Chapter Thirty-Five

His mother’s breath caught, her eyes wide with quiet astonishment. Then, with a tender ache in her voice, she whispered, “Oh, Julian…”

Her hand reached out, fingers brushing the collar of his shirt. “But wait, that means you’re marked.”

Julian gently took her wrist and lowered it, shaking his head. “No.”

She blinked, stunned. “I don’t understand. It would’ve been instinctual—for both of you. You should’ve been claimed. Bonded.”

His jaw worked silently for a moment before he spoke. “I marked her,” he said softly. “But… she couldn’t mark me back.”

She tilted her head, concern creasing her features. “Why not?”

“Because she’s wolfless.”

That word seemed to suck the air from the room.

“What?” she breathed. “But… how could she be wolfless and still go into heat?”

Julian ran a hand down his face, dragging frustration with it. “I don’t know, mother.” His voice dropped. “But I remember… she tried to mark me. She wanted to. The instinct was there — she just didn’t have a wolf to carry it out.”

His mother stared at him, piecing things together in silence. Then, with a steady breath, she said, “You should tell your father. Julian, if your wolf claimed another—if you mated her—you need to—”

“No.” The word came fast, sharp.

He stood, pacing a short distance before stopping at the edge of the rug. “There’s nothing to tell.”

Her eyes followed him, confused. “But—”

“She won’t speak to me,” he said, voice strained. “I’ve tried. She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

His mother’s brows furrowed deeply. “What do you mean she doesn’t want anything to do with you?”

Julian didn’t answer.

She rose slowly from her seat, eyes locked on him like she could drag the truth out by force of will alone. “Julian… what did you do?”

Still, silence.

Her voice sharpened. “What did you do, Julian?”

Julian let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “I panicked.”

His mother didn’t speak—just waited, steady as stone.

“The morning I woke up next to her… everything came crashing down on me at once. Those three days, my mark on her flesh, the reality, what it meant. What I’d done.” His voice turned hollow. “I didn’t know what else to do… so I left.”

His mother’s expression barely flickered, but something in her eyes cooled—contained. Controlled. “What do you mean… you left?”

“I mean I left,” he said quietly. “I didn’t see her. Didn’t reach out. Not for a few weeks.”

The composure cracked.

“You left her?” Her voice rose, not in volume, but in tone. “No—you abandoned her? After her heat?”

She took a step forward, wine forgotten, fury radiating off her in tight, trembling waves. “Do you have any idea what that does to a female? Emotionally? Psychologically?”

Julian couldn’t look at her.

His eyes dropped to the floor, to the space between his feet—like maybe shame would split it wide enough to swallow him whole. “I have a pretty damn good idea now.”

Her silence stretched for a beat. Then—soft, sharp, and slicing—“Did you apologize? Try to make it right? Anything?”

“I’ve tried,” he said.

“Not hard enough, apparently,” she snapped. “Because most females would’ve accepted the male back in an instant. But if she hasn’t…” Her eyes narrowed. “Then you really did some damage.”

Julian’s voice was hoarse, worn raw from regret. “All the more reason for me to stay out of her life. I’ve hurt her enough and she didn’t deserve any of it—she deserved better—better than me.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides. “I was an idiot. And now I deserve every ounce of her fury. Every cold glance. Every locked door. If happiness means a life without me in it… then that’s what I owe her.”

His mother’s expression shifted—less stern now, more sorrowful. She stepped forward slowly, and with a tenderness only a mother could wield, lifted his chin until his eyes met hers.

She cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly across his skin. “And that may be the most selfless thing you’ll ever do in your life.”

She held his gaze for a long moment.

Then, with a quiet strength, she asked, “But can you live with that?”

He didn’t answer.

She kissed his cheek—soft, motherly—and pulled back just enough to say something that hit with the weight of a reckoning.

“Sometimes… the ones worth fighting for… don’t know they’re still waiting to be fought for.”

She left the room without another word.

Julian stood there for a long moment, the echo of her kiss still warm on his cheek, her final words looping in his head like a question he didn’t know how to answer.

The room felt cavernous in her absence — too quiet, too still.

Eventually, he crossed to the liquor table, grabbed the bottle, and poured himself another drink — then changed his mind and took the whole damn thing.

He left the room quietly and made his way back to his office, where he’d spend the rest of the night steeped in silence, guilt, and whiskey — nursing the weight of everything he couldn’t undo.

—-

Elara returned to the room after some time, her heels striking the floor in a tight, agitated rhythm. She paused at the doorway, scanning the room.

Empty.

The abandoned wine glass and untouched hors d’oeuvres caught her eye—then her gaze narrowed, locking onto the sleek tablet resting on the side table.

She strode over, snatching it up with a sigh. “Ugh, I was recording instead of taking pictures,” she muttered, swiping at the screen.

A thumbnail pulsed with a red dot in the corner—an accidental video.

Elara pressed play without thinking.

She didn’t expect to hear Julian’s voice. Didn’t expect that conversation. His tone was low. Pained. Something unrecognizable.

And as the minutes ticked by, her grip on the tablet tightened.

Her breath grew shallow.

Then sharp.

Then heavy.

Her shoulders tensed, body going rigid as she listened to every detail she was never meant to hear.

He hadn’t just fucked someone else.

He hadn’t even just fallen for someone else.

He had rutted another female. Three days.

His wolf had chosen another—instinctively, irrevocably.

He had marked her. And without a doubt, he had knotted her.

Elara’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling in ragged heaves as something splintered behind her eyes—rage, disbelief, and humiliation tangling like barbed wire inside her.

He hadn’t once knotted Elara. Never once lost control. Never once looked at her like that primal part of him even recognized her.

Not once.

Not even at the height of their intimacy had his wolf been drawn to her that way.

But this female—this wolfless nobody—had triggered the one thing Elara had spent two years trying to awaken in him.

It all made sense now.

The distance. The avoidance. The silence she kept brushing off as stress.

He hadn’t just been distracted — he’d checked out.

He wouldn’t touch her anymore.

Wouldn’t kiss her.

Wouldn’t even lie beside her at night.

He hid away in his office like it was a sanctuary — or an escape.

It wasn’t work.

It wasn’t pressure.

He had given himself to someone else. Instinctually. Body. Soul.

She set the tablet down, her hands trembling now.

There had been no image in the recording—no damning footage. Just the audio.

But it was enough.

More than enough.

Every second of that confession replayed in her mind, feeding a fury she couldn’t contain.

Now she knew exactly what she was dealing with.

And she knew exactly what she needed to do.