Meredith.
"You don’t want to answer the question?" Draven asked, casually spearing a large chunk of grilled chicken. "Did I touch a soft spot?"
He popped the meat into his mouth and began chewing slowly—methodically—like he had all night to sit here and peel me open.
I stared at him, saying nothing. My lips pressed into a hard line. My silence was my last line of defense, and I wasn’t ready to let it fall.
But he didn’t back off.
"I’m guessing here," Draven continued, his voice calm, almost curious. "Given the depth, shape and direction, I would say it was a claw. Not a blade. And from the way it curves at the edge—it wasn’t a full swipe. One claw. Likely the index finger of a werewolf."
I blinked. My chest tightened.
His guesses were too close. Too exact.
He chewed slowly, swallowed, and lifted a spoonful of salad to his lips. I stared, stunned, as he continued without waiting for me to recover.
"Your father hates you. That much is obvious. But he wouldn’t have touched your face. He would have left the mark somewhere hidden. Where it wouldn’t bring shame to the family name."
He swallowed again, unbothered. Unapologetic.
"Your brother wouldn’t dare. Not even in a fit of rage. Your sisters? Your mother? Out of the question."
He tilted his head and finally asked, "So, who did this to you?"
The air felt tight in my lungs.
I tried to keep my face blank. I tried. But I could feel the faint twitch in my brow, the way my breath subtly shifted.
He hadn’t been wrong. Not once.
I looked away, gripping my fork as a rush of memories slammed into me.
The Academy’s tiled restroom. The stink of bleach. My wild pheromones spiking without warning. The bastard classmate who cornered me, eyes red and fists clenched. He wanted more than just a sniff. He wanted to take. When I screamed, he panicked and slashed. His claw ripped down my left cheek before he bolted. Coward.
I still remember the burn. The blood. The humiliation.
I had wished him a slow death every day since. But that wasn’t something I was going to share, especially with him.
My thoughts snapped when Draven knocked lightly on the table with his knuckles.
"Little wolf," he said, voice low, "what are you thinking about?"
I snapped my eyes up to meet his as my grip tightened on the cutlery. "You." He had unearthed something I had chosen to keep buried.
His brow lifted slightly.
"You can’t read the room," I said through gritted teeth. "So how about this—you stay out of my matters, and I will stay out of yours."
Draven hummed thoughtfully as he cut into his chicken, dipped it into a creamy sauce, and placed it into his mouth with a deliberate calmness that made me want to scream.
He chewed, swallowed, then looked at me.
"You don’t tell me what to do, Meredith."
I glared at him, the words burning in my chest. I could feel them rising, pressure building like a volcano just before the rupture.
"Why did you marry me?" I asked, my voice cold and sharp.
The silence that followed was louder than any scream.
Draven didn’t look away. He picked up another piece of chicken, chewed it slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.
I watched his throat move as he swallowed.
Arrogant busybody.
He leaned back slightly, lips curling into the faintest smirk. "I will answer that question," he said. "When you’ve earned the right to hear it."
The audacity.
I saw red.
Earned?
The word rang in my ears like a slap.
My heart thundered. How was this place—his house—any better than the one I left?
At least in my father’s home, I knew what I was. Unwanted, yes. Broken, sure. But there, I was invisible. And the worst part? Draven’s house wasn’t any better. Here, I was constantly dissected. Poked. Torn open.
"I’m not yours to dissect," I snapped, my voice rising. Then I looked him dead in the eye and asked, "Who do you think you are, giving me orders like you own me?"
His Beta, Jeffrey, stiffened while Azul dipped her head.
"I don’t give a damn about your title," I spat. "You could be Alpha King of the Sun and Stars, and I would still see you as nothing more than a controlling tyrant."
I was breathing fire now, chest heaving. My entire body buzzed with uncontrolled fury.
I hated him.
And I had said so much, yet—he didn’t flinch.
Instead, he raised his fork and pointed it at me, eyes calm. "Now I know why the Moon Goddess cursed you."
I blinked. "What?"
"You resent her," he said, voice still soft, cutting sharper than any blade. "But you should blame yourself. She gave you wild pheromones instead of a wolf because you weren’t deserving of power. You weren’t meant for greatness."
My nails dug into my palm.
"Don’t question her any longer," he said. "She saw who you truly are. And gave you what you deserve."
Then he downed the rest of his wine like it was water, and Jeffery was already there, refilling the glass without a word before slipping back into the shadows.
Draven’s gaze returned to me.
"I can say these things," he continued, "because I’m powerful enough to bear the weight of them. But you? You can’t control your emotions. You lash out. You burn bridges. You are angry, prideful. Too prideful for someone without a wolf."
My knuckles turned ashen from the constant clenching of my fists.
I was shaking.
"And to crown it all. You are a liability to our race, Meredith."
His words seared through me, hot and cruel. I wanted to scream. To cry. To vanish. But more than anything, I wanted to hurt him to ease my pain and satisfy my rage.
Unfortunately for me, I couldn’t. Because, like his words meant, I am nothing.
"If you want mercy from the Moon Goddess," he said, lifting the wine to his lips again, "start by becoming someone worth saving. And be careful—your enemies are growing in number. You are not as invisible as you think."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
He wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, then looked at me again. Without any empathy, and with all audacity, he dared to ask me,
"Do you have anything to say?"
I opened my mouth. A thousand things boiled to the surface. But instead, I said coldly, "Excuse me. I need to use the bathroom."
I stood without waiting for permission, without care for appearances.
The chair scraped loudly against the floor as I walked away, fists clenched, heart splintering in my chest.
Behind me, I could still feel his golden eyes watching. Unmoving. Unapologetic.
And I hated him more than I ever had before. Not just for what he said—but for how much of it was true.