Chapter Twenty-One

The rain had deepened by the time she got home. The city was glazed in wet reflection, gold and red smearing across sidewalks like brushstrokes on glass. Victoria stood at her window, arms crossed, the hum of storm-dimmed traffic in the distance doing nothing to quiet the echo of Blair’s voice in her mind.

Dinner had been more than she bargained for.

The rooftop café had shimmered with its usual elegance, linen-draped tables, gold cutlery, quiet music that made everything feel effortless. But it was the wine that did the work tonight. Blair had already been on her second glass when Victoria sat down. By the third, she wasn’t posturing anymore. She was unraveling.

“She didn’t deserve him,” she’d muttered as the third glass started to loosen her composure. “She just stood there. Always watching him. Like some wounded little thing.”

Victoria hadn’t asked. She’d just sat back, listening.

“She was just an omega. She was so pathetic,” Blair continued, twisting the stem of her wineglass. “All that pale hair and silence. Like she was trying to disappear. Always waiting on him like he was some damn hero.”

“No pack. No family. She barely talked. She looked like a ghost. Like she’d already given up,” Blair said barely above a whisper.

Her voice had sharpened, eyes narrowed, not at Victoria, but at the past.

“She didn’t fight for him. She didn’t even try. She just left.”

A pause. And then, quieter:

“So, I made sure he saw me instead.”

Victoria’s grip on her glass had tightened slightly. No reaction. Just silence.

“And now look at us,” Blair went on, with a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’re the perfect pair. That’s what everyone says. But... you know…”

Her voice had dipped, unsteady.

“Every time another one of those girls turns up dead, pale skin, silver hair, Grayson shuts down. Goes cold. Like he sees her every time.”

Victoria had smiled faintly. Not from amusement.

But because Blair was too drunk on herself to realize what she’d just admitted.

Now, hours later, that smile was gone.

Victoria stood alone in the quiet of her apartment, arms wrapped around herself as her mind turned over every word.

Celeste had never talked about her past. Never needed to. Victoria never pushed. She just… sensed it. The heartbreak. The way Celeste sometimes moved like she was trying not to take up too much space. Like she was still apologizing to a memory.

And now Blair, of all people, had painted a picture of the girl she’d once hated and without realizing it, had given that girl a face Victoria already knew. She didn’t need to.

The ache was there… in her hesitation, her guarded quiet, her eyes that never quite settled. Victoria had felt it in every unspoken moment.

Blair hadn’t just stolen Grayson.

She’d broken Celeste to do it.

And Grayson? Victoria didn’t care how composed he looked now. If his silence during the rogue killings mirrored grief, guilt, or both, it didn’t matter.

Because Victoria wasn’t interested in their pain.

She was interested in the girl they left behind.

Her friend.

The one who smiled like she was afraid to be seen.

The one who deserved better.

She left the window and walked through the apartment in slow circles, unable to stay still. Her body buzzed with frustration, even that had no outlet. The lights remained low, casting soft amber hues across the furniture, but her mind was far from calm.

She thought about the first time she met Celeste. The girl with a gentle smile and polite distance. The kind of person who never interrupted but always noticed. Who offered comfort like she expected it to be declined. Who apologized when others bumped into her. Who brewed tea quietly in the breakroom during those tense early mornings, always making an extra cup and leaving it out, just in case Victoria needed it.

Celeste had been living like a ghost before she ever fell into a coma.

And it made Victoria’s chest ache.

She moved to the kitchen and poured a drink, not wine, something stronger, and took a long, bitter sip before setting the glass aside untouched. The burn did nothing to quiet the storm inside her.

Victoria wasn’t naive. She’d seen manipulation before, heard lies and spin from nobles, warriors, even family. But hearing Blair talk about Celeste like she was disposable, like she’d won something, lit a fire in her that wouldn’t go out.

She leaned against the counter and closed her eyes.

“I should’ve asked sooner,” she whispered to the dark.

Her regret felt sharp. Ugly. Pointless. But she let it sit there with her anyway.

A flash of Celeste’s laugh. The way she’d scrunched her nose at bad coffee. The sound of her quiet footsteps in the early morning diner, when it was just the two of them setting up before the rush.

Victoria pushed away from the counter and grabbed her coat.

She didn’t care what hour it was.

She needed to see her.

**

The Alpha King’s private quarters were cloaked in silence, dimly lit by low sconces and guarded by soldiers who didn’t question the princess’s arrival. They opened the door and shut it behind her without a word.

The scent in the room was familiar: clean linens, old stone, and something faintly floral. Celeste.

Victoria approached the bed quietly. The room felt too large with only one person in it, and Celeste barely took up any space at all. Her form lay still beneath the soft gray blankets; her silver hair braided loosely to one side.

She looked like a painting. Beautiful and untouchable.

Victoria dragged a chair close and sat beside the bed, reaching out but stopping short of touch.

"I don’t know if you can hear me," she said, voice soft. "But I needed to come."

She looked around the room once, taking in the rich wood, tall windows, velvet drapes, and exhaled slowly.

"I had dinner with Blair. She was drunk and cruel, and she said too much. Said how you didn’t fight. How you didn’t deserve him. And she said it like it was something to be proud of."

Victoria's lips parted like she might keep speaking, but she hesitated. Her gaze drifted back to Celeste’s face.

"She doesn’t know what strength is. But I do."

She swallowed.

"And I see it in you."

Her voice faltered for a moment. "I didn’t understand it before. Not the way I do now. I thought maybe you were hiding. That you just didn’t want to share your past. But that wasn’t it, was it?"

Victoria leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. "You were trying to survive something you never should have had to walk through alone. And no one stopped them. Not him. Not your pack. Not the people who should have protected you."

She blinked, eyes glassy but not yet crying. "But I will. I’m here now. And I don’t care what secrets are buried beneath your skin, or who’s still hunting you in the shadows."

A pause.

"You’re not alone anymore."

Victoria sat there for a while in the hush of the King’s room, letting everything settle. Her heart hurt. Her anger sat coiled in her chest like a sleeping beast.

Then, from the far shadows of the room, behind the curtains that framed the balcony doors, someone shifted.

Victoria turned sharply.

The Alpha King stepped forward, slowly.

He had been standing there. Listening. Silent.

She rose halfway from the chair, spine stiffening. "Silas..."

He held up a hand, not to silence her, but to steady himself.

His eyes weren’t on her.

They were locked on Celeste.

And his expression, always unreadable, always cold, had fractured.

He crossed the room slowly, as if seeing her—really seeing her—for the first time. Something in him had shifted, and though no words passed his lips, his posture carried the weight of realization.

Victoria stepped away from the bed and gave him space, her jaw tight as she passed him by. She paused at the doorway but didn’t look back.

He needed this moment. She wouldn’t take it from him.

The Alpha King stood at the edge of the bed, unmoving. The low candlelight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the tension around his eyes, the furrow of his brow.

He looked down at her—at Celeste—as though trying to piece together the story he should have seen long ago.

And for a long time, he said nothing.

But inside him, something began to burn.

A promise, forged in silence.

And this time, he wouldn’t look away.

Not again