The porcelain cup sitting on the counter wasn’t random.
It was part of a matching pair.
One identical to the one Nathanie used every morning.
“Adriana… I’m really sorry,” Olivia said softly, lifting the new cup with both hands. “I dropped yours earlier by accident. It shattered. If you don’t mind, you can use mine for now.”
She smiled in that sweet, harmless way she had perfected over the years.
Adriana looked at the cup without expression.
She didn’t answer.
Nathanie, however, spoke up before she could.
“Olivia, don’t worry about it,” he said casually. “It’s just a cup. There are dozens in this house.”
Just a cup.
Adriana’s fingers curled at her sides.
That cup had not been ordinary.
It was the one they had used during their engagement ritual—the one they had raised together before the elders when their bond was announced. She had washed it herself every time. Kept it carefully on the highest shelf.
To her, it had meant something.
To him, it was replaceable.
“It’s fine,” she said after a moment, her tone light. “I’ll grab a disposable one.”
She poured herself some water, drank quietly, then returned upstairs without another word.
Once inside the bedroom, she sat on the edge of the bed, her thoughts circling back to the transfer application tucked away in her drawer.
The urgency inside her sharpened.
If Nathanie refused to sign off on it as Alpha, the Council wouldn’t approve her departure.
She needed to understand exactly where he stood.
“Why are you still up?”
His voice came from the doorway, pulling her from her thoughts.
She quickly lifted her phone to her ear, as if she had been in the middle of a conversation.
“Mm. Alright. I’ll ask him about it for you,” she said into the empty line before lowering the device.
Then she looked at Nathanie casually. “You’re not asleep either. My ankle’s throbbing, so I was talking to someone from the infirmary to pass the time.”
At the mention of her injury, something flickered across his face.
He seemed to recall, belatedly, that he had said he would reapply the liniment.
Without commenting on it, he stepped forward and pulled back the blanket, inspecting her ankle again.
“The swelling’s gone down,” he observed. “Another few days of rest and it’ll be fine.”
Then his gaze shifted to her phone.
“Who were you speaking to?” he asked lightly. “You sounded pretty relaxed.”
Adriana tightened her grip on the device.
If he had looked closely, he would have noticed the dark screen—no call in progress.
“Dr. Donovan,” she replied smoothly. “Everyone’s been talking about the overseas relief program. He was asking if you’d heard any updates.”
Nathanie nodded, not questioning her.
The program had indeed been a frequent topic at the infirmary. The initial volunteer numbers hadn’t met the quota, so the application window had been extended.
“It’s not a short deployment,” he said thoughtfully. “But it’s useful for wolves who need credentials. Returning with international experience makes them stand out.”
Adriana listened quietly, her heart steady despite the tension building inside her.
“And what do you think?” she asked carefully.
He didn’t hesitate.
“You don’t need it,” he said flatly. “By the time you’d finish a term abroad, I could’ve already secured a higher position for you here.”
There it was.
The refusal she had expected.
She exhaled softly, lowering her gaze.
Of course.
In his mind, her path should always run parallel to his.
An old memory surfaced unbidden.
In the past, when their arguments had spiraled, Nathanie’s temper had sometimes crossed lines. And afterward—perhaps out of guilt—he would soften, offering concessions to smooth things over.
There had been one night in particular.
Olivia had called, saying she’d cut her hand while preparing dinner. It was minor—barely more than a scratch.
Adriana had asked Nathanie to stay.
“Can’t someone else handle it?” she had said then, exhausted from her own shift. “It’s just a small wound.”
He had gone anyway.
But before he left, the argument had escalated.
And when he returned later that night, anger still simmering beneath his calm exterior, he had struck her across the face.
“If you hadn’t delayed me,” he had snapped, “Olivia wouldn’t have gotten hurt at all.”
The words still rang clearly in her memory.
As if she had been the cause.
As if Olivia’s every misfortune could be traced back to her.
Sitting now in the dim bedroom, Adriana looked at the wolf she had once believed was her future.
And she wondered, not for the first time, how she had convinced herself that this was love.
