Chapter 18

Cora's POV

Happiness doesn’t arrive all at once.

It doesn’t crash into you like pain does, loud and merciless. It settles instead, quiet, careful, almost shy. Like it’s afraid you’ll send it away if it makes too much noise.

I wake up smiling before I realize I’m doing it.

Sunlight spills through the window, pale and warm, brushing against my skin like a promise. The house is quiet, too quiet to belong to a pack, but that’s what makes it feel safe. This isn’t a pack house filled with judgmental eyes or whispered expectations. This is Eric’s home. Hannah’s home.

Mine, for now.

I stretch beneath the blankets, listening to the faint sounds of movement downstairs. Hannah’s laugh drifts up the stairwell, bright and unrestrained, followed by the clatter of dishes. The scent of coffee curls into the hallway, rich and grounding.

I smile before I can stop myself.

I never used to smile like this.

The thought still startles me sometimes, but it feels truer every day.

My mind drifts, uninvited, back to last night.

The restaurant. The way Eric watched me like nothing else in the room existed. The conversation that flowed so easily it felt like we’d known each other far longer than we had. And the kiss—slow, intentional, real.

Not driven by fate.

Chosen.

That’s the part that makes my chest ache in the best way.

By the time I make it downstairs, Hannah is already dressed, bouncing on her heels like she’s had too much caffeine. “You’re up!” she says. “Good. I made plans.”

That alone should scare me.

“Plans?” I echo cautiously.

She grins wider. “Girls’ day.”

I hesitate, instinctively pulling inward. Old habits. Old fears. “You don’t have to.....”

“I want to,” she interrupts, softer now. “And you need it.”

Something in her tone makes my throat tighten.

So I nod.

"Let's have breakfast first"She says.

Breakfast was already set out on the table "Thanks Hannah"

“You’re glowing,” she announces, dropping into the seat across from me.

I nearly choke on my drink. “I am not.”

“You absolutely are,” she insists. “It’s disgusting.”

I laugh, unable to stop myself. “You’re dramatic.”

“True,” she concedes easily. “But also right. So. Date.”

I groan. “You promised you wouldn’t interrogate me.”

“I promised nothing,” she says sweetly. “Now talk.”

“What?” I ask innocently.

“You look like someone who just got kissed properly for the first time.”

Heat floods my face. “I do not.”

She laughs, delighted. “You absolutely do. So? Tell me everything.”

I try to deflect, but Hannah is relentless. Eventually, I give in, recounting the date in shy fragments—the food, the conversation, the kiss. With every word, her smile grows wider.

“I knew he liked you.” She declares.

I duck my head. “It’s… nice. Being liked. Chosen.”

She softens then, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “You deserve that. And more.”

By the time I finish, she’s grinning like she’s just won something.

“I knew it,” she says triumphantly. “I knew he’d be different with you.”

I pick at the edge of the table, suddenly shy. “It felt… easy. Like I didn’t have to be anything other than myself.”

Her expression softens. “That’s how it’s supposed to feel.”

After breakfast, she drags me out of the house with barely enough time to grab my jacket.

“We’re going out,” she declares.

“To where?”

“The salon,” she says decisively. “New chapter, new hair.”

“I like my hair,” I protest.

“You’ll love it,” she counters.

The salon is cozy and warm, filled with laughter and the low hum of conversation. I sit in the chair, watching my reflection nervously as the stylist works. Hannah lounges nearby, chatting like she owns the place.

“So,” she says casually, eyes meeting mine in the mirror, “how long do you think it’ll be before he asks you out again?”

My face burns. “Hannah!”

She laughs. “I’m serious. He’s smitten.”

“I don’t think Eric does ‘smitten,’” I say.

She tilts her head thoughtfully. “He does with you.”

The salon leaves me lighter than I expected.

Not just because my hair feels softer, cleaner, trimmed into something that frames my face instead of hiding it—but because for once, I’m laughing without restraint. Hannah chatters nonstop as we walk outside, swinging the small bag with hair products like it’s a prize she won.

“You look hot,” she declares. “Like, actually unfair.”

I roll my eyes, heat creeping up my cheeks. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not,” she insists. “Eric is going to notice.”

That makes my stomach flutter in a way I don’t admit out loud.

Afterward, we head to visit one of Hannah’s friends who lives in the pack housing near where Anton stays. The house is loud and welcoming, filled with warmth and easy camaraderie. I curl up on the couch, listening more than talking, content just to be there.

Anton shows up halfway through, groaning when he sees us.

“Why are you both here?” he asks.

“To improve your mood,” Hannah replies brightly.

He snorts but hands me a drink anyway. “You holding up?”

I nod. “I really am.”

And it’s true.

He gives a short smile, like that answer matters, then leaves.

By the time Hannah and I head back toward Eric’s house, the sun is dipping low, painting the sky in gold and soft pinks. The walk is quiet, comfortable. My body feels lighter. Stronger.

Happy.

The realization startles me.

I don’t notice the scent until it’s too late.

My steps slow.

My heart stutters.

Hannah keeps talking for another moment before noticing. “Cora?”

I’m staring ahead.

At the edge of Frostbite territory stands a man I recognize instantly.

Derek Lincoln.

His presence is a blade, sharp, commanding, cold. Everything about him screams authority and control.

My chest tightens painfully.

Then someone steps into view behind him.

Cain.

The world tilts.

He looks older. Broader. His gaze is sharper now, more burdened. The bond, long severed, long silent, doesn’t flare, but memory crashes into me all the same. Rejection. Pain. Love I never got.

Hannah stiffens beside me.

“Oh,” she says quietly. "Your ex mate?"

I could barely nod.

Cain’s eyes lift.

They lock onto mine.

And in that moment, the past finds me.

Not as a wound.

But as something I’ve survived.

I don’t run.

I don’t crumble.

I stand my ground.

Because for the first time in my life, I belong somewhere.

And I won’t let anyone take that from me.