, or respect. A marriage that existed only on paper.
Before I could respond, a familiar, cloyingly sweet voice slipped into the air.
“Isn’t that the ring I asked for?”
Calista.
She approached slowly, her complexion pale, her eyes glassy with well-practiced fragility. Her gaze latched onto the ring with unmistakable ownership, and my stomach churned.
I instinctively stepped back, clutching my hand to my chest. “No. That ring is mine. I designed it long before you ever returned—”
“Enough.” Lucien’s voice thundered through the room, cutting me off. His glare was sharp, directed solely at me. “Give it to Calista. You know she’s unwell. She deserves it more than you.”
The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
“She deserves it?” I whispered, disbelief choking me. “The ring I created? The one meant to symbolize my place beside you? You’re giving it to her?”
His face hardened. “Her condition is serious. I’ll do whatever it takes to ease her suffering. If this ring brings her comfort, then it’s worth it.”
Something inside me fractured completely.
“You’d do anything for her,” I said quietly. “A grand ring. A lavish wedding. Everything I begged for—yet you couldn’t spare even a ceremony for me.”
“Because you’re not dying!” he snapped. “You don’t need those things.”
Silence swallowed the room.
My hands shook uncontrollably. My chest rose and fell too fast, too shallow.
Calista leaned into him, lashes lowered. A single tear slid down her cheek. “I never meant to cause conflict,” she murmured softly. “I only wanted to borrow him for a little while. Just one beautiful wedding… just to feel cherished before it’s too late. Is that really so wrong?”
Borrow him.
The word echoed cruelly.
Something in me broke loose—a bitter, hollow laugh escaped my throat. “There’s no need to borrow,” I said shakily. “Take him. Take the ring. Take the room. Take everything. I’m finished fighting for scraps.”
I turned away before the tears could spill any further.
Upstairs, I gathered everything tied to him—clothes he’d gifted me, letters filled with empty promises, trinkets meant to tether me to hope. I carried them to the furnace room, my limbs heavy, my heart numb.
The flames roared as I fed them piece by piece. Each item burned away—lies, dreams, a marriage that had never truly existed. Smoke stung my eyes, but I refused to look away.
Then arms wrapped around me from behind.
Lucien.
His scent engulfed me as he held me tightly. “Caelia—stop,” he pleaded, his voice unexpectedly soft. “I never wanted things to go this far. I just… I can’t let Calista die.”
His lips brushed my hair as his grip tightened. “I’ll make it right. I promise. I’ll take you out—just us. A real date.”
I didn’t respond.
I didn’t have the strength to.
That night, sleep came fitfully. I was dragged from it by his frantic shaking.
“Wake up!” he urged urgently.
My eyes fluttered open. “What’s wrong?”
His face was pale, fear blazing in his eyes. “Her condition has worsened. The healers say there’s only one solution.”
A chill crept through me. “What solution?”
His hands tightened on my shoulders. “Your wolf core.”
Everything inside me froze.
“You have to give it to her,” he said desperately. “If you don’t, she won’t survive. You’ll live—just without your power. Please. Don’t let her die.”
My wolf screamed in agony, betrayal ripping through me.
I stared at him, truly seeing him for the first time.
He wasn’t asking.
He was taking.
And in that moment, I understood the truth at last—
To him, I was nothing more than something to be used.
