3. The Wrong Woman

Chapter 3: The Wrong Woman

ROWAN’S POV

The night was merciless. 

Silence pressed down on me like a weight, but inside my chest, everything was chaos. The echo of Anya’s broken voice lingered, ringing through my skull, refusing to fade. 

When she looked at me with those wide, devastated eyes and said the words that severed us forever, it was as if claws had raked through my insides. The pain of rejection had ripped through me, dragging me to my knees. I’d clenched my teeth, forced myself not to show weakness in front of her.

But alone in my room, I couldn’t stop trembling. 

I should have felt relieved. That’s what I kept telling myself. I had cut ties with the girl who carried my parents’ blood on her hands. The girl I should hate. Instead, I couldn’t stop replaying the look on her face when the bond snapped, the tears streaking her cheeks, the way my name had trembled on her lips.

My chest ached like the bond had left a wound inside me. No matter how deep I tried to bury it, her name rose up, stubborn and relentless. 

A knock came at my door. I didn’t answer. Whoever it was, I didn’t want company.

The door creaked open anyway. Cassandra.

She never waited for permission. She glided inside, silk sliding against her skin, lips painted red and curved into a smile that was meant to be irresistible. She always walked like the world was hers to the taking. 

“You’ve locked yourself away all day,” she said, shutting the door behind her with a soft click. “That’s no way for an Alpha to behave.”

Her voice was sweet, lilting, but there was steel beneath it. Cassandra always had a way of making her words sound like commands wrapped in velvet.

“I’m not in the mood,” I muttered, sinking deeper into the chair by the window. 

“That’s exactly why I came.” She crossed the room, her perfume enveloping me, cloying and heavy. “You need me, Rowan. Stop pretending you don’t.”

Before I could protest, she slid onto my lap, straddling me. Her hands curled over my shoulders, nails grazing my skin as her body pressed against mine. Heat radiated from her, her smile sly as she leaned in, lips brushing mine. 

I should have pushed her off. I should have told her to leave me the hell alone. But I didn’t. I was too tired, too raw, too hollow to fight. So I let her kiss me.

Her mouth was hot, demanding, her kiss more possession than affection. She always kissed like she was proving something, like she was staking her claim. I kissed her back because maybe—just maybe—if I drowned myself in her, if I lost myself in the wrong woman, I could forget the right one. 

But no matter how hard I tried, Anya’s face haunted me. Her voice whispered through me. Her name throbbed against my lips even as Cassandra’s pressed against them. 

Cassandra moaned softly when I lifted her, carrying her to the bed. Her dress pooled on the floor as I pushed her down, her body arching beneath mine, eager and certain of her hold on me. She clung to me as though she believed she could tether me here, drag me back from the ghost that consumed me. 

Her nails scratched across my back, her voice breathless as she urged me on. I gave her what she wanted because it was easier than facing the storm inside me. My movements were harsh, driven, desperate to erase the ache Anya left behind. 

Cassandra gasped and writhed beneath me, her cries filling the room, but none of it reached me. Every thrust only dragged me further into the hollow emptiness Anya had carved out. Because it wasn’t Cassandra’s face I saw when I closed my eyes. It wasn’t her touch that lingered on my skin. 

It was Anya. It had always been Anya.

When it was over, I rolled onto my back, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling. Cassandra curled against me, her body hot and slick with sweat, satisfaction dripping from every curve of her mouth. She always mistook my silence for surrender. 

“You’ve been avoiding the subject,” she whispered against my ear, her breath warm.

“What subject, Cass?” I asked, though I already knew.

“Marrying me and making me Luna of the pack.” Her tone sharpened, as if daring me to defy her. “You promised to marry me on the night of the red moon. It’s fast approaching and you’ve not made any plans.”

My jaw clenched. I forced my expression to stay flat. “I haven’t forgotten, and plans have been made.”

Her smile widened, smug, victorious. “That’s my baby.”

She pressed her lips to my neck, lingering like a brand. I let her, though my stomach churned. I had made the promise. To her, to her father, to the pack. And for reasons I couldn’t unravel even in my own head, I intended to keep it.

But my heart and wolf? They had never been hers.

I pulled away, muttering something about needing to wash up, and escaped to the bathroom. 

The shower hissed to life, steam filling the air. I stood under the scorching spray, bracing my hands against the tile, bowing my head as water burned my skin. I wanted the heat to scour Anya out of me, to cauterize the wound she had left. But it didn’t. Nothing could. 

By the time I shut the water off and toweled down, Cassandra’s voice drifted through the door. Low, sharp, nothing like the sultry tone she had used with me. 

“…yes, tonight,” she said, clipped and cold. “Make sure it happens exactly as we planned. No mistakes.” 

I froze, towel clenched in my hands. 

A pause. Then her voice again, even harder. “I don’t care how you do it. Just make sure she doesn’t see tomorrow.”

My pulse spiked.

She ended the call quickly, the quiet thud of the phone on the drawer following. I stood in the doorway, silent, my mind racing. Make sure she doesn’t see tomorrow.

Who? 

Anya’s face flashed unbidden through my thoughts, and for the first time in hours, the hollowness in my chest was replaced by something else. A cold, sharp dread. 

Cassandra turned at the sound of the bathroom door, slipping a smile back onto her face as easily as she slipped into one of her dresses. She looked at me with that same practiced sweetness, patting the space beside her on the bed.

“There you are,” she purred. “Come back to bed.”

But I didn’t move. 

I stood in the doorway, watching her, suspicion coiling tight in my gut. My eyes locked on her, searching for cracks in her mask. She tilted her head innocently, as if she hadn’t just spoken words that chilled my blood. 

And in that moment, I realized something dangerous. 

Cassandra wasn’t just dangerous because of the way she used her body. She was dangerous because she was hiding something—something lethal. 

And I had no idea who she meant to destroy.