Chapter Twenty-Nine

The streets were nearly empty by the time Kaelani locked the bakery behind her. The heat that had clung to the town all summer was finally breaking; the night air carried a faint chill that slipped beneath her sleeves. Her boots scuffed against the sidewalk, the sound too loud in the quiet.

She kept her eyes ahead, the glow of streetlights flickering in patches along the road. Every so often, a gust of wind from a passing car stirred the stray pieces loose from her braid, brushing against her face like a taunt.

He can go back to his perfect world, she thought. To his Luna and his rules and all the people who worship the ground he walks on. She didn’t need any of it.

A dog barked somewhere down the block, sharp in the stillness. The air smelled faintly of dust and cooling asphalt.

She hugged her arms around herself but refused to call it shivering. It was just the cold. That was all.

Another gust swept through, carrying a whisper of rain. She tilted her head toward the sky — dark, heavy with clouds — and muttered, “Figures.”

By the time she reached her house, her anger had cooled into something quieter. Not peace. Just the hollow stillness that came after the storm.

And then she saw it — a rectangular package sitting neatly on her porch step.

Kaelani hesitated on the porch, her gaze sweeping over the box. No markings, no return address—just her name, written in confident, unfamiliar handwriting. She crouched to pick it up, the faintest scent of cedarwood and Dior Sauvage clinging to the paper. A scent that was now ingrained in her memory.

Inside, the house was still and dim, the air cool against her flushed skin. She set the box down on the kitchen table, flicked on the overhead light, and reached for a pair of scissors.

The tape peeled back with a soft tear. Beneath the lid, layers of delicate tissue paper rustled as she pushed them aside—and then her breath caught.

Scarlet.

The red dress lay folded with impossible care, its satin gleaming under the light like poured wine. For a second, she couldn’t move. The memory of it—of that boutique window, of how she’d stood there imagining another version of herself in it—slammed into her with a force that made her chest ache.

Her fingers hovered just above the fabric before she touched it, tracing the smooth surface, the faint chill of it. The weight of the moment pressed down before she noticed the slip of paper tucked neatly beneath one strap.

She lifted it slowly, unfolding the note.

I told you I thought it’d look great on you.

But I know for a fact you would look absolutely beautiful in it.

The handwriting was firm, deliberate—undeniably his.

Her stomach twisted. She stared at the words until they burned, until the edges of her anger and confusion started to blur with something far more dangerous.

She set the note down beside the box and stepped back, arms crossing tightly over her chest.

“Of course,” she whispered, the bitterness soft but trembling. “Of course it’s from him.”

But even as she said it, her eyes couldn’t help flicking back to the dress—its folds catching the light, the same red that had wrapped around her in the dream.

Kaelani stood there for a long time, staring at the box like it might vanish if she blinked hard enough. But curiosity—or maybe something she refused to name—drew her closer again.

She reached down and lifted the dress from its nest of tissue, the fabric spilling over her hands like liquid fire. The material caught the light with every movement, shifting between crimson and wine, soft and impossibly smooth beneath her fingers.

The stitching was fine, precise; the satin soft enough to whisper against her skin as she pressed it to her front. She carried it to her bedroom, the hem brushing against her bare feet, and stopped before the mirror.

For a heartbeat, she didn’t recognize the woman staring back. The glass showed her draped in a dream—red satin against her figure, the hint of a smile that didn’t belong to her anymore. The reflection staring back was almost unfamiliar—a flash of what could’ve been.

A woman who belonged somewhere. A woman who might have been loved out loud.

Her throat tightened.

Why?

The word throbbed in her chest. Why send this? Why now?

Did he think this made anything right? That an $800 dress could fill the hollow he’d carved into her? Did he think she’d see this, remember his voice saying she’d look beautiful in it, and forget the way he made her feel disposable?

Her hand clenched around the fabric. She didn’t need him to buy her things. She could’ve bought it herself.

But what would be the point?

Her reflection blurred as her tears began to reach the surface. She blinked hard. “Doesn’t matter,” she whispered to no one. “There’s nowhere to wear it. No one to wear it for.”

Anger caught up to her all at once. She marched back to the kitchen table and shoved the dress back into the box, not bothering to fold it this time. The tissue crumpled, the flaps slammed shut with a hollow sound that echoed through the room.

Her hand found her face, dragging down as she exhaled, weary to her bones.

She crossed the room and sank into the window nook, pulling her knees up to her chest. Outside, rain sheeted across the garden—her garden—turning the flowers into dark silhouettes. The sound should’ve been calming. It always was. But tonight it only made the silence inside her louder.

The world smelled of wet earth and heartbreak.

It was in moments like this that the truth hit hardest—when the noise stopped, when she was left alone with nothing but her pulse and the rain.

She wasn’t eating much.

She wasn’t sleeping at all.

There was an ache under her ribs that refused to fade, something vast and hollow that no amount of defiance could quiet.

She rested her forehead against the cold glass, eyes closing.

“Get over it,” she murmured, voice shaking.

But the ache only pulsed harder in reply.

The rain had softened into a steady drizzle by the time Kaelani’s eyes grew too heavy to fight. Her breath fogged the glass as she leaned against the windowpane, lashes fluttering once, then still. Outside, the world faded into muted shadows and silver streaks, the rhythm of rain coaxing her into uneasy sleep.

Across the street, Julian sat in his car with the engine off, the interior dark except for the faint glow of the dashboard clock. He hadn’t planned to follow her home. He’d told himself he was only making sure she got there safely—to calm the restless animal clawing beneath his skin.

But his wolf wasn’t appeased. He was furious.

Pacing.

Snarling.

Tearing at Julian’s chest like he could rip his way free and run to her.

The wolf wanted to comfort her, to soothe what he saw as his own wound. Her pain was a living, breathing thing inside him now, and he couldn’t cage it no matter how hard he tried.

Julian gripped the steering wheel until the leather creaked, forcing a slow breath through his teeth. “She’s fine,” he muttered, like saying it could make it true. “She’s fine.”

But the wolf wasn’t fooled, and neither was he.

He’d seen her face when she thought he was gone.

Seen the way her composure cracked the second she was alone.

Those tears—goddess, he’d never meant to see them. Never wanted to. Because now he couldn’t unsee them. Couldn’t unfeel the way his chest ached with every drop that slid down her cheek.

His wolf pressed harder, its rage and grief blending into one relentless demand: Go to her.

Julian shut his eyes, jaw clenched tight enough to hurt. “I can’t,” he whispered. “You don’t understand.”

But the truth was, it wasn’t just the wolf who didn’t understand.

He didn’t either.

If this was guilt, it had long since outgrown its name.

If it was remorse, it had become something worse—something that was apart of him now, gnawing at everything that made him feel human.

He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze lifting toward the faint glow from her window. She’d gone still, probably asleep. He exhaled, shoulders sagging under the weight of something far too heavy for him to stand.

He wondered if she’d opened the package yet. If she’d seen the dress.

Did she like it? Did it make her smile, even for a moment?

Or had it just reopened everything he’d already destroyed?

He’d told himself the gift would soften her—ease some of the anger she had towards him. But after tonight, after seeing the pain in her eyes, he finally understood.

He hadn’t just hurt her pride. He had broken something purer—something that didn’t know how to hate him until he taught it to.

Julian’s head fell back against the seat, the rhythm of the rain dulling to a hypnotic hush against the windshield. He told himself he’d leave in a minute—just one more minute—but his eyes grew heavy, his body too tired to keep fighting the war inside his chest. The wolf quieted at last, its growl turning into a low, restless hum as sleep crept in at the edges.

When he opened his eyes again, everything was silent.

No rain.

No distant rumble of thunder.

Just stillness.

He blinked, frowning as his surroundings shifted. He was no longer in the car. The air carried the heavenly aroma of honey and cinnamon—a scent he could never mistake—Kaelani.

He glanced around, heart thudding. Her house.

But how the hell…?

He didn’t remember getting out of the car.

Didn’t remember walking to the door.

Didn’t remember entering.

A strange pull guided him forward through the dimly lit room, his footsteps soundless against the floorboards. Then he saw her—curled up by the window, knees tucked to her chest, the rain-streaked glass behind her catching the faint shimmer of streetlight.

That’s no place for her to sleep, he thought. Not her. Not like that.

He moved closer, every step careful, reverent. The sight of her unraveled something in him he didn’t know how to name. She looked so small, so fragile beneath the dim light—and yet, even in sleep, she radiated a quiet strength that pulled at his aching heart.

He crouched near her, letting his gaze trace her features—the curve of her cheek, the dark lashes resting against skin still faintly flushed from tears.

He remembered that face.

He remembered it from the morning after the rut, soft and beautiful in the light breaking through her window.

An instinct had risen in him then, primal and pure—to press his lips against her skin, to leave kisses across her face until she stirred awake beneath his touch.

But he didn’t.

He panicked instead.

He had been a coward.

And he ran.

Deserted her.

Julian moved closer and slipped his arms beneath her. She stirred, lashes fluttering, breath catching as she blinked through the haze of sleep.

“Julian?” She whispered, Confusion crossing her features. “How did you…?”

He didn’t answer. He only held her, lifting her from where she’d fallen asleep by the window. She felt so small in his arms—so achingly real. He carried her toward the bedroom, every step slow, reverent, like he was afraid the moment would break if he breathed too loud.

He laid her down, pulling the blanket out from under her, then slipped beneath it beside her. The bed dipped with his weight, his warmth finding hers.

When he drew her into his arms, she pulled away from him. “I don’t want you here… I don’t need you,” she murmured, but her voice trembled, betraying the truth her stubborn heart would never let her say aloud.

He held her closer, unwilling to let her go—never again. His breath ghosted over her neck, her scent pulling at every frayed edge of his restraint until it hurt to breathe. “But I need you,” he whispered, the words breaking something deep inside him.

For a moment, she tensed—then exhaled, the resistance melting from her body as she sank against him, letting his warmth and the quiet between them swallow the rest of the night.