Chapter Twenty-Three

The air smelled like wet earth and moss, thick with the scent of pine. Celeste sat cross-legged beneath a cluster of birch trees, a book open in her lap but long forgotten. Her fingers toyed with the corner of the page, unmoving. She used to come here to feel peace—when she still believed this land could be her home.

But lately, even the quiet turned its back on her.

She looked out across the field where younger pack members sparred in the distance. Their laughter drifted on the wind, light and careless. None of them knew. None of them saw.

Celeste lowered her eyes again. She could still feel the echo of Grayson’s voice, the low promises he used to whisper beneath moonlit trees. The warmth of his hand on hers. The pride in his eyes the first time she shifted.

But that pride had turned cold.

It had been days since he’d really spoken to her. Not about training or patrols or business. But about them. About the bond.

And Blair? She was everywhere now. Draped over the arm of Grayson’s chair in the common room. Laughing too loudly when Celeste entered a room. Making herself a fixture.

There was a moment last week. A celebration for one of the warriors.

Grayson stood near the fire, drink in hand, and Celeste had approached, nervous but hopeful. She placed her hand on his arm.

He didn’t flinch.

But he didn’t smile either.

She asked him to dance.

Before he could answer, Blair slid beside him, pressing into his side. “Come on, Alpha,” she teased. “You owe me a spin.”

He looked at Celeste.

And then he looked away.

“I’ll find you later,” he said to her.

Celeste nodded. Watched them move to the center of the room.

Watched him spin Blair in slow, easy circles. Laughter ringing louder than the music.

She stood frozen near the fire, gripping the glass in her hand until the condensation ran down her fingers. Blair twirled, beaming up at him as if no one else existed. Grayson leaned close to whisper something that made her laugh and press her hand to his chest.

A couple nearby murmured, their words not meant for her ears but sharp all the same.

"They look good together."

"He hasn’t smiled like that in ages."

"Maybe it’s time he moved on."

Celeste turned away from them, her cheeks burning. The music blurred. Her vision swam. Still, she stayed.

One song turned into two.

Then three.

Grayson never looked her way again.

He never came back to her like he said he would

And she never asked why.

**

Now, beneath the trees, she closed the book and stood, brushing leaves from her skirt. The chill of the late afternoon nipped at her arms.

She hadn’t told anyone about the way Grayson had started treating her, as if she were just another name on a roster. Like her worth could be tallied up by duties and dismissals.

Because she couldn’t decide what hurt more: that he’d reduced her to a duty, a formality, something to manage instead of someone to cherish.

Celeste made her way back toward the main path, her thoughts tangled.

From ahead, she heard familiar voices.

Grayson. Blair.

She stopped.

They were walking together through the garden. Blair looped her arm through his, head tilted up to him with a smile.

"I could get used to this," Blair said.

"You already have," Grayson replied, giving a soft chuckle.

Blair bumped his shoulder playfully. "Seriously, though. When are we going to stop pretending?"

Grayson blinked. "Pretending?"

"That this isn’t happening," she said, gesturing between them. "We spend more time together than anyone else. Everyone already talks. You and I... we work."

Grayson shifted uncomfortably. "Blair, it’s not that simple."

"It is," she said. "You don’t love her anymore, do you?"

He didn’t answer.

"Come on," Blair urged. "You barely speak to her. You flinch when she touches you. You’re different when you’re with me."

"That doesn’t mean I don’t care about her," he said quietly.

"But not like before," Blair pushed. "Not like how you care about me. And I know you feel it. When you look at me. When I touch you. I know I’m not imagining it."

Grayson sighed. "This isn’t just about feelings. There’s history. Loyalty. A bond."

"A broken one," Blair said sharply. "She’s holding on because she doesn’t want to see it, but she knows. Everyone knows."

He stopped walking.

"I didn’t mean for this to happen."

"But it did," she said. "And I’m tired of pretending. I want to be with you. All the way. No more hiding. No more sneaking glances when no one’s watching."

"What about her?" he asked, voice strained. "I never wanted to hurt her."

"You already did," Blair said, her voice softer. "Now you’re just dragging it out. Let her go, Grayson. Let her find someone who actually wants to hold her hand in public. Who doesn’t pretend she’s invisible."

Grayson rubbed a hand across his jaw, torn. "I just... I don’t know how to walk away."

"Then let me help you," Blair murmured, stepping closer. Her hand brushed his. "We can be happy. You and me. We already are."

Celeste stood frozen behind the tree, every word like a shard of glass in her chest.

They continued walking, their voices fading into the wind, but the echo of Blair’s words stayed sharp in Celeste’s ears.

Let her go.

You don’t love her anymore.

The ache inside Celeste solidified into something cold and quiet.

She stepped back onto the path once they were gone.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t scream.

But a part of her, something tender, something hopeful, died.

And something else began to grow in its place.

Not bitterness.

Not rage.

Just a resolve.

To stop waiting.

To stop hoping.

To stop pretending she hadn’t already been left behind.