Chapter 3

I couldn't have enough of him. I was exhausted and sore, but I didn't mind. I did not want to sleep. I wanted the pains. I wished he were always with me. His weight rested on top of me. I wanted to squeeze him in even more. I wanted to see his face. I wanted his sweat to drop on me. I wanted to drop mine on him. I got on top of him. I had never done it before. 

I couldn't believe I was actually doing this. I was creating something. I grasped him and slid him in. 

I felt something deeper in me. I'll never forget this. I was in command, which he appreciated. I held his hands down. He acted as though he was attempting to escape. I touched his face with my tits. He lost his mind and bucked. He tore me apart. I applied pressure. It was unbelievable to me. 

He flicked a finger over my buttocks. It was me that did it to him. Heaved and lifted. It was unbelievable to me. It went on forever, and so did the new things. He took action. I made a copy of him. I took action. He carried it out again. He grabbed me by the rear. I resisted, letting more of him come inside of me. I sucked him in. He kissed me. I forced him onto my abdomen. 

The night came to an end and I still couldn't fathom what had just happened.

But as the night faded, so did the effects of the alcohol. Reality began to creep in in flashes, and with it, a heavy, sinking feeling of satisfaction. I started to feel the exhaustion in my bones, the ache in my muscles from overexertion. I wanted to stay in that warm cocoon of pleasure, but my body had other ideas, and I felt myself slipping into a half-conscious state.

My eyes fluttered open, still half-asleep. My body felt like it had been through a marathon and indeed it was, every muscle sore, every joint stiff. As I turned my head, the blurry image of a man beside me came into focus. His face was still a mystery, hidden by the remnants of sleep and the fading effects of alcohol. My mind, sluggish and confused, reached for familiarity. 

“Damian, is that you?” My voice was a tired, low whisper, filled with the last remnants of sleep.

“Yes, it’s me, my love,” came the response, but the voice, it was deeper, richer, but in my groggy state, I didn’t notice. Tears pricked at my eyes as I let the words tumble out, “Damian, I love you... but I just wish you would stop sleeping around with wolves you find pretty and strong. It hurts me every time you do it...” 

The words were heavy with pain and truth, and before I could hear the response, I drifted back into a deep sleep, the weight of my emotions too much to bear.

I woke to the sensation of warmth enveloping my body, soft sheets beneath me, and the faint smell of cedarwood in the air. My eyes fluttered open, the fog of sleep still clinging to me, but something felt… different. My muscles ached in ways they hadn’t before, and there was an unfamiliar weight beside me. I blinked, trying to piece together the fragments of the night before.

“Elijah,” I murmured, my voice hoarse, barely recognizing it as my own.

The man beside me stirred, his face half-hidden in the shadows of the early morning light. It wasn’t Damian, that much I knew. Damian’s scent was like cold steel, sharp and unyielding, but this scent was warmer, more… primal.

I shifted, trying to push myself up, but a strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me back down against his chest. My heart raced as the events of the night slowly started coming back in disjointed flashes. The bar. Elijah. His dark, intense eyes. His voice, offering comfort, protection. And then…

My breath hitched as the realization hit me like a tidal wave. I had slept with Elijah.

I closed my eyes, my mind screaming at me to deny it, to tell myself it wasn’t true. But the soreness in my body, the warmth of his skin pressed against mine—it was undeniable.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to let this happen.

“Elijah,” I whispered again, this time with more urgency.

He stirred beside me, his arm loosening its grip, allowing me to slip out of bed. I moved quickly, my bare feet hitting the cold floor as I grabbed for my clothes, my hands shaking. I needed to leave. I needed to get out of here before the weight of what I’d done crushed me.

“Leaving already?”

His voice, low and rough from sleep, froze me in place. I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t face him—not after what we’d done. My chest tightened with guilt, a knot forming in my throat.

“I shouldn’t have—” I began, but the words caught in my throat.

“Shouldn’t have what?” Elijah asked, his voice still calm, but there was an edge to it now. “Stayed? Or shouldn’t have let yourself be free??”

The words stung because they were true. I had wanted to be free. Free from Damian, free from the pain of being rejected over and over. But this wasn’t freedom. This was another cage—one I had willingly stepped into.

“I made a mistake,” I muttered, pulling my dress over my head, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to my skin.

Elijah sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist, revealing his muscular chest, his gaze locked onto mine. “Is that what this is to you? A mistake?”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn’t know how to answer. Part of me wanted to tell him yes, that this was the biggest mistake of my life. But another part of me—the part that was still aching from Damian’s rejection—wanted to stay, to cling to the warmth Elijah had given me.

“I need to go,” I said finally, my voice barely a whisper as I turned toward the door.

He didn’t stop me. He didn’t move. But his voice followed me as I reached for the handle. “You’re running from something, Annabel. But you can’t outrun yourself.”

I hesitated, his words hitting too close to home. I was running. Running from Damian, from the pain, from the broken pieces of my life that I didn’t know how to fix. But I couldn’t stay here. Not with Elijah. Not when I didn’t even know what I wanted anymore.

Without another word, I opened the door and walked out.

The cold morning air hit me like a slap to the face as I stepped outside. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting long shadows across the empty streets. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to ward off the chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

What have I done?

The question echoed in my mind, over and over, as I walked aimlessly down the street. I had betrayed Damian. I had betrayed myself. And for what? A few hours of comfort? A momentary escape from the misery that had become my life?

I wanted to scream, to cry, to break something—anything that would release the storm raging inside me. But I couldn’t. Not here. Not in the middle of the street.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, my heart sinking as Damian’s name flashed on the screen. Of course he would call now. As if the universe was mocking me, reminding me that no matter what I did, I was still tied to him. To the mate bond that refused to break, no matter how much I wished it would.

I ignored the call, stuffing the phone back into my pocket as I quickened the car speed. I didn’t want to talk to him. Not now. Not ever.

But as I rounded the corner, I found myself in front of the one place I had sworn I wouldn’t return to.

Our house.

I stared at the front door, my heart pounding in my chest. This was where everything had started, where Damian and I had built a life together. Where we had promised each other forever.

And now it was the place where everything had fallen apart.

I took a deep breath, my hand trembling as I reached for the doorknob. I didn’t want to go inside. I didn’t want to face Damian. But I had no choice. This was still my home, even if it didn’t feel like it anymore.

The door creaked open, and I stepped inside, the familiar scent of the house washing over me. But it didn’t bring comfort. It only reminded me of what I had lost.

“Annabel?”

Damian’s voice came from the living room, and I froze, my heart lurching in my chest. I wasn’t ready to face him. I wasn’t ready to explain where I had been, what I had done.

But before I could turn and leave, Damian appeared in the doorway, his eyes narrowing as they landed on me.

“Where have you been?” he demanded, his voice cold, but there was something else there too—something that sounded almost like… concern?

I swallowed hard, my mind racing as I tried to come up with an excuse. But the lie wouldn’t come. Not this time.

“I… I needed some space,” I said finally, my voice trembling.

Damian’s eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite read, and for a moment, I thought he might let it go. But then his gaze dropped to my clothes—clothes that weren’t mine. His expression darkened, and his jaw tightened.

“Whose clothes are those?”

My stomach twisted in knots as panic surged through me. I hadn’t thought about that. I hadn’t even realized I was still wearing the clothes Elijah had given me. And now Damian knew.

“They’re… they’re mine,” I lied, but the tremor in my voice betrayed me.

Damian took a step forward, his eyes blazing with fury. “Don’t lie to me, Annabel. Where have you been? And whose clothes are you wearing?”

I took a step back, my heart racing as the walls seemed to close in around me. I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t tell him the truth.

“I—” I started, but the words wouldn’t come.

Damian’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You better tell me the truth. Right. Now.”