Damnable Face

Catherine’s POV

“What the hell was that?”

What in the actual hell did I just do?

I paced from the foot of the bed to the door and back again, bare feet dragging over the rug, my hands buried in my hair. Every time I tried to slow my breathing, another fragment of last night shoved itself into my head and my lungs forgot how to work.

Ethan’s mouth.

His hands.

“Fuck!” I squeezed my eyes shut. That only made it worse.

At some point, the storm outside had faded to a dull roar, like white noise. At some point the lamp had burned low. At some point my lungs had stopped shaking and I had fallen asleep.

In his bed.

The memory of waking up made my stomach twist. The sheets were tangled around my legs, muscles aching in ways that told me exactly what we had done.

Ethan lay beside me, one arm over his head, the other on his stomach, my marks on his skin and his on mine. That realization scared me more than anything.

Before I could think, panic took over. I slipped out of bed, ignored the soreness in my body, grabbed my dress from the floor, dragged it on, and fled the cabin before he could open his eyes and look at me.

I had not even left a note.

Now, back in my own room, I dragged my hands down my face and stopped in the middle of the floor.

Surely Ethan would understand, right? He knew how awful last night had been. He knew I had just found out my marriage was a joke. He knew I was angry and humiliated and in shock. He would not actually expect me to stay and… talk about this with him in the morning.

I stared at the wall, then scoffed at myself.

Why was I even thinking about what Ethan would or would not understand? Why did the idea of his reaction make my chest tighten? What happened was a mistake. A huge one. I had been vulnerable and furious and he had taken one look at that and pushed every boundary he could find.

“He took advantage of you,” I muttered under my breath. “That is what happened. He saw an opening and he pushed.”

My wolf shifted at that, not quite agreeing, not quite disagreeing, just watching me with a look that felt too close to curiosity. Heat crawled up my throat. I slapped my cheeks lightly, hoping the sting would snap me out of it.

It did not help.

Embarrassment punched through my ribs like a fist.

“No,” I whispered, pacing again. “No, no, no. Stop thinking about that. It was a mistake. It was not real. It was just—”

A knock cut through my rambling.

The door opened before I could say a word.

Simon stepped inside as if the room still belonged to him. His hair was mussed, his shirt half-buttoned, the collar slightly turned.

Almost immediately, his expression tried for apologetic, as if he had rehearsed it in the mirror. His mouth pulled into a small, tight smile that did not reach his eyes.

“There you are,” he said. “I was going to knock again if you did not answer.”

My stomach tightened. My muscles wanted to lock my face into a snarl, but my training snapped into place faster. I forced the corners of my mouth up and folded my hands in front of me like the good Luna he wanted everyone to see.

“You made me worry so much,” I said, hearing how steady my voice sounded and hating it. “You were not answering my calls.”

His gaze ran over me in a quick sweep, pausing for a second too long at my neck. I fought the urge to reach up and touch the spot where Ethan’s mouth had been. That would only draw more attention.

My fingers dug into my own palms instead. I had already taken a bath. Surely, that was enough to wash off what was left of Ethan… right?

Simon tilted his head slightly, studying my face like he was checking if the makeup was even. “My phone died,” he said. “Damien dragged me out after the event. You know how he is. I crashed at his place. I did not realize you were this worried.”

He said it like my worry was inconvenient. Like the problem was not that he had ignored me, but that I had cared at all.

“I called you six times,” I answered. I added a faint tremor to my voice, the way he always claimed made him feel needed. “Next time, at least send a message. I could not sleep.”

His brows drew together for a moment. Then something in his eyes shifted, calculation sliding in like a shadow. “You look tired,” he said. “Did you stay up all night because of that presentation?”

There it was.

The real reason he was here.

I dropped my gaze, letting my lashes lower to hide the spark of anger that flared in my chest. “I kept thinking about it,” I said slowly. “I wanted to make sure everything was ready.”

Inwardly, I swore at him. He had not come here because he missed me. He had not come here because he felt guilty about Mina or the words he had thrown around so easily. He had come because he needed something from me again, just like always.

Simon stepped closer. His hand lifted, fingers aiming for my cheek, his mouth already relaxing into a gentle smile. He leaned in to kiss me.

But my body reacted before my mind could catch up. My head turned away, my shoulders tensing. His lips brushed the side of my face instead of my mouth. The scent of whiskey and sweat and faint perfume that was not mine hit my nose and the words slipped out.

“You smell,” I said, trying not to wrinkle my nose too obviously. “Maybe you should shower first.”

A flash of irritation crossed his face, like I had slapped him. He smoothed it away so fast that anyone else might have missed it. I did not.

He pulled back with a short breath, jaw tightening. “Fine,” he said. “I will take a bath. You should prepare the presentation. I hope you at least finished that while you were up all night.”

“Of course,” I replied, keeping my tone even. “I will have everything ready.”

He nodded, already turning toward the bathroom. “Good. We are cutting it close. The council will not wait forever.”

The bathroom door shut behind him.

The moment it did, my shoulders dropped. I let my face twist into the expression I had been holding back. My hands shook with the urge to throw something at the door, to demand he admit what I heard last night, to shove his face into the truth until it stuck.

Instead, I walked to the small desk near the window and opened my laptop. The presentation file waited where I had left it, slides laid out in neat lines and graphs, all the data his Beta would praise him for later.

The water in the bathroom ran for what felt like forever. He had no problem wasting it, just like he wasted my nights.

When the door finally opened, Simon stepped out wearing a crisp suit, his hair combed back, his tie already knotted. He smelled like expensive soap and cologne now, not a trace of last night’s filth left on his skin. It was as if he had washed it all away and decided that meant it never happened.

He adjusted his cufflinks and glanced at the clock on the wall. “We need to leave soon,” he said. “You will not be riding with me today. I am meeting Damien and the others on the way. We have things to discuss before the meeting. You understand.”

Of course I did.

This was not new. He liked to arrive with his inner circle, laughing and clapping shoulders, looking united and powerful. The Luna in the car beside him would only remind everyone he had responsibilities outside of his own image.

My mouth flattened. “Yes,” I said. “I understand.”

He leaned down and pressed his lips to my cheek. The gesture was quick and practiced, something he might do to a relative in public, nothing more. “Good girl,” he said. “There is a car waiting for you downstairs. Do not be late. I do not need any more problems this week.”

The last sentence scraped against my nerves. Problems. That was what I was to him. A potential scandal. A tool that might break.

Then he left without waiting for an answer.

The second he was gone, the thin control I had kept in my chest cracked. My wolf surged forward, teeth bared inside me, snarling in a way that echoed through my bones. Rage clawed up my throat.

I gripped the edge of the desk until my knuckles ached.

If he thought he could walk in here, wash himself clean, and act like nothing had changed, he was wrong.

Catherine Morland might have let herself be molded into his version of a Luna. Catherine Morland might have stayed quiet and small and grateful to be chosen. That version of me had jumped off a balcony last night.

The wolf inside me lifted her head. Her anger matched mine for once. It did not feel like a burden this time. It felt like a spine.

“If he thinks he can get away with it,” I muttered, my lips curling into a smile. “Then he is mistaken.”

A smirk tugged at my mouth. It settled there easily, like it belonged.

I grabbed my bag, checked my reflection once in the mirror, and made sure the presentation files were in the folder. The marks on my neck were faint enough that makeup could hide them. My eyes looked a little too bright, but I could pass that off as lack of sleep.

I left the room and headed down the stairs of the packhouse.

Through the front doors, I saw the car already parked in the driveway. It was a sleek black sedan with tinted windows. The guard by the entrance dipped his head when he saw me, opening the door wider.

I walked toward the car, expecting the usual driver. My hand reached for the back door handle.

But the driver’s door opened first.

A familiar figure unfolded from the seat, one hand braced on the frame, the other shoving sunglasses up into dark hair that had been styled back instead of left messy. The suit he wore looked sharp and clean, tailored to broad shoulders and a narrow waist, nothing like the soaked shirt from last night.

My steps faltered. My heart skipped a beat so hard it almost hurt.

Ethan.

His gaze found mine in an instant, sliding over my face, lingering for a second at my mouth, then dropping lower in a way that made my skin heat against my will. His smirk appeared, as if he had been waiting for this moment all morning.

“Good morning, Luna,” he said, a smug smile already forming on his damnable face. “Nice seeing you again… .”