As usual, silence was the constant thing between Damien and me. I could practically count the times we spoke in a day. When we did, it was only about our son, or something general. Never about us.
Maybe I should have loved it. This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? We were co-parenting. Civil. Respectful. Distant. Exactly how I had imagined it should be.
But lately... I wasn’t so sure anymore.
It was becoming harder to bear, seeing him every day but not really seeing him. Sitting across from him at the table with nothing but words about Charlie between us. Passing him in the hall and not even brushing shoulders.
No smiles. No laughter. No touches.
And I knew Damien. When it came to me, he was always a man of touch. His hand on my waist as he passed. His fingers brushing mine when he handed me something. His palm against the small of my back when we walked side by side.
Before, minutes never passed without him finding some excuse to reach for me.
The absence of it left an ache I didn’t want to admit to. And worse—it made me wonder if co-parenting was really what I wanted... or if I was lying to myself all along.
We sat across from each other at the dining table, lunch spread neatly between us. Damien’s phone buzzed against the table. He picked it up without hesitation, his thumb gliding across the screen.
A faint smile tugged at his lips—small, but real.
Who was he texting? His beautiful secretary? The one I saw the other day?
I clenched my fork so tightly my knuckles ached. A wave of heat surged through me, sharp and jealous, though I had no right to feel it.
I couldn’t sit there, watching him give his attention, his smile, to someone else while I sat invisible on the other side of the table.
The chair scraped against the floor as I pushed back abruptly.
"Excuse me," I muttered in annoyance.
Before he could even glance up, I stood and left the table, my chest tight, my wolf restless under my skin.
When I got to my room, I sank onto the edge of the bed, my hands trembling as I tried to hold myself together.
But the tears came anyway, hot and stinging. I pressed my palms over my eyes, willing them back, but they refused to stop.
"You still love him," my wolf whispered, her voice cutting straight into my chest.
I shook my head weakly. "No..."
"Yes," she pushed, sharp and certain. "I told you. You love Damien."
My lips trembled, the truth clawing its way out. "Yes... I love him." My voice cracked. "But—"
"But what?" she snapped, impatient, almost angry.
The words caught in my throat. I hated myself for this—for feeling something I knew I shouldn’t.
"We are related. And our families..." My breath hitched. "There’s blood between us. Too much hate. It can’t work."
My wolf scoffed, pacing in the back of my mind. "Excuses. Olivia is with the triplets, isn’t she? Everyone said it was impossible, and yet she chose them anyway."
I swallowed hard, my heart aching at the mention of her. Olivia and I had similar situations, and Olivia still chose to be with her mates and me? Here I am wallowing in pain.
"Stop being stubborn and tell Damien how you feel." My wolf urged, but I frantically shook my head.
"I’m scared... what if he no longer has feelings for me and just wants to co-parent..."
My wolf stirred, getting annoyed with me. "You won’t know until you find out." She urged.
I swallowed hard and contemplated on how I was going to stand in front of Damien and confess to him that I still love him.
What would he say? Will he say it’s better we just co-parent? Will he say he loves someone else now? Will I be able to live with that?
The thought crushed me, and I pressed my palms over my face, my body trembling.
The sharp vibration of my phone broke through the storm in my head. I flinched, snatching it from the nightstand, my heart leaping when I saw the name on the screen.
The one I had paid weeks ago to dig into Rebecca’s death.
I had never buried her. I couldn’t. Not without answers. Not without knowing who had the audacity to take her head and leave her body like that.
Damien had sworn he knew nothing, that he had no hand in it. And for once, I believed him. But that left me with a truth even darker—if it wasn’t him, then who?
With shaky hands, I pressed the phone to my ear. ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by novelFɪre.net
His voice came through steady, professional. "Miss Sofia... I have something for you."
I sat up straighter, clutching the phone tight. "Tell me."
"I went through her records—Rebecca’s. I pulled them directly from the phone companies. It wasn’t easy, but I managed."
He paused, and I heard the weight in his voice before the words came.
"Her last call... the final one she made before she died... was to Alpha Damien."
My chest tightened, my breath caught. "W-What?"
"They spoke for fifteen minutes," he continued firmly. "Fifteen minutes. I traced the time stamp. It was the very night she was beheaded. After that call... nothing. Her line went dead."
I froze, my wolf stirring inside me, restless and growling.
Fifteen minutes. Damien had told me he knew nothing, that he hadn’t spoken to her for a long time. He swore it.
And now the investigator is telling me they spoke before her death? But if he had spoken to her that night—what did they say? Why hadn’t he told me?
My hand trembled around the phone, my voice barely a whisper. "Thank you... please keep digging."
The investigator’s tone softened. "I will... I will inform you if I get any other information."
The call ended, leaving me in silence again.