CHAPTER 6 : NOT A PLEAD

CELESTE MAGNUS POV

My ankle had gotten worse, and it pulsed, slowly, and heavy. The skin around it was red and slightly swollen, even the smallest contact was enough to irritate it.

I ignored Adrien completely and picked up the small jar of ointment resting beside me, to apply carefully, myself.  

I exhaled shakily, my shoulders dropping with the weight of the effort.

“Why is everything suddenly so hard…” I murmured under my breath, my voice quiet but firm.

My thoughts drifted back to what had happened earlier, replaying in my mind no matter how much I tried to focus on something else. 

Adrien’s wolf… Alabaz.

The way he had surged forward, forcing his aura through the door, scaring Hazel’s maid away without hesitation—it had shocked me more than I wanted to admit, because I remembered something clearly.

There was a time when my own wolf, Bellamy, used to tell me that Alabaz liked Hazel, that he felt comfortable around her, because she was his best friend, calm in her presence in a way that had once made me uneasy. 

Why didn't he run to her like he always does, because she's sick? Or maybe… I just didn’t understand it.

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening slightly around the ointment as frustration and helplessness tangled inside my chest. 

Now, there was a child involved. My child, our child.

A wave of unease washed over me, heavy and suffocating, tightening around my chest until it was hard to breathe properly, until the rhythm of my heart felt like it might betray me at any second.

What if I failed? What if I couldn’t wake my wolf in time? What if… I lost this child too?

“No…” I whispered, shaking my head faintly, refusing to let that thought settle, refusing to allow despair pull  me down. “I won’t let that happen.”

Determined, I picked up the ointment again, forcing myself to try once more despite the discomfort, refusing to let my body decide the limits of my will.

But before I could reach my ankle, the jar was suddenly taken from my hand. I froze instantly, my mind snapping to sharp alertness.

He simply looked at me,  his tall frame lowering with quiet ease, as though this action didn’t require thought, as though it was something his body had already decided before his mind could interfere, and the confidence in his movements made him even harder to read.

For a second, I just stared at him, unable to process what was happening, my thoughts lagging behind the reality unfolding in front of me, leaving me with nothing but the sound of my own uneven breathing.

“You…” I started, my voice soft but edged with confusion and curiosity. “What are you doing?”

“Hold still,” he said, his tone cold but firm, already dipping his fingers into the ointment without waiting for my response, his control quiet but absolute.

And just like that, he began.

His hand wrapped around my ankle, steadying it before applying the ointment, his grip firm enough to keep me from moving but careful enough not to hurt me further, careful enough to leave no doubt that he had done this before, many times, and knew exactly what he was doing.

His palm was warm, rough, familiar, and when his skin brushed against mine, a small shiver ran up my spine before I could stop it, the sensation unexpected and unsettling in a way I wasn’t prepared for, and yet I didn’t pull away.

I sucked in a quiet breath, my fingers curling slightly against the bedsheet as I watched him intently, analyzing, questioning, refusing to be swept along blindly.

He didn’t rush, he didn’t press too hard. Every movement was careful, controlled, as though he was fully aware of how fragile my ankle was, as though he was paying attention even when he acted like he wasn’t, even when his expression betrayed nothing.

The same man who had just days ago looked at me like I was nothing more than a burden was now kneeling in front of me, tending to my injury without complaint, without hesitation, without even being asked, and I found myself resisting the instinct to doubt my own perception.

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t add up, and I didn’t trust it.

“It’s worse than you made it seem,” he muttered under his breath, his brows drawing together slightly as he examined the swelling more closely, his voice low and even.

I blinked at him, caught off guard by the quiet observation, by the subtle acknowledgment of my pain, by the faint trace of concern I didn’t want to admit existed.

“You noticed?” I asked, a faint hint of surprise slipping into my voice despite myself, though I refused to soften or show weakness.

He didn’t look up. “I’m not blind, Celeste.” The words were flat. Neutral.

But something about the way he said it, the way his hand remained steady, careful, deliberate—it didn’t match the coldness in his tone, and that contradiction only made my chest tighten further, leaving a bitter twist in my stomach that refused comfort.

For a moment… just a moment…

It felt like before. Like we hadn’t fallen apart, like we hadn’t lost each other somewhere along the way.

I shut that thought down immediately. That wasn’t real anymore.

He finished quicker than I expected. Pulling his hand away, he wiped his fingers clean with a piece of cloth from the table before standing up, putting distance between us again as though that small moment had never existed.

Just like that, the small warmth disappeared. The space between us returned.

“Adrien…” I called out, my voice steady, refusing to sound pleading.

“Hm.” He didn’t look at me. Just that small, dismissive response, as though even acknowledging me properly required too much effort.

I straightened slightly, forcing myself to stay composed, my expression steady, my voice even. 

“Come with me to a charity gala tomorrow,” I said, keeping my tone firm and deliberate, making it clear this was about necessity, not desire.

That got his attention. Slowly, he turned his head and looked at me, his gaze sharp but unreadable.

“Why?” he asked simply.

I held his gaze, refusing to back down, refusing to soften. “Because I need you there,” I replied. “As my mate.”

Not as my husband. Not as someone I was begging. Just… as a necessity.

He let out a quiet breath and rolled his shoulders slightly, like the entire situation bored him, like this was just another obligation to fulfill.

“Okay,” he muttered, looking away.

Just like that. No hesitation. No argument.

My eyes narrowed slightly, caught off guard, not by relief—but by suspicion.

He noticed it, and he shrugged, already losing interest, as though the conversation no longer mattered.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” He said “I’m tired of arguing, Celeste,” he added, his tone sharpening slightly, the faint irritation returning.

There it was, that cold wall again.

“I’ll follow the agreement,” he continued. “One month. I do what you want. After that, we divorce.”

The words landed heavily between us, settling into the space like something solid and unmovable. Final. Unchangeable.

This time, I didn’t react, didn't question it. Didn’t fight it.

“I understand…” I murmured quietly, lowering my gaze just enough to hide what I was thinking, not breaking, just… done expecting anything more.

“Good.” He turned away without another word, already done with the conversation. “You should rest,” he added as he walked toward the door. “I still have work to do.”

And then, he left. The door closed behind him. The room fell silent again.

I slowly leaned back against the bed, staring up at the ceiling, my mind replaying everything he had said over and over again, not to understand it—but to accept it for what it was.

One month, then we’re done. 

My hand drifted back to my stomach, resting there gently, my fingers pressing lightly as though grounding myself in something real, something that wouldn’t disappear. My only comfort. My only reason to keep holding on.

“The doctor said not to stress…” I whispered faintly to myself.

I let out a slow breath. “I won’t.” Because I couldn’t afford to, not anymore, and not for him.

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the tension out of my body little by little.

“It’s okay…” I whispered softly. “At least… he agreed to go with me.”

Not because it meant anything. But because it was useful.

Maybe that was enough. Or maybe I was just holding on to something that had already slipped through my fingers.

At this point, I will focus on my baby and nothing else. I hope he doesn't change his mind tomorrow, he won't even dare.