Ixora, a wolf less omega, couldn't believe her eyes when she discovered that her fiancee is cheating on her. But like a soft girl she is. She forgave him after he promised not to cheat on her again. On her birthday night when he is supposed to announce her as his fiancee, Christopher publicly crushed her in front of the whole pack, rejecting her, leaving her humiliated and broken them chose her sister over her. But fate has other plans. When she thought all hope is lost, a stranger returns- Christopher's psychotic brother who was sent to an asylum years back. He was crazy and a psycho but he turned out to be her mate. He claimed her and soon step up as the new Alpha of the pack. His mission was to also break her and to make his brother jealous, but will it grow to obsession? Is his ice heart going to melt for a soft girl like her?
View MoreRONAN POVThe walk back was longer than it should’ve been.The sun had already started to dip low in the sky, slipping behind the trees with a quiet kind of finality. It painted everything in gold and bruised purple, like dusk had something to say but didn’t know how to say it. The wind was sharp, slicing through the trees and against my skin like it had a message for me. Like it had grown tired of watching me lose her, piece by piece, and wanted to remind me just how much time I had already wasted.Every step felt heavier than the last. Like the ground wanted to keep me from reaching her. Like even the forest had started picking sides.By the time I reached the porch, my hands were fists in my coat pockets. I didn’t know if I was trying to hold the cold in or keep something darker from spilling out. Regret maybe. Rage. Guilt. I didn’t know what I was walking into, only that it was probably more than I deserved.I don’t know what I expected when I opened the front door.Silence, maybe
RONAN POV There was a tightness I couldn’t shake.Not the physical kind. Not something I could stretch out or bleed away. This one sat in my chest, right under the bone, where instinct lived. Where memory scraped raw.Ixora had been quieter since her talk with Flora. She didn’t say much after she came back in — just went straight to bed without finishing her tea. She tried to hide it, but I saw the weight in her shoulders. The kind of heaviness that didn’t come from a fight but from remembering why you had to keep fighting.I thought maybe sleep would help her. That maybe tonight, for once, the ghosts would leave her alone.I was wrong.She came back down just after sunset. No shoes. Eyes a little too wide. And in her hand — a scarf.I knew it before she said a word. That scarf didn’t belong to this moment. It was from another time. One she hadn’t spoken of in a long while. Her fingers were clenched around it like it might vanish if she let go.She held it out to me. Said nothing.I
IXORA POVThe air had that hush again.The kind that comes right before something breaks. Not loud. Not obvious. The kind of hush that slips under doorframes and curls around your ankles. The kind that waits.I didn’t know what pulled me out of the house.Maybe it was the sun slipping too fast behind the trees or the silence pressing too tightly against the windows. Maybe it was the stillness in the living room, too heavy to breathe in. Or maybe it was just me tired of waiting for the world to make sense, tired of the way my own name sounded inside this house when no one else said it.I needed to move. To feel the ground underneath me. To remind myself that I was still here, still whole, even if everything else was starting to come undone.So I walked.My boots sank a little with each step. The earth was still soft from the morning rain, and the scent of pine clung to everything wet and sharp, like memory. I passed the training grounds. Grass flattened in places where Ronan had
CHRIS POVThe house was too quiet.Not the kind of quiet that brings peace, the other kind. The hollow kind. The kind that made every breath echo off walls that didn’t want me anymore. I hadn’t been here in weeks. Maybe months. Time felt strange now, like it warped in my hands, slipping between my fingers whenever I tried to hold onto it. The scent of the house was stale, like forgotten clothes left too long in a closed suitcase. The kind of smell that clings to memories you never asked to keep.Nothing moved. No sound. No breeze. Just me and the past, sitting shoulder to shoulder like two ghosts in the same skin.There was a picture still on the side table.Me and her.Ixora’s smile was soft that day. I remembered it without effort. Like it had been waiting in some back room of my mind all this time. She’d braided her hair and used that stupid little butterfly clip I bought her from a roadside stand. Purple. Plastic. It had snapped before nightfall, and yet she’d worn it like it w
FLORA POVThey’ll say I broke her.Let them.They’ll say I twisted blood and bond and bent it into something cruel. That I carved the marrow of sisterhood into something sharp enough to wound. But what they’ll never admi, what no one dares say aloud, is that she let me.Ixora gave me the knife the day she chose to shine without asking who it would blind. She let the world fall in love with her sorrow, let them crown her survivor, like grief was a throne and she earned it by simply still breathing. But we all bled.She just made a religion out of hers.And I was always the heretic.I watched her again tonight. From the west wing. She stood by the window, silhouetted by a moon far too gentle for the things we carry. Her shoulders were tense, lips parted like she almost remembered something, but then didn’t. That’s how it works now. She forgets in pieces. A name here. A truth there. Her fire flickers when it used to roar. And still, she calls it growth.Still, she thinks the light b
FLORA POVThey’ll say I broke her.Let them.They’ll say I twisted blood and bond and bent it into something cruel. That I carved the marrow of sisterhood into something sharp enough to wound. But what they’ll never admi, what no one dares say aloud, is that she let me.Ixora gave me the knife the day she chose to shine without asking who it would blind. She let the world fall in love with her sorrow, let them crown her survivor, like grief was a throne and she earned it by simply still breathing. But we all bled.She just made a religion out of hers.And I was always the heretic.I watched her again tonight. From the west wing. She stood by the window, silhouetted by a moon far too gentle for the things we carry. Her shoulders were tense, lips parted like she almost remembered something, but then didn’t. That’s how it works now. She forgets in pieces. A name here. A truth there. Her fire flickers when it used to roar. And still, she calls it growth.Still, she thinks the light b
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