CHAPTER 17: WHO'S CELESTE

EMBER'S POV

Rayana swoops in and kisses Knox's cheek, holding it just long enough to make a point, then pivots to me with eyes like polished amethyst.

"Knox, darling," she purrs, ignoring me completely. "You look absolutely devastating tonight. Have you been working out? You seem even more..." She trails her fingers down his shoulder. "Sexy."

Knox removes her hand. "Rayana, this is Ember Aragon. My girlfriend."

The word girlfriend stills the air.

Rayana's smile freezes for half a second before stretching wider.

"Your girlfriend." She turns those lavender eyes on me, and I feel like I'm being appraised for resale value. "Oh my god, hi! You're even prettier up close!"

She extends a hand with nails filed to weapon-grade sharpness. Her handshake is surprisingly strong, like she's testing my bones.

"Ember," I manage.

"Ember! What a gorgeous name. Very earthy. Very..." She tilts her head. "Organic."

Across the table, Queenie rolls her eyes so hard I'm worried they'll get stuck.

Rayana sits in the empty chair next to Knox without being invited, crossing her legs with the grace of someone who's spent their life being photographed.

"So how did you two meet? I'm dying to know."

Knox's expression could freeze fire. "We met recently."

"Recently," Rayana repeats, delighted. "How recently? Last week? Yesterday?" She laughs like it's the funniest thing she's ever heard. "Oh, Knox, you always did move fast when something caught your eye."

"Fast enough," Knox says flatly.

I clear my throat. "It's been a whirlwind."

"A whirlwind!" Rayana claps her hands together. "Oh, that's so romantic! Very swept-off-your-feet, very..." She waves vaguely. "Spontaneous. I love that for you."

The way she says it makes "spontaneous" sound like a synonym for "reckless mistake."

"How long were you two together?" I ask, because if she's going to play this game, I might as well know the rules.

Rayana's smile sharpens. "Oh, ages ago. We dated for three years before I left for Paris. I had a modeling contract, you know. Couldn't pass it up." She touches Knox's arm. "Though I've always wondered what would have happened if I'd stayed."

Knox moves his arm. "You made your choice. And I respected that.”

"You did," Rayana sighs wistfully. "And look at us now. You with your beautiful new girlfriend, and me with..." She touches her throat delicately. "Well. Six months left. At most."

The table goes awkward-silent.

"I'm sorry," I say, because what else do you say to that?

"Oh, don't be!" Rayana beams at me. "I'm at peace with it. Really. Terminal illness gives you such clarity about what really matters." Her eyes lock on Knox with unsettling intensity. "It makes you realize who you truly loved. Who you should have fought for." She pauses, voice dropping. "I mean, Knox knows what that's like. Losing someone. Don't you, darling? After Celeste—"

"Rayana," Knox says, voice deadly quiet.

"I'm just saying, grief changes you." She turns to me with wide, innocent eyes. "Has Knox told you about Celeste? His mate? I was there for him after she died. It was such a devastating time."

Knox's knuckles go white around his glass. I have no idea who Celeste is, but clearly she matters. A lot.

Rayana continues, undeterred. "Anyway, all that matters in the end is love, isn't it?"

"Sure," I say, trying to think of something—anything—to say that won't sound stupid. "Though I guess technically, pizza also matters. In the grand scheme of things."

It's a terrible joke. I know it immediately.

But Rayana throws her head back and laughs—this huge, exaggerated laugh that echoes across the table.

"Oh my god," she gasps, wiping her eyes. "You're hilarious! Isn't she hilarious, Knox?"

Knox looks at me like he's trying to figure out if I'm serious.

I want to die.

"Pizza," Rayana repeats, still giggling. "I love it. You're so refreshingly real, Ember. Most omegas at these things are so uptight, but you just—" She makes an explosion gesture with her hands. "You just go for it. I love that."

Queenie mouths ‘kill me’ from across the table.

"Well," I say weakly, "I try."

"You don't have to try, sweetie. That's what makes it so charming." Rayana leans forward, elbows on the table. "So where are you from? Your family must be so proud that you're dating the Lycan King."

"Seattle. And it's... just me now."

"Just you?" Rayana's eyes widen with performative sympathy. "Oh, that's so brave. A lone wolf in the big city. That must have been so hard."

"It was fine."

"You're being modest. I can tell." Rayana reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "But you don't have to be modest with me. We're going to be such good friends. I can already tell."

Her hand is ice-cold.

Knox clears his throat. "Rayana, you should probably—"

"Oh, I know, I know. I'm monopolizing the conversation." Rayana releases my hand and sits back. "I just get so excited meeting new people. Especially when they're dating someone I care about so deeply." She looks at Knox with something that's supposed to be fondness but reads like ownership. "We have such history together. Don't we, darling?"

And for one horrible second, I picture it—Knox and Rayana together. His hands on her perfect body, his mouth on hers, doing all the filthy things he does to me but with her instead. The image makes me sick. She's beautiful in a way I'll never be. Did he love her? Worship and shower with her?

The jealousy claws at something inside me I didn't know existed until this moment, something possessive and ugly that terrifies me. Sapphire growls in the back of my mind.

"Ancient history," Knox says.

"Ancient," Rayana agrees, laughing again—that same fake, too-loud laugh. "God, you're so funny when you're being cold. That's what I always loved about you."

Nathaniel shifts uncomfortably. Queenie looks ready to stab someone with a butter knife.

"Anyway," Rayana says, standing gracefully. "I should let you all enjoy your dinner. But first—" She raises her wine glass. "Can I make a toast?"

Half the table looks uncomfortable. The other half is already lifting their glasses.

"To love," Rayana begins, voice trembling slightly. "To second chances. To finding joy even when time is running out." She looks directly at Knox, eyes shimmering. "And to letting go of the people we can't have, even when it breaks our hearts."

She drinks, then dabs at her eyes with her napkin. The applause is soft but genuine. She turns to Queenie with a bright smile, all tears suddenly evaporated.

"Queenie, darling, come with me to the bar. I need you to catch me up on everything."

Queenie shoots me a look that says help me.

"Go," I mouth. "I'm fine."

Rayana loops her arm through Queenie's and sweeps away, laughing about something only she finds funny. The second they're gone, I exhale.

"Sweet Selene," Nathaniel mutters. "She's even worse than I remembered."

Knox is staring at his plate like he wants to set it on fire.

"Who's Celeste?" I ask quietly.

Knox goes very still.

Nathaniel clears his throat and leans toward Knox, lowering his voice.

"We should talk about the council thing—"

"Who's Celeste?" I repeat.

Knox doesn't answer. Just picks up his whiskey and drains it. Queenie returns a few minutes later, sliding into her seat with a look of shell-shocked horror.

"She just spent five minutes telling me about her bucket list," Queenie hisses. "Which is apparently just 'spend more time with Knox' in twenty different fonts."

"Who's Celeste?" I ask her.

Queenie's face does something complicated. She glances at Knox, who's now in a low, tense conversation with Nathaniel about something involving pack council votes.

"Celeste was Knox's mate," Queenie whispers. "His true mate. She died a few years ago."

The words land like a punch. "He had a mate?"

"Yeah. It's not a secret, but people don't bring her up around him. It's... complicated."

"How did she die?"

Queenie's expression goes carefully neutral. "That's Knox's story to tell, not mine."

"But—"

"Ember." Queenie's voice is gentle but firm. "Some things you need to hear from him. Not me."

I want to push, but Queenie's right. This isn't her story to tell. I look at Knox, still deep in conversation with Nathaniel, jaw tight, shoulders tense.

He had a mate. A true mate. And she died.

And he never told me.

Before I can process this, Gale stands up across the room, tapping his fork against his wine glass.

Oh no.

He's drunk—face flushed, eyes glassy, swaying slightly. The room goes quiet.

"I'd like to make a toast," he announces, voice slurring.

Knox goes very still beside me.

Gale clears his throat, suddenly looking broken and contrite.

"I want to apologize for earlier. I was inappropriate. Out of line. And I'm deeply sorry for any distress I caused my wife, Ember."

His voice cracks on my name like he's holding back tears. My stomach drops.

"I also need to address something." His voice gets stronger, more confident. "There have been accusations. About my personal life. About my... sexuality."

The room leans in.

"Those allegations are completely false. They're malicious lies spread by someone who wants to justify stealing another man's wife."

He doesn't say Knox's name. He doesn't have to.

"I wasn't a perfect husband," Gale continues, voice breaking again. "I worked too much. I didn't always show love the right way. But god, I loved Ember. And it kills me that she never felt that was enough."

Someone makes a sympathetic sound.

"I just want her to be happy." Gale's voice drops to barely a whisper. "Even if that means watching her with someone else. Even if it destroys me."

He sits down, burying his face in his hands. The applause starts—tentative, then building. I can't breathe. Every person in this room just watched Gale paint himself as the noble, heartbroken husband.

"I need the bathroom," I say, standing abruptly.

Knox catches my wrist. "You okay?"

"I just need a minute."

He studies my face, then nods. "Don't be long."

I walk through the crowd with my chin up, even though I'm dying. The hallway is blessedly empty. I push into the women's bathroom and lock myself in the last stall.

Breathe. Just breathe.

The door opens.

Footsteps—too heavy for heels.

I unlock the stall and step out.

Logan Reeves stands by the sinks, impeccable in his suit, expression cold and calculating. For a moment, I freeze.

"Men's room is across the hall," I say.

"I know." He doesn't move. "We need to talk, Ember. About your future. And how much it's worth to you."

The lock clicks behind him.