The Answer He Couldn’t Give.

Davis’s POV

I stared at Rebecca, trying to understand why her question bothered me so much.

“If our families had nothing to gain from our relationship, would you still want me?”

I had never considered the possibility before. Not because I needed her family’s wealth or influence, but because I had always believed that choosing a partner was supposed to be a personal decision.

“I’ve never wanted to marry someone simply because their family was useful to my pack,” I finally said.

Rebecca studied my face.

“That isn’t what I asked you, Davis.”

“I know.”

“Then answer the question.”

I opened my mouth, but the words didn’t come.

The truth was that Rebecca had started getting under my skin in ways I couldn’t explain. I noticed when she left the apartment, when she returned, and when she was too quiet. I remembered the way her eyes looked when she was angry with me, and I had caught myself wanting to see her smile even though she seemed determined to do the opposite.

But did that mean I wanted her?

I couldn’t give her an honest answer when I wasn’t sure what I was feeling.

Rebecca let out a short breath and gathered her notes.

“People often discover their true intentions only when they have something to lose,” she said.

“Rebecca, wait. What does that mean?”

She stood and tucked the papers under her arm.

“It means you should think about what you actually want before you make promises.”

“I’m trying to understand you.”

“Then stop assuming you already do.”

She walked past me toward her bedroom.

I turned in my chair to watch her go.

“Are you always going to shut me out whenever I ask you something?”

Rebecca stopped at her door but didn’t turn around.

“Are you always going to ask questions you don’t know how to answer?”

Before I could respond, she entered her room and closed the door.

I remained in the kitchen, staring at the empty doorway.

Living with Rebecca was becoming a problem. Not because she was difficult, although she certainly could be, but because I couldn’t understand why her opinion mattered to me so much.

I knew she was intelligent and stubborn. I respected how she defended her ideas in front of the panel, even when other people questioned her ability. I also knew she hated being told what to do.

But sometimes, she looked at me with an expression I couldn’t explain.

It wasn’t simple anger.

There was something painful in her eyes, something that made me feel as though I had disappointed her before I had even done anything.

That night, I went to bed still thinking about our conversation.

And then I had the strangest dream.

I was standing in a large bedroom. The curtains were drawn, and the room was so quiet that I could hear someone crying.

A woman stood near the window, wearing a white wedding dress. A gold ring glinted on her finger as she wiped her face.

I couldn’t see her clearly, but something about her felt familiar.

“Rebecca?”

Her head lifted at the sound of my voice.

“Davis,” she whispered.

I took a step toward her, but she moved away from me.

“Why are you crying?” I asked.

She shook her head, tears running down her cheeks.

“You know why.”

I tried to reach for her, but she stepped back again.

“Rebecca, talk to me.”

“You never listened to me before. Why should I believe you now?”

Her words struck me harder than they should have.

Before I could answer, she turned away. I caught a glimpse of her face, but the image blurred before I could see it properly.

Then she called my name again.

This time, she sounded as though she was begging me to hear her.

I woke with a sharp breath.

My heart was racing, and my sheets were twisted around my legs. I sat up and dragged a hand over my face, trying to shake off the dream.

What the hell was that?

I had never married Rebecca. I had never stood in a bedroom with her wearing a wedding dress, and I certainly had no reason to imagine her crying over me.

Yet the sight of that ring remained clear in my mind.

Then another image flashed through my head.

Rebecca stood in front of me, her face wet with tears.

“Why did you let me suffer, Davis?”

I pressed both hands against my temples.

“Stop,” I muttered.

The image disappeared, but the guilt remained.

I couldn’t tell whether it had been a dream, an imagined future, or something my mind had somehow forgotten. All I knew was that it felt too real to dismiss.

I got out of bed and walked to the door.

The apartment was quiet, but a thin line of light shone beneath Rebecca’s bedroom door.

I hesitated in the hallway.

It was none of my business if she was awake. We had already argued enough for one day, and she had made it clear that she didn’t want me interfering in her life.

I was about to return to my room when I heard a small, broken sound from behind her door.

It sounded like someone crying.

I stopped.

“Rebecca?” I called softly.

There was no answer.

I moved closer and knocked gently.

“Are you all right?”

“Go away, Davis.”

Her voice trembled.

I frowned and placed my hand against the door.

“Did something happen?”

“I said go away.”

“I heard you. I’m just checking that you’re okay.”

“I don’t need you to check on me.”

I should have left. She had made her wishes clear, and I wasn’t going to force her to speak to me.

But something about her voice made walking away difficult.

“I’m not trying to annoy you,” I said. “I can get you some water, call Seravelle, or leave you alone. Just tell me what you need.”

Silence followed.

I waited, leaning against the opposite wall. A few seconds later, I heard the lock turn.

The door opened just enough for Rebecca to look at me.

Her eyes were red, and her cheeks were damp.

My chest tightened.

I had seen her angry, sarcastic, and fiercely confident. I had never seen her look this hurt.

“Rebecca,” I said quietly.

She quickly wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you care.”

I stared at her.

“I’m standing outside your door because I heard you crying. Of course I’m concerned.”

She gave a small, bitter laugh.

“You think that’s enough?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Exactly.”

I took a step closer, then stopped when she tightened her grip on the door.

I didn’t want to make her feel trapped.

“Whatever happened, you don’t have to tell me,” I said. “But you don’t have to pretend you’re fine either.”

For a moment, she simply stared at me.

There was something strange about the way she looked at me, as though she wanted to believe my words but was afraid of what would happen if she did.

Then her expression hardened.

“You can’t repair everything by pretending to care, Davis.”

I frowned.

“Repair what?”

She looked away.

I wanted to ask what she meant. I wanted to know why she spoke as though I had done something terrible to her, something far more serious than our arguments over an apartment.

But before I could ask, she looked back at me.

“Please leave me alone.”

I held her gaze for a moment before nodding.

“Okay.”

She started closing the door.

“Rebecca?”

She paused.

“If you need anything, knock on my door. All right?”

She didn’t answer.

The door closed between us.

I stood in the hallway for several seconds, staring at the wood in front of me. Then I returned to my bedroom and sat on the edge of my bed.

Her red eyes stayed in my mind.

So did the woman in my dream, wearing a wedding ring and crying as she called my name.

I had no idea what Rebecca believed I had done to her. I didn’t even understand why I felt guilty when I had never been her husband.

But one question refused to leave me.

Why did Rebecca look at me as though I had already broken her heart?