Two

Chapter Two: The Space I Was Meant to Fill

Rhea’s POV

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, steady and unhurried, the kind of sound that belonged to someone who was certain of where they were going and unconcerned with who might be waiting for them.

I scrubbed at my cheeks with the back of my hand and turned toward the sink, running water over an already clean tray simply to give myself something to do, something that explained why I was still standing there instead of collapsing under the weight pressing against my chest.

“You’re still awake?”

Leon stood in the doorway, already dressed.

Not casually. Not halfway.

Fully.

His hair was styled with deliberate care, every line sharp, every detail controlled, and the expensive cologne I had given him for his birthday clung to the air, heavy enough to feel intentional. He wore the black shirt I had bought him months ago, the one he’d once laughed at and called too formal for ordinary nights, the one he had said made him look like he was trying too hard.

Funny how emergencies always required his best version.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, forcing my mouth into a smile that felt stiff and unfamiliar as I turned to face him. “You look… dressed up.”

He adjusted his cuffs without looking at me. “Something came up. Pack matters.”

“At this hour?” I asked quietly, glancing toward the clock on the wall. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Being Alpha doesn’t stop because it’s late,” he replied, finally meeting my gaze, irritation flickering briefly before being smoothed away. “You should lie down.”

I stepped closer despite myself and reached for his hand, my fingers brushing his knuckles lightly. “Can it wait? Just for tonight?”

He pulled away as though my touch were an inconvenience rather than comfort, his expression tightening.

“Don’t start, Rhea.”

The sharpness in his tone made my chest constrict. “I’m not starting anything,” I said quickly, already retreating. “I just thought—”

“Thought what?” he interrupted, jaw clenching. “That I’d ignore my responsibilities for you?”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said, the words tumbling over each other in my haste to smooth things over. Then, before I could stop myself, I added with forced lightness, “Unless you’re sneaking off to meet someone else.”

The attempt at humor fell flat between us, brittle and exposed.

His expression hardened instantly, his eyes going cold in a way that made my stomach drop. “What is wrong with you?”

“I was kidding,” I whispered.

“That isn’t funny,” he said quietly, his voice controlled in a way that felt far more dangerous than shouting. “Why are you suddenly acting insecure?”

“I’m not,” I tried to say, but he was already reaching for his keys.

“I’m leaving,” he said flatly. “Don’t wait up.”

The door slammed behind him, the sound echoing through the house long after he was gone, final and absolute.

I stood there, my hand hovering uselessly in the space he had occupied, my body slow to accept what my mind already knew.

He’s picking her up.

Knowing it hurt.

Watching him choose it hurt worse.

After pacing the house until the walls felt too close and the silence too loud, I grabbed my keys, my movements mechanical, driven by something between desperation and denial.

I needed to see it.

Leon didn’t go straight to the airport.

He stopped at Crescent River Bar.

Relief flared briefly despite myself, fragile and unwelcome, whispering that maybe this wasn’t certainty yet, that maybe this was hesitation rather than commitment.

Inside, the bar was dim and crowded, smoke curling lazily beneath low lighting as laughter and conversation blended into a constant hum. I slipped into a booth near the back, shadowed by a decorative column, far enough away to remain unseen but close enough to hear.

Leon sat with members of his inner circle, relaxed, confident, a drink already in his hand.

“So,” one of them said, leaning forward with interest, “she’s really coming back?”

My stomach tightened.

“Yeah,” Leon replied casually. “Her flight’s in a couple hours.”

“And the girl?” another asked. “The one at your place?”

His expression didn’t change. “What about her?”

The dismissal hollowed me out.

“You’ve kept her around a long time,” someone muttered.

“She was never permanent,” Leon said, flicking ash into an empty glass. “I never made promises.”

Laughter rippled around the table, sharp and unkind.

“She does look like Elara, though,” someone added.

“That’s what drew me in,” Leon admitted evenly. “I kept seeing pieces of Elara in her. Guess I wanted something familiar.”

My vision blurred as the words sank in.

“So she was a stand-in,” another voice said.

“More like a convenience,” Leon shrugged. “She’s loyal. Doesn’t question much. Takes care of the house. Easy.”

The laughter that followed scraped against something raw inside me.

“She thinks you love her, doesn’t she?”

Leon smirked. “That was never my problem.”

The words landed like a verdict.

“What happens when Elara asks you to choose?” someone asked.

Leon crushed his cigarette beneath his heel and stood. “Rhea won’t interfere. She has nowhere to go. Wolves like her don’t walk away from comfort.”

“True,” someone agreed. “Flowers and an apology fix anything. That type always stays.”

Leon tossed money onto the table. “I know what I want.”

I don’t remember leaving the bar.

The night air hit my face as I stumbled toward the river, the city lights blurring as the water moved dark and slow beneath the bridge, reflecting a version of me I barely recognized.

Every touch, every word, every promise had been borrowed.

I hadn’t been loved.

I had been useful.

My chest ached so badly I thought it might split open as I scrolled through my contacts until I reached a name I hadn’t touched in months.

The call connected.

“Rhea?”

“Dad,” I said, surprised by the steadiness of my own voice. “I want to come home.”

Silence stretched on the other end of the line.

“What happened?” Alpha Magnus finally asked.

“Nothing,” I replied quietly. “I’m just done pretending.”

“You don’t owe me explanations.”

“I want to accept the bond arrangement,” I said, my grip tightening on the phone. “With Rowan Nightfall.”

He exhaled slowly. “You were never a disappointment to me.”

The words cracked something I’d been holding together through sheer will.

“I’ll finish things here and return soon,” I said.

“Take all the time you need,” he replied. “The offer never expired.”

After the call ended, I stood by the river for a long time, letting the cold air numb my skin.

Ten minutes later, my phone vibrated.

A message from a name I hadn’t expected to see again so soon.

Rowan Nightfall:

The ceremony is scheduled for next month. I’ll arrive in Moonfall City in seven days.

The future I had run from was no longer distant.

It was counting down.

And this time, I wouldn’t run.