Chapter 72: Lies and Warmth Intertwined
Seraphine's POV
I woke up in my own bed, and everything hurt. Not the good kind of sore—the kind you get when you push yourself past breaking. My legs ached, my back throbbed, even my throat felt raw.
I stared at the ceiling, and the memories flooded back. The wig slipping. Soren's hand on my waist. Kaelen's furious eyes. The storage room confrontation. My question: "Am I your mate or your prisoner?" Walking through the hall with everyone staring. Destroying the snowman. Howling until my voice broke.
Shit. What have I done?
The bond pulsed ice-cold and angry. Kaelen was still pissed. My hand pressed against the burning mark on my neck. I ignored Cordelia's warning. I ruined everything.
I sat up too fast, head spinning. Winter sunlight filtered through the curtains. My eyes landed on the chair—the dress I'd bought yesterday, the perfume, the concealer. The wig was gone, lost somewhere.
I rushed over and shoved everything to the bottom of my closet, covering it with blankets. What if Cordelia sees this? My heart raced. Nobody could know what happened last night.
Deep breath. Just stay home today. Keep busy.
Cooking. I could make bread. Martha said kneading dough could calm you down. I needed calm.
---
The shower took longer than usual. I looked like hell—red-rimmed eyes, pale face, tangled hair. I splashed cold water on my face until my skin stung, then changed into a dark gray sweater and black pants. Low-key.
I looked at myself in the mirror. "Just make bread. Don't think about anything else." My voice sounded steady. Good.
---
I was careful going downstairs, each step silent. The bond pulsed. I froze, waiting. No sense of Kaelen nearby. He wasn't home. Relief washed over me.
Thank God. I wasn't ready to face him.
Sounds came from the kitchen—dishes clinking. Rowan. I moved carefully through the hallway, staying where the floor wouldn't creak. At the kitchen door, I paused. You can do this. Act normal.
I pushed the door open. Rowan stood at the sink, washing dishes, her gray brown hair pulled back tight. She turned, and when she saw me, she went still. Her expression didn't change much, but something cold flickered in her eyes.
"Good morning, Rowan." My voice came out hoarse.
"Good morning, Miss Seraphine." Professional. Polite. Distant.
She went back to washing dishes, turned away from me.
I walked to the counter. "I'd like to make some bread. Could you help me get the ingredients?"
Pause. Her movements slowed. "What do you need?"
"Flour. Yeast. Salt. Sugar. Butter."
"Alright." She set down the dish, dried her hands, walked to the pantry. Her movements were mechanical—obligatory, not helpful. She set each ingredient on the counter one by one. No extra words. No eye contact.
After placing the last item, she turned to leave. I caught the flash of hostility in her eyes. Brief, but I saw it. She's still angry about me running away.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome, miss." Then she left.
I stood alone in the kitchen, quiet except for birdsong outside. I looked at the ingredients and took a deep breath. Okay. Let's start.
---
Kneading was mechanical. Push. Fold. Turn. Push. Fold. Turn. Martha said you needed rhythm, needed focus.
I tried to focus on the sensation—soft flour, elastic dough, smooth butter. But images from last night kept flashing. My exaggerated "country girl" act, Soren's flushed face, the deliberate flirty moans I'd made, the whispers rippling through the crowd.
Kaelen's face. Furious. Possessive. "YOU'RE MINE."
My question. "Am I your mate or your prisoner?"
I kneaded harder. Why did I do that? I knew it would ruin everything. The truth was ugly: I wanted to see him lose control. Wanted him to claim me in front of everyone. I'm that desperate.
A tear hit the dough. I wiped it away and kept going. Couldn't stop. If I stopped, everything would flood back.
Laughter drifted in from outside. The Moon Festival was still going on. Other people celebrating. And I was here, drowning in shame.
---
The front door opened. Cheerful laughter. Cordelia's voice, light and happy. "I'm telling you, those kids were adorable!"
A male voice responded, warm. "That's because you're a great teacher."
Footsteps getting closer. My hands stilled. Oh no.
The kitchen door swung open. Cordelia walked in, hand-in-hand with a tall man I'd never seen before. He had warm brown hair, broad shoulders, an easy smile. They were both smiling, their closeness natural—the way real mates should be.
Lucian followed behind them. When he saw me, his eyebrow lifted slightly.
Cordelia stopped short. "Sera? You're here?"
I stood at the counter, flour on my hands. "I... I'm making bread." The words sounded stupid.
The brown-haired man stepped forward, friendly smile on his face. "You must be Seraphine. I'm Evander." He extended his hand.
I hesitated, then wiped my flour-covered hands on my apron. Shook his hand. His grip was warm, firm. "Cordelia talks about you often."
Cordelia linked her arm through Evander's. "Sera, Evander is my mate. He's a teacher for the pack's young ones." When she said "mate," there was pride in her voice.
Evander gazed at her tenderly, his hand gently rubbing her back. Natural. Easy. They fit together like puzzle pieces.
My chest tightened. This is what the bond should be like. Not cold wars. Not being hidden in shame.
"You two... look good together." I forced a smile. The bitterness was obvious.
Evander noticed the dough. "You're baking? It smells wonderful."
"I work at a bakery. Martha taught me." My hand gripped the apron.
Lucian leaned against the doorframe. "Up pretty early."
My heart skipped. Lucian had been at the party last night. And Kaelen sent him to distract Soren. But his expression revealed nothing. How much does he know?
Cordelia walked over, examining the dough. "Looks good. What are you making?"
"Just... regular bread."
Evander smiled. "Sounds great. We're lucky to have Luna's homemade food."
Luna. The word made me flinch. Do I deserve that title? A hidden secret?
I looked down, kneading harder. "It's just ordinary bread."
The atmosphere suddenly felt awkward. Evander and Cordelia exchanged a glance. Lucian remained leaning against the doorframe, watching me.
Then Cordelia's eyes locked onto me. Her gaze sharpened.
"Sera." Her voice turned serious.
The easy atmosphere froze. I slowly lifted my head, heart pounding. Does she know?
"Look at me." No room for argument.
I was forced to meet her eyes—those sharp green eyes that seemed to see everything.
"Last night..." She paused.
I could hear my own heartbeat. Thump. Thump. Thump.
"Did you go to the party?"