The Affair Made Public**

Seven's POV

I stared at him, mouth half-open, certain I had misheard.

Then reason returned. Demarco Oxford was Harris’s brother. They had grown up as close as blood. Whatever he had just said had to be a test—something Harris put him up to—or a careless joke. Even if he meant it, I could never accept help that would drag family scandal into the open.

I forced a small laugh and smoothed my expression. “You’re joking, Demarco. Harris  and I are fine. We only exchanged heated words.”

“Is that so?” His dark eyes showed nothing. The voice stayed low. “Then I overstepped.”

I gave another dry smile and let the subject die.

To my relief he didn’t press. His conversation shifted easily—dry observations, sharp humor, the kind of talk that pulled attention whether you wanted it to or not. Little by little the image of Harris standing too close to Isolde loosened its grip.

From the edges of what he said I learned he had left his previous post. Harris had once mentioned that Demarco had already been marked for high command in the border forces. With the Oxford name and his own record against rogue packs, the path had been clear and steep. Leaving it meant he had chosen a different battlefield.

Men like him and Harris were born to be looked up to. The rest of us only ever stood in their shadow.

The easy talk along the drive narrowed the distance between us enough that I risked a lighter tone. “It’s been more than two years. You’re still exactly the same, Lone wolf”

Demarco glanced sideways, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Little moon, we saw each other at the end of the last full moon.”

I blinked. “Last full moon?”

There had been a formal pack gathering at the end of the full moon—one that ended in a chaotic, half-remembered blur—but I had no memory of him there.

“Where?”

He only smiled and let the question fall away.

The car entered the grounds of the Central Healing Hall. I expected him to drop me and leave. Instead he stepped out with me, stopped at the entrance shop, and came back carrying a carefully arranged fruit basket.

I looked at him, confused.

“You were going to walk in empty-handed?” he asked, mild amusement in his voice.

Heat touched my face. I said nothing and walked faster.

Inside the private ward my mother pushed herself up the moment the door opened, hope already bright on her thin face.

“Seven—and Harris —”

When she saw the man behind me was not her daughter’s mate, the light dimmed. “Where is Harris?”

I kept my smile steady. “The formal claiming is close. He’s buried in the final arrangements.”

“I see.” Disappointment crossed her features, then she smoothed it away. “There is always so much to finish before a ceremony…”

Her gaze moved to Demarco. “And this is…?”

“He is…”

Demarco stepped forward before I could finish, set the basket on the side table, and inclined his head with easy respect. "Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm Demarco Oxford, a friend of Seven's from our pack.”

The surname landed. Even weakened by the Waning, my mother knew what the Oxford name meant in this region. They were the Alpha household.

Demarco’s smile stayed polite. “Seven mentioned your condition. I have a colleague here at the Hall. I’ll ask him to look in on you shortly.”

“There’s no need to trouble anyone…”

“Ma'am,” he said gently, “don’t stand on ceremony with me.”

I couldn’t refuse. Not when it concerned her. I thanked him, sincere.

When Healer Thorne himself stepped into the room a short time later, I turned sharply toward Demarco. The “colleague” he had mentioned was the same top-ranked healer Harris had claimed to reserve.

My mother looked almost overwhelmed. She knew exactly how rare healer Thorne’s personal attention was.

While the examination began, Demarco and I waited near the window.

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “Truly.”

He gave a small shrug. “It’s nothing.”

I started to answer, then my eyes caught the muted screen mounted on the opposite wall.

Isolde Dennis’s face filled the frame. Bright. Composed. Across the bottom ran a scrolling line of text:

**Warrior and ranking female Isolde Dennis  confirms new bond after high-profile rejection.**

The image cut to a photograph. Isolde held against a tall man’s chest, his arms around her, her face tipped up toward him. The man’s features were blurred by mosaic, but the set of the shoulders, the watch on the wrist, the exact angle of the head—I knew them.

Harris.

I was on my feet before I realized I had moved. Logic tried to speak: I had been there, the angle could be misleading, a single image proved nothing. My eyes still burned.

“Don’t look.”

A broad hand rose in front of my face, blocking the screen. I caught his wrist on instinct, trying to push it aside. Demarco simply stepped forward, using his height to cut the television from view completely.

I dropped my gaze and fought the tears.

I had told myself to trust Harris, to wait for his explanation. The ache in my chest refused to listen.

Only then did I notice my fingers were still locked around Demarco’s wrist. I released him at once.

“I’m sorry.”

He said nothing. His lashes were lowered; the line of his throat moved once as he swallowed. Whatever he was thinking stayed locked behind that calm exterior.

Behind us the ward door burst open. A nurse’s panicked voice filled the room.

“Lady Seven—your mother was stable a moment ago, but she saw something on the television and collapsed!”

“What?”

I spun toward the bed as the monitors began to cry out.