I bent down to pick one up.

Before I could even straighten, he reached out and took it from my hands.

"Fine, I'll throw them out for you," he said, almost impatiently. "But stop wasting money on useless stuff. What, do you think coin falls from the moon?"

His tone was casual.

Indifferent.

Like none of this mattered.

Then, as if nothing had happened at all, he added, "Go change. I'll take you out to eat."

Like this was just another normal day.

Like nothing was ending.

Instead, I walked out to the balcony.

From there, I watched him.

He carried the boxes down and walked straight to the refuse pit behind the den, past the black sedan idling at the edge of the trail where one of his enforcers sat waiting with the engine running.

No hesitation.

No second glance.

He tossed them in.

Just like that.

The same way he had thrown away our five years.

Effortlessly.

Like they meant nothing at all.

At the eating-house, a quiet place on neutral ground where the pack sometimes kept private tables, he ordered several dishes without asking.

Most of them were our usual favorites.

The kind we always shared.

The kind tied to memories. Late-night laughter, old films flickering on the couch, lazy days when time seemed to slow down and the world outside, with all its blood and territory and obligation, couldn't reach us.

For a moment, it almost felt familiar.

Almost.

But then I saw it.

One more dish.

Bitter melon with scrambled eggs.

The one I hated the most.

He knew that.

He had always remembered.

Every little thing.

Until now.

My appetite disappeared completely, like something inside me had quietly snapped. Even my wolf went still beneath my skin, the way it always did when something was wrong and it didn't yet know what. The smell of the food, the low conversation at nearby tables, even the old crooning record drifting through the room all felt distant. I didn't feel like forcing myself anymore, didn't feel like pretending everything was normal.

"Excuse me," I called gently to the attendant standing nearby, keeping my tone polite and controlled. "Could you take this dish off the table? I'll pay for it separately."

The attendant hesitated for a second, clearly unsure, but before he could even reach for the plate, Salvar moved first. He dragged the dish back toward himself with a faint scoff.

"Oh, come on," he said, his voice edged with annoyance. "I miss a few days while you're in the Healing Hall and suddenly you're acting like a drama queen?" He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Maybe if you were actually watching where you were going, you wouldn't have ended up under those wheels in the first place."

The words landed harder than they should have.

Because I knew what it looked like when he cared.

I had seen it before.

There had been a time when a fever took me in the dead of winter. He had panicked, lifted me onto his back, and carried me through the freezing dark to a moon-healer he trusted, his hands trembling, his voice breaking as he kept asking if I was still conscious. I still remembered the way he cried that night, like losing me would destroy him. Back then he wasn't the Alpha yet. Back then his hands still shook for reasons that had nothing to do with blood or silver.

And now?

Now he had been part of the thing that hurt me… and didn't even bother to come.

He knew I hated bitter melon. For five years, he had never once ordered it, never once let anything remotely bitter near our table. He used to say even the scent of it made me frown too much, and that his wolf hated to see it.

And yet now, like we had gone back in time to when we had just met, like none of those years had ever existed, he casually ordered it again without a second thought.

I curled my lips into a faint, tired smile, the kind that didn't quite reach my eyes.

"I really hate bitter melon," I said softly. "I can't even stand the smell."

"Then don't eat it," he replied immediately, his tone sharp and impatient. "Simple."

The irritation in his voice wasn't even hidden. The silver lighter appeared in his hand, turning slow across his knuckles, each rotation catching the candlelight like a small, indifferent blade.

But I kept my expression calm, polite, the way I had trained myself to be over the years.

"I think… we should—"

I didn't get to finish.

A woman's voice cut in smoothly from the side.

"Salvar, after all these years, you still remember I love bitter melon!"

I lifted my gaze.

She stood right beside our table, perfectly put together from head to toe. Flawless face. Impeccable grooming. Her posture straight, chin slightly lifted as she looked down at me with a faint, unmistakable trace of disdain. One finger rested on the pearl at her throat, light as a breath, as if confirming something only she needed to know.

And then her scent reached me. White jasmine over copper, and beneath it something faintly too-sweet, like petals just beginning to turn. My wolf stirred low in my chest, uneasy without knowing why.

Without waiting for any invitation, she stepped closer.

With an easy familiarity, she nudged Salvar slightly inward on the booth, then slipped into the seat right next to him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. The two enforcers at the bar didn't turn, but I could feel the room's attention tighten, the way it always did when the Alpha's table changed shape.

"Let me introduce myself," she said sweetly, her voice smooth like syrup. "I'm Salvar's she-wolf. Adressa Thornwell."

I didn't respond.

She leaned in even closer to him, her arm grazing his as if it was completely natural, then glanced sideways at me with a subtle, almost playful look.

"Salvar," she said lightly, "aren't you going to introduce her? She's…"

Salvar's expression stiffened instantly.

It was clear he hadn't expected this.

His eyes flickered toward me, a brief flash of unease, almost panic, before he forced himself to stay composed. Beneath the table his hand went still on the silver lighter he'd been turning. Something in his scent shifted too, the cold iron threading through the black cedar going sharp for half a breath.

For a second, I almost laughed.

"Selene Ashford," I said before he could speak, my tone calm and even. "I serve as a den liaison at Alpha Nightbane's front den. The hall was full, so we're just sharing a table."

His head snapped toward me.

That flicker of panic disappeared just as quickly as it came, replaced by visible relief. He let out a breath, then nodded quickly. The lighter resumed its slow rotation.

"Yeah, that's right," he said. "This is Selene. One of my pack."

Adressa smiled slowly.

The kind of smile a wolf gives when it already has its prey pinned beneath its paw.

"Miss Ashford must be very capable, then," she said, tilting her head slightly. "I've never seen Salvar sit at the same table with any she-wolf besides me."

Her tone was light, but every word carried weight. Under the white jasmine of her scent ran something faintly too-sweet, like petals already beginning to turn, and my wolf stirred low in my chest, uneasy, a growl I swallowed before it could surface.

Then she placed her crystal communicator casually beside her wine glass, nudging it forward just enough to be seen. It looked accidental.

But it wasn't.

I caught a glimpse of the screen.

Her image.

It matched Salvar's.

A bonded pair.

Even their colors today were coordinated. Same tones, same palette, down to the smallest details like the moonstone cuffs at their wrists. Everything was deliberate, curated, costly. The kind of matched presentation that in this world meant more than romance. It meant claim. It meant territory.

Under the warm lamplight of the den hall, they looked perfect.

Like a portrait of an Alpha and his Luna.

I lowered my gaze, set my chopsticks down carefully, and stood up.

I didn't want to stay.

Before I could take a step, Adressa reached out and grabbed my wrist.

Her fingers were slender, her nails long and perfectly manicured.

They dug into my skin just enough to hurt, just enough to leave a mark, but hidden from Salvar's line of sight.

"Miss Ashford," she said softly, her voice laced with feigned concern, "you're leaving already? Did I say something wrong?"

Her eyes shimmered, almost as if she were genuinely apologetic.

"Let me apologize, okay?"

I didn't have the patience for this.

Didn't have the energy to play along with someone pretending to be all sweetness and innocence.

I pulled my hand back sharply, breaking free from her grip.

Just as I lowered my eyes to check my wrist, I saw it: thin red marks where her nails had dug in, one of them already starting to bead with blood.

Before I could even process it, everything happened in an instant.

Adressa suddenly lifted her own hand and swung it outward.

A loud smack echoed through the den hall.

A little pup standing nearby was struck across the face.

His cry broke out immediately, sharp and piercing as he clutched his cheek, tears spilling down as he began sobbing uncontrollably. Two fingers hooked into the hem of his sweater, twisting the fabric tight, and he couldn't look up.

The entire room went quiet for a split second. The low music between songs. The clink of silverware stopping at three separate tables. A stillness that in any pack-favored hall meant someone of rank was watching.

Adressa's expression changed just as quickly.

Her face turned pale, her eyes widening in exaggerated shock.

"Oh no!" she gasped, covering her mouth. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! Sweetheart, are you okay?"

Salvar was already on his feet.

He rushed over, apologizing repeatedly to the pup's parents, his tone urgent and sincere. Without hesitation he pulled out his communicator and transferred moon-credits, trying to smooth things over as quickly as possible. The Alpha handling lesser wolves. Keeping the peace in a public hall where the Nightbane name floated above every exchange like woodsmoke.

But then the little pup suddenly pointed straight at me.

"It was her!" he cried between sobs. "She grabbed that lady's hand and made her hit me! She should say sorry!"

Every gaze in the den hall shifted.

All at once.

Adressa turned to me slowly, her eyes filling with hurt, her expression trembling just enough to look real. Her fingers drifted to the pearl at her throat again, holding it like a she-wolf afraid of being struck next.

"Miss Ashford…" she said softly, her voice fragile, "I don't know what I did to upset you."

She lowered her gaze slightly, like she was holding back tears.

"If you have a problem with me, please… just take it out on me. Don't drag innocent ones into this…"

Whispers began to spread.

Low voices. Judging. Speculating.

I could feel it.

The weight of every stare pressing against my back. In a place like this, where half the room owed something to the Nightbane name, the murmur of the pack wasn't just opinion. It was verdict.

Salvar turned toward me, his expression darkening instantly. The air around him thickened, his Alpha aura pressing down over the table like a sudden drop in temperature, and somewhere beneath my skin my wolf flattened low without my willing it.

"What are you standing there for?" he snapped, his voice sharp and cold. "Apologize. Now."

His tone left no room for argument.

"Stop making a scene."

Like I was the problem.

Like I was the one who had embarrassed him.

Like I was the one who didn't belong.

Backed by the murmured encouragement of the wolves crowded around him, the little pup broke free from his parents' hold and rushed toward me. Before I could react, he grabbed my hand and sank his teeth into it. Hard. The pain shot through me instantly, sharp and raw, and he didn't let go. My own wolf flinched beneath my skin, startled, but I held her still.

"Hey—" someone gasped, but no one stepped in.

The more gently Adressa crouched beside him, coaxing him in a soft, soothing voice, the deeper his teeth seemed to press into my skin, as if her words only fueled his stubbornness. Her tone was all concern, all patience, the picture of kindness. Beneath it, white jasmine and copper drifted toward me, that faint too-sweet edge like petals already beginning to turn.

"Sweetheart, let go… okay? You're scaring me," she murmured, reaching out but never quite pulling him away.

I stood there, frozen.

I couldn't exactly throw a pup off me. Couldn't raise my voice. Couldn't bare my teeth without looking like the rabid one they already believed I was.

So I swallowed everything.

Swallowed the pain. Swallowed the humiliation.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, forcing the words out as evenly as I could. "I'm sorry, okay?"

The pup finally loosened his grip, stepping back, still sniffling. My hand throbbed where his teeth had broken the skin, a dull, pulsing ache that quickly turned wet.

But Salvar wasn't satisfied.

He didn't notice the blood slowly seeping from the bite mark. Didn't notice the way my fingers trembled slightly from the pain. Didn't even glance at me properly. The scent of my own blood hung in the air between us, and he didn't so much as lift his head to it.

All he cared about was salvaging someone else's dignity.

He reached out and seized my arm just as I turned to leave.

"Selene," he said sharply, his grip tightening. "Apologize. To Adressa."

Adressa immediately put on that same gentle, self-effacing expression, tugging lightly at his sleeve as if trying to stop him. One finger drifted to the moonstone at her throat and touched it, barely, the way a wolf checks the wind before stepping into a clearing full of watching eyes.

"Salvar, it's fine," she said softly. "Really, it's not a big deal. I'm okay." She paused, lowering her gaze with perfect timing, the practiced submission of a she-wolf who knew exactly who was watching. "It's just the little one… he got hurt, and he's probably scared."

Her words were modest.

Her tone was forgiving.

And yet, they only made everything worse.

Salvar's attention shifted instantly.

His eyes dropped to the back of her hand, where a faint red mark had formed, barely noticeable, nothing compared to the blood on mine.

But to him, it was everything.

Something in his expression softened, almost pained.

Then, just as quickly, it hardened again as he turned back to me. Black cedar and cold iron rolled off him, that ash and bitter clove undertone sharpening as his alpha aura pressed down over the table, and every lower wolf in the den dropped their gaze on instinct. Every wolf but me.

Before I could react, he grabbed my injured hand and shoved it straight into the bowl of hot broth that had just been set on the table.

The heat hit me instantly.

The broth wasn't boiling, but it was scalding enough. The liquid soaked into the fresh bite wound, salt and heat combining into a sharp, searing pain that shot up my arm like silver under the skin.

My entire body jerked.

A gasp tore out of me before I could stop it.

The pain was unbearable.

It spread, burned, throbbed, every nerve screaming at once. My wolf threw herself against my ribs with a sound I'd never heard her make, low and broken. My fingers curled involuntarily, trembling as I tried to pull back, but his grip held me in place for a second longer. An Alpha's grip. The kind that didn't negotiate.

"Selene, what is wrong with you?" Salvar hissed, his voice low but cutting. "You need to be taught a lesson."

My vision blurred slightly from the pain.

Still, I looked up at him.

"Is that who I am to you?" I asked quietly, my teeth clenched so tightly they ached.

I already knew the answer.

But I still asked.

Maybe some part of me hadn't fully given up yet.

Around us, the whispers grew louder. The other wolves in the family-run den weren't even pretending to look away anymore.

"Wait… so which one is his actual mate?"

"Are you blind? Obviously the one he's protecting."

"Yeah, look at them. Scents all tangled up together, matching everything… it's obvious."

Their voices weren't even hushed anymore.

Their gazes shifted toward me, heavy with something worse than judgment.

Pity.

"Hey, enough is enough," a wolf at a nearby table muttered. "Another few seconds and you're going to scald her hand to the bone."

Only then did Salvar hesitate.

I stood there, my lips pale, my body still trembling slightly from the pain, and yet, somehow, I was smiling.

A faint, fragile smile.

I looked straight at him.

And for the first time, something flickered in his eyes.

Unease.

Just for a moment.

Then he let go.

He released my hand as if nothing had happened, reached for Adressa instead, and took her by the arm.

"Let's go," he said quietly.

And just like that, he walked away with her.

Didn't look back.

Didn't say another word.

His scent thinned and faded toward the door, black cedar and cold iron pulling away from me until the place where he'd stood held nothing at all.

When I got home, the den felt colder than usual. The hall was dark, the inner bolt still drawn the way he always left it, as though guarding the threshold mattered more than the wolf locked inside it.

A notification flickered across my crystal communicator.

He had sent a healer's salve for the burn, ordered through some courier, dispatched to my door like a parcel left for a stranger.

I stared at it for a long moment before opening the message that came with it.