Brendan POV:
The next morning, I stood outside the heavy oak door of the antique shop. I wore the cheap, faded jacket. I had purposely messed up my hair, trying to scrub away any trace of the ruthless predator I used to be.
I stood there for ten full minutes. I just stared through the glass window, my eyes greedily drinking in the sight of June. She was standing behind the counter, carefully dusting a porcelain vase. She looked healthy. She looked calm. She looked perfectly fine without me.
I took a deep breath that rattled in my chest and pushed the door open.
The brass bell above the door chimed. To me, it sounded like an executioner’s bell.
June stopped wiping the vase. She turned around. The morning sunlight hit the side of her face, highlighting her smooth skin. There were no scars on her face.
My lungs stopped working. I shoved my hands deep into my jacket pockets, balling them into tight fists to stop myself from sprinting across the room and pulling her into my arms.
June looked at me. Her lips curved into a flawless, polite, and completely empty professional smile. It was the exact same fake smile she used to give the corrupt politicians she despised.
"Welcome, sir. Feel free to look around. Let me know if you need anything." Her voice was clear, melodic, and completely devoid of any recognition.
My heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice. I forced a bitter, pathetic smile onto my face. I wanted her to show fear. I wanted her to show disgust. Anything was better than this blank politeness.
I cleared my throat. My voice came out raspy. "Hi. My name is Bren. I just moved to town."
June nodded slightly and went back to dusting the vase. "It's a quiet town. Good for fresh starts. Are you interested in any particular era?" She didn't care who I was.
I looked around the shop. It was filled with Victorian silverware and old pocket watches. Her taste hadn't changed at all.
I walked up to the counter, locking my eyes onto hers. "I... I went through some terrible things. I went bankrupt. I just need something to distract myself." I fed her the lie, shamelessly using pity to force my way in.
June stopped dusting. A flicker of genuine human sympathy crossed her eyes. The spell hadn't erased her kind heart.
I caught that look, and a twisted, sick sense of joy bloomed in my chest. If playing the victim got her attention, I would gladly crawl on the floor.
"The wind is harsh today. If you don't mind, have a cup of hot tea to warm up, Mr. Bren," June said, pointing to the steaming teapot behind the counter.
My eyes lit up like a starving dog being offered a bone. I nodded eagerly. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
June turned her back to pour the tea. My eyes traced the line of her spine, my wolf locking onto his mate.
I inhaled deeply, waiting for the familiar, crisp scent of cedarwood tea. It was the only tea I used to drink. She used to brew it for me every single day to cure my stress headaches. I was so sure she would keep that habit.
June turned back around and handed me a plain white ceramic cup.
I reached for it instantly. I intentionally let my fingertips brush against her fingernails as I took the cup.
Nothing. No spark. No static shock of the mate bond. June pulled her hand back naturally, completely unaffected.
I swallowed the massive lump of disappointment in my throat and looked down at the cup. I took a large gulp, desperate to find comfort in the taste.
The scalding liquid burned its way down my throat. It wasn't the clean, sharp taste of cedarwood. It was cheap, bitter, generic black tea.
I froze. I stared blankly at the dark red liquid in the cup. My existence had been completely scrubbed from her life. Not even my tea remained.
"Is something wrong? Not to your taste?" June tilted her head, asking out of basic courtesy.
My eyes burned. I gripped the cup tightly. "No... it's just, I thought it would be cedarwood flavored." I couldn't stop myself from testing the waters.
June let out a light laugh and shook her head. "I hate cedarwood. It's too pungent. I only ever drink this plain black tea."
Her words were a physical blade stabbing straight into my chest. My hand began to shake violently. She didn't just forget. The spell had rewired her to actively reject everything associated with me.
The hot tea almost spilled over the rim. I jerked my head back and downed the rest of the scalding liquid in one brutal swallow, letting the physical burn distract me from the tearing in my soul.
I slammed the empty cup down. My voice was a hoarse whisper.
"It doesn't matter. The tea is good. As long as it's from you, I'll drink it."
