Chapter 253
Sarah's POV
Cassian stared at me for a long moment, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. Then, without a word, he turned and started walking toward the shopping mall entrance.
"Where are you going?" I called after him, my stilettos clicking against the pavement as I hurried to catch up.
"To buy a new phone," he said flatly, not looking back. "You can fuck off."
The casual dismissal stung worse than a slap. I grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. "Why can't we go together? We could make it a—"
"I'm buying a phone, Sarah. Not spending quality time with you." He yanked his arm free. "Go home."
"But—"
"Go. Home."
I stood there, watching him walk away in that perfectly tailored suit that showed off his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Even Ivy couldn't help but admire the view, her thoughts turning momentarily lustful before snapping back to panic.
He's slipping away, she whimpered. We're losing him.
Maybe I had underestimated Elowen. The girl I remembered had been soft, uncertain, always looking to the twins for approval. This new version—the one who called me a home wrecker without a tremor in her voice, who claimed she didn't need them anymore—was dangerous.
And if Cassian's reaction was any indication, she still had her claws deep in his heart.
No, I thought fiercely. No, I won't let her take him back. I won't.
I followed Cassian into the mall, my mind racing. He headed straight for the Apple Store, his stride purposeful and dismissive of my presence entirely. I trailed behind, anger simmering beneath my skin.
Then inspiration struck.
We were in public. Surrounded by people. Witnesses.
Cassian would never make a scene in front of all these humans. He was too concerned with maintaining the pack's reputation, too controlled.
I could use that.
Taking a deep breath, I let the tears that had been threatening finally fall, smudging my mascara artfully down my cheeks. Then I raised my voice, loud enough to carry across the polished mall floor.
"Why don't you love me?"
Cassian froze mid-step. Slowly, very slowly, he turned to look at me. The expression on his face was pure murder.
But I had already committed. I let out a broken sob, my voice rising to a wail that echoed through the shopping center. "Why am I not good enough for you? What did I do wrong?"
Heads turned. People stopped their shopping to stare. A few pulled out their phones—whether to record or just watch, I didn't care.
"Sarah—" Cassian said through gritted teeth.
"I just want you to love me!" I cried, pressing my hands to my face. "Please, Cassian. Please just tell me what I need to do. I'll do anything. Anything."
Cassian's eyes closed. His head tilted back toward the ceiling, his mouth opening in what looked like a silent scream—or maybe a prayer to whatever gods would listen.
The crowd was growing. Whispers rippled through the onlookers. I could see it on their faces—the judgment, the pity. Poor girl, in love with a man who clearly didn't want her.
Perfect.
After what felt like an eternity, Cassian's head lowered. His eyes opened, fixing on me with an intensity that should have terrified me. Then he moved, crossing the distance between us in three long strides.
For a moment, I thought he might actually hit me.
Instead, his hands came up to cup my face, his thumbs wiping away my tears with surprising gentleness. To anyone watching, it would look tender. Loving.
"Because you are a bitch," he whispered, his voice so low only I could hear. His smile never wavered, maintaining the illusion for our audience. "Who cries poison and spews destruction."
My breath caught.
"Now shut the fuck up," he continued in that same soft, deadly tone. "Stop with the dramatics. I'll buy you the goddamn dress. But if you ever pull a stunt like this again—"
He didn't finish the threat. He didn't need to.
I nodded quickly, fresh tears—real ones this time—sliding down my cheeks.
Cassian's hands dropped from my face. He straightened, turning that charming smile on the watching crowd. "Come on, sweetheart," he said loud enough for them to hear. "Let's get you that dress you wanted."
I latched onto his arm immediately, pressing myself against his side. "Thank you, baby," I murmured, trying to sound grateful and loving.
His body was rigid beneath the suit, every muscle tense with barely restrained fury.
But he'd given in. I'd won.
He'll forgive me, I told myself as we walked toward the boutique. He has to forgive me. Because I'm his mate. His chosen one.
He has to.