Chapter 1

Natasha’s POV

Cole said yes, and I hung up.

I turned back toward the bedroom — and the door swung open. Riven walked in with his Beta right behind him.

"Natasha, there's something going on at the border. We have to head out now."

He pulled me into a hug and pressed a light kiss to my forehead.

"I'm sorry, babe. I promise, when I get back, I'll make it up to you. All my time, just for you."

I stepped back without making it obvious. My expression stayed flat.

Last night I'd lost all sense of him through our bond. I'd been terrified something had happened to him. Even though my body wasn't what it used to be, I was ready to go after him — and instead what I got was him walking in with Helen in his arms, kneeling at my feet, asking for forgiveness.

He told me he'd slept with her because he'd been hit with an aphrodisiac during a fight with rogue wolves, that it would've killed him if he hadn't found relief, that it wasn't a choice.

But our marking ceremony had barely ended, and here he was running back to her again. Was last night really an accident? When he cut off our bond and spent the night with Helen — what was going through his head? Was it genuinely desperation, or was it finally getting the excuse he'd been waiting for?

The more I thought about it, the more I felt like a fool for rushing to save him without a second thought last night.

Riven noticed I wasn't responding. Something flickered in his eyes — unease.

He took my hand. "Natasha, are you upset with me?"

"I get it — today's important to you. I shouldn't be leaving. But this really is urgent. I don't have a choice."

Staring at the man I had once trusted and relied on deeply, I was suddenly overcome with fear.

He was still savoring someone else's touch, and standing right in front of me, playing the devoted mate like nothing had happened.

"Riven." My voice was calm. "I want to dissolve our mate bond."

He went rigid. The warmth drained from his face.

"Is this still about Helen?"

"She got hurt saving my life. Was I just supposed to leave her?"

"We agreed yesterday to drop this. Today's supposed to be our ceremony. Can you please stop picking a fight?"

He kept his voice soft, humble even, but there was no remorse in it — not even a trace. He genuinely didn't see what he'd done wrong.

I almost laughed.

He knew perfectly well what today meant. The ink wasn't even dry on our mate bond, and he'd already rushed off to meet her in secret, lying to my face about a border emergency.

My chest ached. My eyes burned.

Then his phone lit up. He glanced at the screen, and the corner of his mouth curved up — something hungry sliding into his eyes.

He shut off the screen, reached up and patted my head, his voice dropping into that feigned tenderness.

"Okay, stop. When I get back, I'll make it up to you. I promise."

He turned and walked out. Fast.

I stood there and watched him go, the ache in my chest refusing to quit.

Then my phone buzzed.

I looked down — and everything I'd been holding together came apart.

It was a photo from Helen. A portrait of her.

My fingers trembled.

I knew those brushstrokes. I'd know them anywhere. This was Riven's work.

He used to dream about being a painter. His father had thrown out every canvas, every brush, every scrap of it when he found out. I was the one who'd spent nights digging through trash cans in the cold to get it all back.

He'd been so moved. He made me a promise — he'd only ever paint me.

Now he was painting her.

Another message from Helen came through:

"Natasha, sorry — sent that to the wrong person."

She meant to do it.

I took a breath and typed back: "No worries."