Panicking, I grabbed a tissue and wiped frantically at the blood streaming into my eyes. The yellow motorcycle had vanished, swallowed by the relentless downpour like a phantom.
“Knock, knock-“
A voice interrupted my thoughts. I lowered the window, and cold raindrops immediately splattered onto my lap.
Standing outside was a man, likely in his early fifties, his distinguished features framed by glasses, holding a sleek black umbrella. His face held an expression of genuine remorse-something I hadn’t seen from a wolf in a very long time.
“Miss, I’m terribly sorry. We’re at fault for rear-ending you,” he said with unexpected courtesy. “My employer is on a tight schedule. Would you be willing to exchange contact details? You can send us a list of damages, and I assure you everything will be covered.”
“I’d prefer to have the police handle this,” I replied, my voice tight with exhaustion.
The events of the day had pushed me to my limits-the confrontation with Xavien, the bitter sting of his betrayal, and now this accident. I had no patience left for niceties or favors.
Stepping out into the rain, I flinched as the cold droplets hit my wounded temple. The rear of my car bore a deep dent where the Bentley had struck it.
Frowning, I began taking photos to document the damage before calling the police.
The man accepted my decision without protest and returned to the Bentley to report to whoever was waiting inside.
The rain grew heavier, drumming relentlessly on the pavement. My ward blouse clung uncomfortably to my skin as I stood exposed to the elements, one hand pressed firmly against my bleeding temple while I spoke with the emergency operator.
Seeking shelter, I climbed back into my car, but my clothes were already soaked through. Within minutes, the police arrived, followed closely by a silver Maybach that pulled up beside the Bentley.
Stepping out once more into the rain, I noticed another figure emerging from the Bentley alongside the older man-a tall, slender man with sharp, angular features reminiscent of a Greek statue. His skin was pale, almost aristocratic, and his eyes were piercing and deep, glinting with a wild, untamed spark.
Our gazes met, and an intense shiver ran down my spine, stirring something primal deep within me.
A strange sense of familiarity washed over me, though I couldn’t place it.
“Give it to her,” the man’s deep voice commanded. He removed the suit jacket draped over his arm and handed it to the older gentleman. Without another glance in my direction, he strode toward the Maybach and disappeared inside.
The older man hurried over, holding out the jacket. “Miss, you’re soaked through. Please take this.”
Looking down, I suddenly realized my blouse had become almost transparent. A flush of embarrassment warmed my cheeks as I gratefully accepted the jacket and slipped it on. “Thank you.”
The older gentleman spoke quietly with the police officer as the Maybach pulled away, slicing through the curtain of rain. Though I only caught a brief glimpse of the stranger’s aristocratic profile, the impression lingered vividly in my mind.
The jacket still held the warmth of his body and carried a distinctive scent-a blend of sandalwood mixed with something wild and untamed-that instantly soothed my frayed nerves.
After the police finished their report and we exchanged information, the older man kindly offered to accompany me to the hospital for my head injury.
I declined gently, my earlier anger fading. “I’m sorry for being difficult before. It’s been a terrible day, and I took it out on you. It wasn’t your fault.” I gestured to the jacket. “I’ll have this cleaned and returned to you.”
He nodded with quiet grace.
…
Driving myself to the hospital, I noticed my phone buzzing relentlessly. Xavien was desperately trying to reach me.
I let out a bitter laugh. That man had always been the same-vanishing when I needed him most, only to show up when I wished he wouldn’t. And now, knowing how much I despised his “protector” act, he had to play the hero at a moment like this.
After eight years, he still hadn’t learned to read me-or worse, he simply didn’t care to understand a human’s feelings. When he should have stood by my side, he chose someone else; now that I was ready to move on, he suddenly acted like he cared.
Heh, what a poorly thought-out man.
Celina
I found myself seated in the cramped emergency treatment room, wincing as the doctor carefully cleaned the shallow cut on my forehead. The antiseptic burned sharply against my skin, but that sting was nothing compared to the ache gnawing at my heart-a pain I’d been carrying silently all day.
Without warning, the door slammed open so forcefully that the doctor startled, stepping back in surprise. Xavien strode in with the intensity of a fierce protector, his eyes blazing with a turbulent mix of anger and worry. The air seemed to thicken instantly with his commanding presence, his distress almost palpable in the small, sterile space.
I glanced over my shoulder and locked eyes with him, trying to steady my breath. “It’s okay,” I reassured the doctor, who still looked taken aback. “He’s my… boss.” The word ‘husband’ nearly slipped from my lips out of habit, but I caught myself just in time. He wasn’t my husband-not truly, not anymore.
Xavien’s Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat tense as he held back whatever words he had been about to snap out.
“How bad is it?” he demanded, his voice rough and edged with an emotion I couldn’t quite place-something raw and vulnerable beneath the fury.
“Just a superficial cut,” the doctor answered calmly, maintaining professional detachment. “Nothing serious. You don’t need to worry.”
The medical professional showed no interest in the tangled web of emotions between us, finishing the bandage with practiced ease before prescribing a topical ointment.
I thanked the doctor and stepped out, feeling Xavien’s presence looming behind me like a shadow that refused to fade. In the hallway, he pushed forward, paying the bill and collecting the medication with a possessiveness that felt performative, as if he were putting on a show for anyone watching. The bitter irony wasn’t lost on me.
I didn’t argue or protest. What was the point? The fragile bond between us had shattered the moment I saw those messages on his phone.
Outside the hospital, I pulled out my phone to call a rideshare, hoping to escape the tension. But before I could dial, Xavien’s hand shot out and snatched the device from my fingers with lightning speed. His arm slithered around my shoulders, guiding-no, forcing-me toward the parking lot. Once, this possessive gesture might have felt protective, even comforting. Now, it felt like chains tightening around me.
He yanked open the passenger door and practically shoved me inside, then stalked around to the driver’s side. The car door slammed shut with a sharp bang, making the vehicle tremble slightly as it sealed us within a bubble of heavy silence.
“You blocked my number,” he finally growled, turning to glare at me with stormy eyes. “Were you trying to kill yourself just to punish me?”
I stared at him, stunned into silence for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, laughter bubbled up from deep inside me-bitter, incredulous laughter. I could either laugh or break down crying, and I’d already shed far too many tears.
The absurdity of his accusation-that I would risk my own life to make him feel guilty-was the height of narcissism. How had I failed to see this side of him in all our eight years together?
“Don’t worry,” I said, reaching for my phone, “you won’t have that on your conscience. Now give me back my phone.”
Xavien yanked it away just as I touched it. “I admit I lied to you today,” he snapped, “but you ignore her like she’s invisible, you embarrass her in front of everyone, and you even disrespected my mother! Don’t you think that’s a problem? She’s just a young girl, spoiled all her life. Why take offense?”
Oh, Xavien. If only you could see yourself through my eyes right now.
After a long, heavy silence, I finally spoke, my voice hollow and drained. “I won’t bother her anymore. I won’t get involved in whatever is between you two. But please, keep her away from me. I don’t need her so-called ‘spontaneity’ shoved in my face.”
“She’s like a sister to me. Cira and I are brother and sister,” Xavien insisted, his brow furrowing deeply. “Wolves are loyal to their mates. Our relationship is nothing like what you’re imagining.”
“Mmm, loyalty,” I echoed dryly, fighting the urge to pull out my phone and show him the evidence I’d gathered-the late-night calls, the intimate texts, the hotel receipts.
“Fine,” I said with a bitter smile. “I overreacted. I misunderstood. Congratulations on your new sister.”
The cold silence settled between us like a thick, impenetrable wall.
“Just drive,” I ordered, pulling the borrowed suit jacket tighter around myself. The fabric still carried that intoxicating scent-sandalwood with wild undertones-that somehow brought me a flicker of comfort.
Xavien’s eyes flicked to the jacket, noticing it properly for the first time. His nostrils flared slightly, like a wolf picking up another male’s scent on his territory.
“Whose jacket is this?” he demanded, jealousy darkening his features.
I turned to look out the window, deliberately using his own words against him. “My brother’s. My newly adopted brother.”
A dangerous gleam flashed in Xavien’s eyes. In one swift motion, he reached over, yanked the jacket from my shoulders, and flung it out the window.
“No!” I cried, unbuckling my seatbelt and scrambling out of the car. That jacket was one of the few kindnesses I’d experienced all day. I had promised to return it.
Xavien growled low in his throat and yanked me back inside. Before I could protest, his mouth crushed down on mine-demanding submission.
I kept my lips tightly sealed, refusing to give in. His anger only grew. He gripped my jaw, forcing my mouth open, his kiss harsh and punishing rather than loving.
When he finally pulled away, his breath was hot against my skin, his eyes flashing with possessive fury. “Don’t try to make me jealous like that,” he warned. “You should think about other people’s feelings.”
I stared at him, disbelieving. In all the years we’d been together, I’d never truly seen this side of him-or maybe I’d chosen not to.
Outside, the jacket lay abandoned on the wet asphalt, soaked by the rain.
I promised myself I’d return it clean, but now I felt utterly lost. What was I supposed to do?
The events of the weekend caught up with me. By evening, a fever had taken hold, my body burning and aching, my human immune system weakened by stress and relentless rain.
Xavien stayed home, slipping into the role of attentive mate-making porridge, feeding me medicine, caring for me with such tenderness that, in brief, delirious moments, I almost believed he still loved me. Almost.
By midnight, the fever showed no sign of breaking. I drifted in and out of consciousness, aware of Xavien’s presence beside me on our shared bed-a bed that no longer felt like a refuge.
A sudden buzzing cut through the silence.
I forced my heavy eyelids open, pushing myself up on trembling arms. Both of us turned toward his phone on the nightstand. The clock read 12:35 AM.
The name glowing on the screen sent a cold shiver down my spine: “Sugar Baby.”
Such an intimate, possessive nickname. My stomach twisted with a nausea that had nothing to do with the fever burning through my veins.
Celina
I stayed silent as Xavien’s phone kept flashing relentlessly with that audacious nickname. The vibration seemed to fill the quiet of our bedroom like a sharp accusation, impossible to ignore.
Xavien’s handsome face remained composed, but I caught the subtle tension in his jawline and the faint twitch at the corner of his eye-signs that betrayed his calm facade.
The phone’s interruptions didn’t stop. What began as persistent calls escalated into video chat requests, then snowballed into a flood of text messages. Each alert felt more intrusive, more brazen than the last. It was as if she knew exactly where he was and didn’t care that I was right beside him.
The air between us thickened, heavy with unspoken resentment and hurt, nearly tangible in the dim light of our bedroom.
“Are you not going to answer it?” I asked, my voice icy, sharp as a winter chill.
Only then did Xavien reach for his phone. Without even glancing at the screen, he powered it off and set it down on the nightstand-a deliberate gesture meant to soothe me, even if it felt hollow.
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