Celeste POV:

I stared up at him, my mind racing to catch up with his words. "I don't know what you're talking about. What doesn't belong?"

A cold laugh, devoid of any humor, escaped him. He leaned down, his hand shooting out to cup my chin. His fingers were like ice, but his grip was a steel trap, forcing my head up.

His dark gray eyes, sharp as a wolf's, bored into mine. "Don't play dumb, Celeste. There's an unfamiliar scent in this house. It isn't human—but it belongs to a male."

The word "male" was a primal growl, full of raw, possessive fury.

And then, it clicked. My brain finally connected the dots, and a wave of disbelief and anger washed over me.

"You mean the cat?" I asked, my voice incredulous.

For a split second, his expression faltered. The fury in his eyes was replaced by a flicker of confusion. He dropped his hand as if my skin had burned him and straightened up, but the cold mask snapped right back into place.

"A cat?" he repeated, the word dripping with disdain.

Humiliation coiled in my gut. I swung my legs out of bed and stood up to face him, forcing my voice to stay level. "Yes, a cat. A stray I found injured in the backyard three days ago."

I hadn't brought him into the house. I had built a temporary shelter for him near the back fence and left food and fresh water there at the same times every morning and evening. I must have left the utility-room door ajar when I checked on him before bed, and he had slipped inside without me noticing.

He listened, his expression unchanged. When I finished, the sneer on his face deepened. "An Omega, building a shelter for a stray. How fitting."

The words were a slap. He was mocking my rank, my compassion, everything.

He turned away from me, heading for the bathroom. "Get it out of the house and keep it outside. I don't like things on my property that don't belong here."

The bathroom door clicked shut, a final, definitive sound.

I stood alone in the middle of the room, shaking. Not from cold, but from a rage so pure it felt like fire in my veins. It was mixed with a bitter, heartbreaking disappointment.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I wanted to pound on that door, to scream at him.

But I knew it would be useless.

Once I heard the shower running, I went downstairs. I found the cat curled up behind a basket in the utility room, carried him back outside, and settled him into the small shelter by the fence.

Dorian slept in the guest room that night. A wall of his own making stood between us, cold and impenetrable.

The next morning, I was up before the sun. When I came downstairs, he was already at the dining table, dressed in a sharp suit, reading the financial paper as if nothing had happened.

I made breakfast. Black coffee, just the way he used to like it, and simple toast with a fried egg. A peace offering. A fool's errand.

I set the plate in front of him. He didn't even look up.

I sat at the furthest end of the table, sipping my milk in silence.

Dorian took a sip of his coffee. His brow furrowed. He placed the cup down with a sharp clatter that echoed in the quiet room.

"Who made this coffee?" he asked, his voice cold.

My stomach tightened. "I did," I said quietly.

He wiped his mouth with a napkin, a look of disgust on his face. "It's terrible. You're wasting your time on this, just like you're wasting it on that stray."

The blood drained from my face. He was so casually cruel, devaluing every effort, every piece of me.

Just then, a faint meow drifted in from the backyard.

Dorian's head turned sharply toward the glass doors, and his expression hardened.

He stood up, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. He looked down at me, his voice a low, menacing command.

"When I get home tonight," he said in a quiet, final tone, "I don't want to see or smell any trace of it on this property."

He held my gaze. "Otherwise, I'll chase it away myself and make sure it doesn't come back."

He grabbed his jacket and walked out, the front door slamming shut behind him, sealing me in the echoing silence.

I sat alone in the vast dining room, staring at his untouched breakfast. The tears I had been holding back finally burned in my eyes.