|| Lilac’s POV ||

The last of the guests had finally dispersed, their whispers lingering in the air like smoke. Some had looked at me with pity, others with something uncomfortably close to amusement. Poor Lilac, twice rejected, twice humiliated.

There was no running from Coco stealing my mate, no matter how many lives I live. Classic!

The moon hung heavy overhead, its silver light washing over the ruined decorations, the overturned chairs, the remnants of what should ...