Chapter 48: Exposure and Confrontation

Seraphine's POV

I stared at my fingertips. Then at the page. This was what he'd written after she died. After he realized what he'd done. After he understood that he'd destroyed the one person who'd ever loved him.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking. Not from fear. From the weight of what I was feeling through the bond. From the crushing realization of what this meant.

My parents flashed through my mind—the brutal, ripping pain that tore through me as they died protecting me, dying right in front of me. But this? This was worse. Because he was the one who sent her away. He chose to believe the accusations instead of trusting her. And she died alone. Believing he didn't love her anymore.

The bond pulsed again, softer this time, but no less devastating. It wasn't just grief. It was regret. The kind that ate you alive from the inside out. The kind you carried with you every single day for the rest of your life.

He loved her. And he destroyed them both.

I blinked hard, forcing the tears back. The lamp's glow seemed dimmer now, like even the light was exhausted from bearing witness to all this pain. Outside, the wind howled louder, a mournful sound that seemed to come from the earth itself.

No. Stop. I can't feel sorry for him. I won't.

He made a choice. He chose the pack over her. He chose to believe the lies instead of fighting for the truth. That wasn't something I could forgive. But the bond didn't lie. I'd felt what he felt. The raw, unfiltered agony of losing her. The guilt that never left.

He's been carrying this for eight years. Living with the knowledge that he failed her.

I shook my head hard, the motion sending shadows dancing wildly across the walls. That doesn't change anything. His pain doesn't excuse what he's done to me. Understanding isn't the same as forgiving.

I flipped back to the earlier pages. The ones where the accusations started. "They say she's been seen with outsiders." "They say she's been passing information." "They're calling her a spy."

But Isolde never defended herself. She never explained. She just stood there. Silent.

Why? If she was innocent, why not fight back?

I thought about her words again. "I wish I could tell him. But how can I? He wouldn't believe me."

She'd tried. Or wanted to. But she thought he wouldn't listen. And in the end, he didn't.

My chest tightened. The room felt suffocating now, the heat from the radiator doing nothing to chase away the cold that had settled deep in my bones. Snow continued to pile up outside, layer upon layer, like the world was trying to bury the truth along with everything else.

What if the accusations were lies? What if someone planted evidence? What if Vespera was behind it? What if she orchestrated Isolde's downfall so she could have Kaelen?

The thought sent a chill down my spine. If she could do that to Isolde, she could do it to me.

I forced myself to take a breath. To think clearly. The lamp's weak light seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat, steady but fragile. Outside, the wind died down for a moment, leaving only the soft whisper of falling snow.

I don't have proof. Just suspicions. But suspicions are enough to be careful.

I closed the book carefully and set it aside. Then I reached for the photo I'd pulled out earlier—the one with writing on the back. I slipped it under the mattress, pressing it flat so it wouldn't be found.

Evidence. I need to understand what really happened. Not for him. For me. Because if Vespera destroyed Isolde to get to Kaelen, I'm next.

I stood in the center of the room, staring at the locked door, the boarded window, the dim light from the lamp casting everything in shades of amber and shadow. This was my cage. But I wasn't going to sit here and wait to be destroyed like Isolde had been.

I touched the mark on my neck—the bond that tied me to him whether I wanted it or not. The wind picked up again outside, rattling the boards with renewed fury. Snow scraped against the wood in soft, insistent whispers.

I don't accept him as my mate. I don't want this bond. What he did to Isolde doesn't excuse what he's doing to me.

But I need to know the truth. Was Isolde really a traitor? Or was she framed? Did Vespera orchestrate her downfall?

I looked at the spot where I'd hidden the photo. If she did, if Vespera destroyed Isolde to get Kaelen, then I'm in danger. And I need to be ready.

The thought had barely settled when—

The bond exploded.

A wave of fury hit me so hard my knees buckled. It wasn't mine. It was his. Raw. Violent. Burning through the connection like wildfire. My hand flew to the mark on my neck, pressing against it as if that could somehow block the feeling out. But it didn't help. The anger kept coming, wave after wave, each one stronger than the last.

What the hell—

Footsteps. Heavy. Fast. Heading straight for the door.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

I spun toward the desk. The diary. The photos. They were still scattered across the surface, exposed under the lamplight. If he saw them—if he knew I'd been going through Isolde's things—

My heart slammed against my ribs. I didn't think. I just moved.

I grabbed the hem of my shirt and yanked it over my head in one motion, the fabric bunching in my fists as I threw it across the desk. It landed in a heap, covering the diary and most of the photos. Not perfect. But it would have to do.

The footsteps were closer now. Right outside the door.

I whirled around, pressing my back against the desk, my hands gripping the edge behind me. My bare skin prickled in the cold air, goosebumps rising along my arms and shoulders. The tank top I wore underneath did almost nothing to keep me warm, but that didn't matter. What mattered was blocking his view. Keeping him from seeing what I'd found.

The lamp flickered behind me. The wind screamed outside.

BANG.

The door flew open. The handle hit the wall so hard the entire frame shook, and the lamp on the nightstand rattled against the wood. Kaelen stormed in, his silhouette filling the doorway, blocking out the light from the hall. His face was half-shadowed, but I could see enough to know something was very, very wrong.

He looked furious. Not the cold, controlled anger I'd seen before. This was raw. Wild. Barely restrained. His eyes locked onto me, dark and burning with something I couldn't name.

The bond screamed. A warning. A threat. Something was wrong.

My pulse thundered in my ears. I pressed harder against the desk, feeling the sharp edge dig into my lower back. Behind me, hidden under my discarded shirt, the diary and photos lay exposed. One wrong move. One glance over my shoulder. And he'd see everything.

What the hell happened? Why is he—

But I didn't get to finish the thought. Because Kaelen crossed the room in three strides, grabbed the front of my tank top, and lifted me off the ground.