Chapter 132: Love-Hate

Seraphine's POV

The notebook sat on the desk. Green leather. Gold edges. Moonlight made it glow.

I'd ignored it for hours. Left it sitting there like a trap I knew better than to spring.

But curiosity was a bitch.

Just look. See what bullshit he wrote this time.

I grabbed it. Flipped it open.

The first page stopped me cold.

Kaelen's handwriting. Neat. Careful. His apology from weeks ago.

I was wrong... I believed lies... I doubted you when I should have trusted the bond between us...

Below it, my response. Sharp. Angry. Written in aggressive strokes.

I'm not her replacement... Keep your promise: Help me find Lyralei. Don't interfere...

I remembered writing that. Remembered the rage. The hurt.

My finger traced the words. Both sets. His careful script and my violent scrawl.

Then I turned the page.

Sketches filled the margins. Rough but detailed. The kind that came from someone who actually knew how to draw.

The first showed a garden. Flower beds. A cottage in the background. Two figures kneeling in the dirt.

My breath caught.

Annotations covered the margins in his precise handwriting:

"Brought her seeds today. Lavender. Daisy. Bluebell. Baby's breath. She looked at them like I'd handed her the world. Then ran like I was trying to trap her."

Next sketch. Me pulling weeds. Him beside me, clearly doing it wrong.

"She yelled at me for killing a seedling. Called me an idiot. I've never been happier to be called an idiot in my life."

Another drawing. More detailed. Me standing. Him reaching for my face. The space between us barely existing.

"Spring heat. I could smell it on her. See it in her eyes. For one second, she wanted this. Wanted me. Then she ran. Dumped cold water on herself rather than let me touch her. I'm losing to a fucking watering can."

I bit my lip. Hard. Fighting the smile that threatened.

The mighty Alpha Kaelen. Documenting his failures in excruciating detail. Making art out of rejection.

It was pathetic. Genuinely, truly pathetic.

And somehow... kind of sweet.

No. Don't think like that. Don't let him get to you.

I flipped through more pages. Each one showing another attempt. Another failure.

Packages outside my door. Books in the hallway. Pastries sent to the school.

Every rejection documented with sketches and self-deprecating notes.

"She returned everything through Cordelia. Didn't even look. Not once. I'm starting to think Rowan pities me."

"The pups at the school are eating better than they have in months. At least someone benefits from my pathetic courtship."

The last entry stopped me.

"I don't know how to fix this. Don't know if I can. But I'll keep trying. Because giving up isn't an option. Not with her. Never with her."

My chest tightened. Something warm and unfamiliar bloomed there.

He'd tried. Really tried. Even when I threw everything back in his face. Even when I made it clear I wanted nothing to do with him.

He kept trying.

"Find something interesting?"

I jumped, nearly losing my balance. Kaelen stood in the doorway, a bottle of red wine in one hand and two crystal glasses in the other. Moonlight caught the glasses, making them sparkle. His eyebrow lifted, a smirk playing at his lips as he took in my one-legged stance.

"You seem quite energetic," he observed, his eyes traveling to my leg, still balanced precariously on one foot. "And apparently you have strong feelings about my journal. Enough to risk another fall."

Heat flooded my face, embarrassment mixing with defiance. "Just like your damn possessiveness," I shot back, lifting my chin. "I need to know what my partner's writing. What secrets he's keeping. Seems fair to me."

"Fair point." He crossed the room with that predatory grace, setting the wine on the nightstand.

I swayed, my balance finally giving out. He caught me before I could fall, his movements so smooth it was like he'd anticipated it. Again. Fuck, I hated needing him like this.

"Let me go," I struggled against his hold, even though we both knew it was futile. "I can—"

"Yes yes." Amusement colored his voice, rich and warm. "You can do it yourself. Just like you can shower alone. Handle your wounds alone. Reject all help and die of stubbornness."

He guided me back to the bed, his hands gentle despite my resistance. He sat me down and poured wine into both glasses, the dark liquid catching the light like blood. The scent of oak and berries filled the air.

"To our...new beginning." He offered me one glass, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.

I took it, studying the dark red liquid swirling in the crystal. "New beginning?" I raised an eyebrow, skepticism dripping from every word. "You sure this isn't just boredom? Or maybe you finally got tired of fucking Vespera and needed a new toy?"

His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. "It's not like that."

"Convince me." I challenged, bringing the glass to my lips.

We drank, and the wine was smooth, expensive, with notes of cherry and vanilla. I drained my glass in one long swallow, feeling the warmth spread through my chest, and set it down harder than necessary.

"I mean it," he said quietly, his voice serious. "This is real. What we have. What we're building."

"We'll see." I kept my tone noncommittal, refusing to give him the satisfaction of believing him too easily.

My eyes drifted back to the notebook, drawn by curiosity and something deeper I didn't want to name. He followed my gaze, his expression unreadable.

"You read it?" His voice was careful, controlled.

"I did." I met his eyes, saw the vulnerability there that he was trying to hide. "Your courtship diary is...pathetic."

"Thank you." He said it without rancor, almost amused.

"I mean it." I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips. "Truly, genuinely pathetic. The mighty Shadowmere Alpha, brought low by a woman who wouldn't even look at his gifts."

"Glad you're entertained." But he was smiling too, small and genuine.

I looked at the notebook again, moonlight making the pages glow. Something shifted in my chest, something warm and unfamiliar. He'd tried. Really tried. Even when I rejected everything, threw it all back in his face, he'd kept trying. The sketches proved it. The notes proved it. He'd documented every failure and kept going anyway.

Before I could overthink it, before I could talk myself out of it, I hopped back to the desk. My leg screamed in protest but I ignored it.

"Seraphine—" His voice held a warning.

"Shut up." I grabbed the pen, feeling the cool metal against my fingers. I opened to a blank page, the paper crisp and clean under my hand.

"Don't get excited," I said, not looking at him. "And don't think I'm trying to recreate your story with Isolde. This isn't that. This will never be that."

I felt him move closer, his presence warm behind me. The heat of his body radiated against my back, making the hair on my neck stand up.

"I know," he said quietly, his breath stirring my damp hair. "You're Seraphine. Not anyone's shadow. Not a replacement. Just yourself."

"Then remember it." I pressed the pen to paper, hard enough to almost tear through. "You saved me today. I'm grateful. But this is my choice. Not fate. Not spring heat. Not the bond. And definitely not because you're treating me like Isolde. I'm choosing this. Me. On my own terms."