Chapter 2: False Comfort

I barely slept that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Scott's voice again.

The next morning, a black Cartier box sat on my desk—a gift from Freya.

I stared at it for a long time before finally picking it up. Father would surely demand this item reach its destination. I knew full well the price I would pay for disappointing him. Old habits die hard.

Beckett Tower loomed proudly, its black glass walls reflecting the morning sun. The building didn't feel like a home, but rather like the headquarters of someone who could buy the government for fun.

The elevator doors opened, revealing the penthouse.

Xavier Beckett was waiting.

He was wearing dark gray casual pants and a dark sweater with the collar half open. Like most Lycan aristocrats, his eyes had a distinctive violet hue. This morning, they looked almost silver in the sunlight streaming through the large windows.

His gaze dropped to the Cartier box… then back to my face.

"You've been crying."

I blinked.

"Rough night?" he asked quietly.

"Is this your way of showing sympathy?"

"This is my way of being honest."

He shifted, making way. "You're already here. Come in."

"My foot through the door doesn't mean I agree."

"It usually does."

I looked down. Damn. He was right.

The penthouse was exactly as I remembered it. Minimalist. Expensive. Cold.

Books filled one wall. A grand piano overlooked the city skyline. Everything was expensive, immaculate, and strangely empty. Nothing in the penthouse suggested someone actually lived there. Not a single corner felt like a place for human habitation.

"Just put the box anywhere."

"It's from Freya."

"I didn't think Cartier would suddenly become sentimental."

I set it down on the marble table.

"Aren't you even curious?"

"If Freya bought it, there would only be two choices: jewelry…" he shrugged, "…or fodder for future arguments."

I chuckled involuntarily.

Xavier lifted his head. "Well."

"What?"

"You're smiling."

"So what?"

"I'm not sure you remember how to look."

"I've smiled before."

"Not in front of me."

He opened the cupboard and poured two glasses of whiskey. It wasn't even midday yet.

"I don't drink."

"You just had the worst day of your life." He slid one glass toward me. "I think you deserve an exception."

I hesitated, then took it.

He raised his own glass. "For poor decisions."

"You mean my decisions?"

"I mean Scott Redwood's decisions."

I paused. "You think he was wrong?"

"I think embarrassing his matchmaking partner in front of the Council made him look like a fool." He sipped his drink slowly. "That's not power."

"Then what is?"

"A show." Xavier leaned against the kitchen counter. "He wanted everyone to watch."

I stared at the brown liquid in my glass. "I keep wondering, what did I do wrong?"

"You believed him."

The answer came so quickly that my breath caught.

Xavier shrugged. "He dumped someone intelligent just for applause." The corners of his lips turned up. "Honestly, it's embarrassing."

I stared at him; nobody, not even my father, had ever defended me.

"You never even liked me."

"I never said I liked you." He looked me straight in the eye. "I said Scott was stupid."

A silence fell between us. "Everyone thinks you and Freya love each other."

Xavier laughed. A truly hearty laugh. "The Royals believe a lot of things."

"So they were wrong?"

"My cousin wanted an alliance." He swirled the whiskey in his glass. "Freya wanted status."

"And you?"

"I just wanted everyone to stop asking when I was going to start a family."

"Very unromantic."

"That's how reality usually is." He studied me for a moment. "Your sister is beautiful."

I looked away. "I know."

"Objectively? She's stunning."

Something tightened in my chest.

"But…" he tilted his head, "…she spends more time organizing her life than living it."

"What do you mean?"

"Every dinner has to have a seating chart," he said. I forced a smile. "Every holiday comes with a spreadsheet," he added.

A small laugh escaped my lips. "And somehow, every conversation turns into a board meeting."

I laughed harder. "Stop it."

"No." His violet eyes glinted. "I've dated some difficult women." He shrugged. "I can handle difficult things."

"But something is exhausting about feeling like you're dating your own personal event planner," I said.

"Ugh," he groaned.

"Now." He pointed at me. "Fourth laugh."

"I hate that you're counting." I rolled my eyes.

"I'm counting because it's becoming a habit."

For the first time since Scott rejected me, I didn't think about him. I hated how easily Xavier distracted me.

"So…" I asked quietly. "Do you really believe in the Moon Goddess?"

Xavier looked surprised. "I was raised to believe."

"But?"

"But I learned that fate can't be an excuse for bad decisions."

"So you don't believe in predestined partners?"

"I believe people hide behind fate when they don't want to take responsibility."

I frowned. "That's a very Lycan answer."

"No." His smile was thin. "That's the answer of someone tired."

Before I could answer, my elbow bumped the whiskey glass.

"Oh!"

The amber liquid spurted, wetting the front of my white blouse. Cold. Sticky. The fabric clung uncomfortably to my skin.

"…Amazing."

I folded my arms across my chest reflexively. When I looked up, Xavier hadn't moved. His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer than necessary. Then he looked away, but not quickly enough.

We both went quiet.

I don't even know who moved first—or if either of us actually did. It just felt like the kitchen had suddenly shrunk.

Then Xavier was right there, close enough that I could catch the scent of cedar and whiskey, and that sharp, cold winter air still clinging to his sweater.

My heart skipped a beat.

"So…" he murmured.

"So what?"

"You have to stop looking at me like that."

"I didn't."

"You did."

"I hate you."

"I know."

Xavier slowly raised his hand.

For one impossible second, I thought he was going to touch me. But he only brushed a stray strand of my dark red hair away from my face. His finger barely brushed my cheek, but a wave of heat spread through my body.

I should have pulled back. But I didn't. Neither did he.

Our eyes met. His violet irises searched for my answer, as if he were seeing me for the first time. Then he leaned in. Slowly, slowly enough for me to stop him. But I didn't.