Ava's POV Hours passed. Each one a suffocating eternity. The vast, echoing silence of the Blackwood mansion was broken only by the faint, rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the distant hallway, a relentless count of my isolation. I’d stayed in the bedroom all day, then all evening, a prisoner of my own dread and the silent pact I’d made with my wolf. My phone, cold and heavy, was clutched in my trembling hand, though it never rang, never stirred with a message. Every time a car passed on the distant street outside the fortified gates, my breath caught in my throat, a desperate, irrational hope fluttering in my chest—but it never stopped here. No one came. I was truly alone. It was well past midnight when I finally heard it. The unmistakable, heavy slam of the front door, reverberating through the very foundations of the mansion, shaking the opulent silence. I froze, sitting bolt upright on the edge of the bed, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. His
Ava's POV “Angry?” I spat the word out, bitter and scalding, a rhetorical question flung into the oppressive silence. “He humiliated me. He accused me of—of—” My breath hitched, the words lodging painfully in my throat, choked by the sheer horror of their implication. “He thinks I would… cheat on him. On our wedding night! The most sacred night, and he thinks I’m capable of such a vile act!” He doesn’t understand. He’s broken, Ava. Like you. Maybe worse. My wolf’s words resonated with an unnerving accuracy, piercing through the fog of my pain. A part of me, a small, defiant flicker of empathy, acknowledged the possibility. His rage had been so profound, so unhinged. Had it stemmed from a wound as deep as my own? I pressed my hands to my ears, as though I could physically shut her voice out, block the uncomfortable truths she insisted on whispering. But she was inside me, an intrinsic part of my very being, and there was no escape from her quiet, inconvenient wisdom. “You saw h
Ava's POV The deafening slam of the door behind him reverberated through the silent mansion, shaking the very walls, rattling the ornate fixtures on the antique sideboards. And then, just as suddenly, an awful, heavy silence descended, pressing down on my chest until it felt like all the air had been squeezed from my lungs. It was a vacuum, a terrifying void where his furious presence had just been. I didn't even realize, at first, that my legs had given out beneath me. One moment I was standing, a fragile sentinel against his rage, the next I was sliding, crumpling to the polished wooden floor. My back hit the cold, unyielding surface of the very door he had just stormed through, a stark reminder of his abrupt departure. I huddled there, knees drawn tightly to my chest, arms wrapped around myself in a desperate, futile attempt to hold my fractured pieces together. But it was useless. A fool's errand. The first sob tore from my throat, raw and agonizing, before I could even r
Damian's POV It didn’t make the image go away—the vivid, tormenting image of her voice whispering those damnable words, “You’re my everything,” into someone else’s ear. It didn’t erase the agonizing thought of her laughing with him, her body clinging to his, spending our wedding night, our night, in his arms instead of mine. That thought—that poisonous, gnawing thought—was an insidious parasite, burrowing deeper into my skull, refusing to leave, refusing to release its hold. It was a constant, agonizing loop playing in the theater of my mind, each frame a fresh stab of betrayal. I straightened abruptly, pulling away from her, turning my back on her once more. I couldn’t look at her anymore. Every glimpse of her, every flicker of her tear-filled eyes, only fueled the inferno within me, threatened to shatter the fragile control I still clung to. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt suffocating, a gilded cage designed to trap me with my tormentor. The air was thick and heavy, satur
Damian's POV Her sobs. The sound grated on every raw nerve ending, a discordant symphony I despised. They cut through the thick, suffocating blanket of my rage in a way I found infuriating, like dull claws scraping against a stone. Not enough to inflict actual pain, not enough to pierce the protective armor of my fury, but just enough to gnaw at my last shred of composure, a constant, irritating hum beneath the roaring storm. I could still hear her behind me, the ragged rhythm of her breathing, shallow and uneven, a pathetic testament to her struggle. I imagined her, pulling herself together, trying to staunch the flow of tears, trying to summon the courage to utter the words she believed would absolve her. Pathetic. The thought was a bitter bile in my mouth. I tilted my head back, the cold glass of the whiskey bottle pressed to my lips, and drained another mouthful, letting the fiery liquid burn its path down my throat. I wanted to drown out the sound of her crying, to obliter
Damian's POV She opened her mouth, a silent plea forming on her lips, but my grip tightened fractionally, cutting off any attempt at communication. “Don’t,” I warned, my lips curling into something between a sneer and a snarl, a grotesque parody of a smile. “Don’t lie to me. Not after what I heard.” Her breath hitched, a desperate, strangled sound, as her hands instinctively rose, pushing futilely against my chest. But I was an immovable force, a wall of pure, unadulterated fury. “Who the fuck,” I growled, leaning closer until my forehead was almost touching hers, the heat radiating off me a testament to the inferno raging within, “did you spend our wedding night with, Ava? Hm? Tell me.” Her lips parted, a silent gasp, but no sound escaped. The silence, however, was a cruel catalyst, pouring gasoline onto the inferno already consuming me. It confirmed every dark suspicion, every agonizing fear. “I asked you a question,” I snapped, my free hand slamming into the door besid