Romain

Words can't describe the rage that courses through me when I see Emmalee stepping into Soren's arms. She looks radiant in her white and yellow sundress which brings out the color of her white-blonde hair.

I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be watching this.

But I can't look away.

My fists clench at my sides, the nails digging into my palms as I force myself to stay rooted to the ground. The rational part of me knows I have no right to feel this way. She's engaged to him, and everyone knows it. The Dravensworths couldn't have picked a better match—Soren, the soon-to-be Alpha of a powerful pack, a man born into privilege and strength. He's everything they could want for Emmalee.

And me? I'm nothing.

I shouldn't have believed her when she came to me last night. Shouldn't have let myself get caught up in the way she whispered my name, her voice trembling with longing. The way her fingers tangled in my hair as if she couldn't bear to let go. The way her lips pressed against mine like I was the only thing keeping her alive.

I let myself believe it was real. That it was a vision of the future we shared together.

But now, seeing her nestled in Soren's arms, the ache in my chest turns into something darker—something dangerous. She told me she'd see me again. Her words had been soft, full of promise, as we parted this morning under the cover of dawn. She swore this wasn't the end, that we'd find a way, even when I insisted that we couldn't try when we knew what the outcome would be.

Was it all a lie?

Soren tilts her chin up, saying something I can't hear, and she nods. Granted, she isn't smiling or anything, but she's still in his arms and that makes me see fucking red. My jaw tightens as my jealousy roars to life, threatening to consume me whole. How can she let him touch her as if she hadn't just spent the night in my arms? As if she hadn't promised me that she'd find a way to end the engagement?

What's going on here? Did I dream the whole thing up?

My mind races, each thought sharper than the last. Did I mean so little to her? Was I just a distraction, something to pass the time until she could return to her rightful place beside her fiancé?

I bite the inside of my cheek, the metallic tang of blood grounding me as I wrestle with the storm brewing inside. No. I can't think so little of her. I've known Emmalee my whole life. She's not insincere. But something is clearly going on here, something I'm not aware of.

Could it be that she changed her mind about me? About us?

The self-pity creeps in and it's impossible to stop or even prevent. What did I expect? That she'd leave him for me? That she'd forsake her family, her legacy, the pack, and everything she's ever known, for a man who will never be more than a servant in her world?

I'm a fool. And the worst part is that I had prepared myself for this blow.

But it hurts nonetheless.

Her family would never allow it. They'd laugh in my face if I so much as suggested it. The Dravensworths built their empire on blood and power, and I'm nothing more than a stain on their pristine legacy. A slave for them to step on, to use as they see fit, under the guise that I'm one of them.

Soren leans closer, whispering something in her ear, and then he brushes a stray curl from her face, his touch casual yet intimate, and I want to rip his hand away.

But what right do I have?

I'm the one who's been lied to, cheated, discarded like a plaything. And yet, I can't even hate her for it.

Because the truth is, I still want her.

I still crave the way her lips felt against mine, the way her body molded to mine as if we were two halves of the same whole. I want to believe the things she said to me, even if they were just empty words.

And that's what makes this unbearable.

I've never had anything that was truly mine. Not my freedom, not my dignity, not even her.

Turning on my heel, I walk away, each step heavier than the last. The jealousy, the anger, the despair—they all cling to me like a second skin, suffocating me with every breath.

I shouldn't have let myself believe in her.

I shouldn't have let myself believe in us.

But now, as I disappear into the shadows, I can't shake the thought that I'll never stop hoping for the impossible. Because no matter how much it hurts, no matter how many times I tell myself to let her go...

I know I never will.

I've loved her from the moment I realized what we were.

I have no choice but to return to my room. I really wish that I could get some work done, but I've been given the day off and that rarely happens. So, I'll just sit in my room and fester, and maybe by the time tomorrow comes, I'll have gotten all the fairytale nonsense out of my head.

What's the point of wishing for fairytales when you know your life could only ever be a fucking tragedy?

"Stop it," I mutter to myself as I settle on my bed. I make sure to lie on my back so I can feel the sting of my healing wounds. They serve as a distraction, and I definitely need one after what I've seen.

About an hour passes since I saw Emmalee out in the courtyard with Soren. She doesn't come, and I guess it hurts that I expected her to. I'd hoped she'd walk through my door with her usual radiant smile, and that she'd explain to me that it was all a misunderstanding. That she'd had to do it. Or whatever.

But then I realize how ridiculous I'm being, and I just get even more pissed off with my own hopes and expectations.

I must doze off because I wake up to tender hands on my shoulders. I open my eyes and see Emmalee above me. It doesn't take me long to realize that she's straddling my waist, and the thought alone is enough to make me hard.

"Hey, sleepyhead," she whispers.

It takes me longer than necessary to process this. She's here, on top of me, when a few hours ago she was with Soren. In his arms.

Am I dreaming this whole thing up?

Emmalee frowns, particularly when she realizes that I'm not reacting the way she expected me to. She immediately asks me, "What's wrong?"

I try to sit up, and she remains on my lap. Her eyes are now softer and filled with concern.

"I don't think you should be here, Emmalee," I say, getting straight to the point.

A mix of fear and shock is now stamped all over her face, and for a few beats, I feel absolutely fucking terrible for saying these words to her. But at the same time, I have to plant my feet on the ground and look at this from a practical standpoint.

Emmalee can never be mine, so why am I torturing myself?

"Why...why are you saying this to me?" she asks. "What's wrong? Did someone say something to you or—?"

"No, no one told me anything," I retort. "I didn't need to be told what I saw with my own eyes."

Her eyes widen, then realization settles upon her face. "Romain, that wasn't—"

"You don't need to explain anything to me," I say, cutting her off. "He's your fiancé, and I'm not."

"That wasn't what you're thinking!" she exclaims. Tears are gathering in her eyes, and the tip of her nose is getting red. "I didn't hug him because I'm in love with him! How could I love anyone who isn't you, Romain!?"

I turn my face to the side. My resolve is weakening, and I told myself that this wouldn't happen. That I'd send her away. That I'd do what's right for both of us.

"Romain!" she says, placing her hands on my face and making me look at her. "Please, don't be like this. I didn't know how to react when he did that. I know I shouldn't have. It meant nothing to me."

"Yeah?" I ask, a tinge of anger in my voice. "And how long are we supposed to keep this up?"

"Until we have a plan or something, but we can't give up on us!"

I sigh. "I don't know, Emmalee."

Silence falls upon us. She remains seated on my lap, and I'm staring at the lamp on my bedside table, thinking that nothing has ever hurt me more than this particular moment.