The cold dinner

The heavy oak door clicked softly behind me as I stepped into the dining room, where the golden glow of the chandelier struggled to soften the chill that wrapped itself around the space. The table was set with careful precision, but it felt more like a stage set for a performance I wasn’t invited to take part in. The polished silverware gleamed coldly under the dim light, and the neatly folded napkins seemed to mock me with their flawless edges.

I hesitated at the threshold, my fingers twitching at the seam of my shirt as I took in the scene before me. My mother sat poised at the head of the table, her posture stiff as always, a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes plastered onto her face. My father, equally unyielding, filled his plate methodically, his eyes never meeting mine. Ethan was seated across from me, his usual confident aura muted, replaced by an almost palpable tension.

The silence stretched uncomfortably long, broken only by the faint clinking of cutlery and the subtle rustle of fabric as my mother finally spoke.

“You’re an embarrassment,” she said with chilling clarity, her voice even and measured, as though stating a fact rather than delivering a blow.

The words hit me like a sudden gust of icy wind, seeping through my skin and settling heavily in my chest. My breath caught, sharp and involuntary, and I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, a mix of humiliation and hurt swirling in a bitter storm. I forced my lips to remain still, swallowing the lump that threatened to break free in a sob.

I lowered my gaze to the plate in front of me, the untouched food blurring beneath my vision. I could feel my mother’s eyes lingering on me, cold and unrelenting, as if daring me to respond. My fingers clenched into fists on my lap, nails digging shallow crescents into my skin to steady the trembling inside.

The oppressive quiet was shattered when Ethan shifted in his seat, the scrape of his chair against the hardwood floor loud in the stillness. His jaw clenched tightly, and for a moment, I caught the faintest flicker of something I hadn’t seen before—something like defiance.

“That’s enough, Mom,” he said quietly, but with undeniable firmness.

The room seemed to hold its breath. I dared to lift my eyes, searching Ethan’s face for any sign of the brother I’d longed to connect with. His features were drawn, the usual bright confidence replaced by a weighty seriousness that made his words feel heavier than before.

“She’s been through enough,” he added, his voice softening as his gaze met mine for a fleeting moment. There was a tenderness there, wrapped in uncertainty, as if he wanted to protect me but didn’t quite know how.

My mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, her cold stare unwavering, but she said nothing further. My father cleared his throat abruptly, breaking the tension. “You need to focus on your recovery,” he said brusquely. “No nonsense.”

I nodded slowly, swallowing down the bitter sting of rejection. The sharp edges of their words, the cold distance in their eyes—it was as if I was an unwelcome guest in my own home. The bruises on my ribs throbbed faintly, a physical echo of the emotional wounds carving deeper with each passing moment.

Ethan’s gaze flickered toward me once more, hesitant and searching. “Glad you’re okay,” he muttered, almost under his breath, before turning his attention back to his plate.

I wanted to reach out to bridge the growing chasm between us, but the words lodged stubbornly in my throat. Instead, I forced myself to swallow the ache and focus on the dull clatter of cutlery and the low murmur of the clock ticking away the seconds.

As the meal progressed, the cold atmosphere pressed heavier. My parents exchanged clipped remarks about schedules, chores, and expectations, their voices clipped and formal, as if trying to erase the past week’s horrors with mundane conversation. Their glances avoided me deliberately, their silence louder than any accusation.

I sat still, every muscle tense, feeling more invisible than ever despite being physically present. The ache inside was raw and unyielding, the isolation swallowing me whole. My mind drifted to Lucas, the one constant thread of warmth in the tangled web of my life. I could almost hear his quiet voice reminding me I wasn’t alone, his kindness a faint light in the darkness.

But most of all, my thoughts returned to Jaxon.

His steady presence haunted my mind—the way his strong hands had carefully cleaned the cuts on my skin, the softness in his gaze that contradicted the harshness of the world around me. There was a fire in him, a strength that both terrified and mesmerized me, and despite the growing walls between us, I felt drawn to that flame, desperate to understand what it meant.

I swallowed hard, trying to push the ache in my chest aside as I excused myself from the table, the bruises on my ribs reminding me of my fragility. Ethan’s footsteps followed quietly behind me, hesitant, unsure.

“You should rest,” he said softly, his voice almost breaking the suffocating silence.

I nodded, retreating to my room, where the shadows welcomed me like a familiar friend. The door closed behind me with a muted click, sealing me in a world of solitude.

I sank onto my bed, the sheets cool beneath my trembling hands. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the steady rhythm of my own heartbeat. Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes, blurring the edges of the room as I let them fall freely.

In this quiet space, I was allowed to be vulnerable, to feel the weight of abandonment and hurt without fear of judgment. The scars on my body would heal with time, but the wounds etched into my heart felt eternal.

I thought again of Jaxon—of his hands, his voice, and the fierce protectiveness I glimpsed beneath his carefully guarded exterior. Even as the loneliness pressed in, that thought sparked a fragile hope that maybe, somewhere beneath the coldness and rejection, there was a place where I belonged.

And maybe, just maybe, that place was closer than I ever dared imagine.

Jaxon

The dim light of the room barely softened the sharp lines of the faces gathered around the table. The air was thick with tension, heavier than any storm I had ever faced on the field or in the wild. The walls seemed to close in, as if the very space was aware of the gravity that hung over us like a shadow refusing to lift.

I sat at the center, flanked by Lucas and one of the elders, a man whose age was etched deeply into his stern expression and cold, unyielding eyes. The room was silent at first, the only sound the steady ticking of an ancient clock perched high on the wall, marking time that felt both endless and suffocating.

“You’re walking a dangerous path,” the elder said finally, his voice low but filled with undeniable authority. “Your attachment to a human mate threatens everything. You risk everything the pack has built.”

His words struck me harder than any physical blow, slicing through the careful control I had maintained over myself. I could feel the weight of my lineage, the heavy mantle of expectation pressing down on my shoulders, reminding me of the legacy I was supposed to uphold.

Lucas’s gaze flickered to me, sharp and unwavering. He didn’t need the elder to remind him of the stakes. We both knew what this meant. To the pack, to my father, to my future—everything hung in the balance.

“She is my mate,” I said quietly, the words tasting strange yet irrevocable on my tongue. “To walk away would destroy me, and I will not let that happen.”

The elder’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of respect beneath the cold. “The elders will be watching. You must remember your place.”

I nodded, though inside, a storm raged—wild, untamed, threatening to tear apart the careful balance I had fought so hard to maintain. The secret I carried, the bond with Avery, was both my greatest strength and my deepest vulnerability.

After the meeting ended, Lucas and I left the heavy room behind, but the weight of the conversation clung to me like a second skin. I knew the path ahead was perilous, filled with choices that could break me or bind me in chains I could never escape.

As I drove home, the darkening sky mirrored the turmoil inside. Every glance at my phone reminded me of Avery—her face etched into my mind, the softness of her voice still echoing in my ears. The way she looked at me, the unspoken connection that both terrified and drew me closer, was a constant pull I could not resist.

The pack demanded loyalty, discipline, and sacrifice. Yet my heart waged war with those demands, torn between duty and desire.

Later that evening, the cold formality of a family dinner awaited. I arrived to find the atmosphere as fractured as ever. Avery’s mother’s sharp words echoed through the room, and for the first time, I saw Ethan step into a role I hadn’t expected. His voice, shaky but firm, cut through the icy tension, defending his sister in a way that surprised us all.

I watched Avery closely—her eyes flickering with a mixture of pain and fragile hope. The distance between us was vast, but something had shifted. The walls that had surrounded her were beginning to crack.

But I knew the battle was far from over. The pack’s watchful eyes would never rest, and the cost of my secret would only grow heavier.

I felt the full weight of what lay ahead—balancing the demands of the pack, the expectations of my lineage, and the unpredictable fire that Avery ignited within me.

This was only the beginning.