Chapter 258
Casper's POV
The accusation stung because it was true—I had let Cassian take the lead, had trusted his judgment over my own instincts, had convinced myself that his logical approach was better than my emotional response. But sitting here now, drunk and alone and miserable, I couldn't remember why I'd thought that was a good idea, couldn't recall the reasoning that had seemed so sound at the time.
"You should have been there," Ronan continued relentlessly. "You should have been with her today, should have seen what your decision cost her, should have witnessed the damage you caused instead of hiding in a bar feeling sorry for yourself."
"What happened today?" I asked, the question coming out more desperate than I'd intended, my need for information overriding my pride. "Ronan, please, just tell me what happened. What did we miss?"
There was a long pause, and I could practically hear him weighing whether I deserved to know, whether giving me this information would help or hurt Elowen in the long run. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold and final.
"If you really love her, you'll stop drowning your sorrows and start making things right. Figure out how to undo the damage you caused instead of wallowing in self-pity and cheap whiskey."
The noise in the bar had been steadily increasing, the volume rising to levels that made it difficult to hear Ronan's words clearly, and my patience—already worn thin by alcohol and emotional exhaustion—finally snapped. I turned toward the crowd, my voice rising to a roar that cut through the din with surprising authority.
"Can everyone just shut the fuck up for five minutes?"
The bar fell into shocked silence, dozens of supernatural eyes turning toward me with expressions ranging from amusement to offense, but I didn't care about the scene I was making or the reputation I was destroying with every word. I turned my attention back to the phone, my voice dropping to something more controlled but no less desperate.
"Ronan, please. I need to know what happened. I need to know if she's okay."
"You've done enough damage," he said flatly, the words carrying a finality that made my heart sink. "Stay away from her, Casper. Let her heal without you making things worse."
The logic was sound—I knew that, could acknowledge it even through my drunken haze—but it didn't make the words any easier to accept. Ronan was protecting his sister, doing what any good brother would do when faced with the people who'd hurt her, and I couldn't fault him for that even as it tore me apart.
"I understand," I said quietly, though understanding didn't make it hurt less. "I get why you're protecting her from us. But Ronan, please, just tell me if she's alright. I won't try to see her, I won't interfere, I just need to know she's okay."
The silence stretched between us, broken only by the ambient noise of the bar that had resumed its normal volume after my outburst, conversations picking up where they'd left off, pool games continuing, life moving forward for everyone except me.
"Please, Ronan," I heard myself beg, my voice cracking with emotion that I couldn't contain anymore. "I need to know."
The noise around me seemed to intensify in response to my distress, voices rising and overlapping, laughter cutting through serious conversations, the clink of glasses and the thud of pool cues creating a symphony of chaos that matched the turmoil in my head. Leo's voice came back then, returning from wherever he'd retreated to deliver another cutting observation.
"They don't care about your needs, Casper. Look around—nobody in this bar gives a damn about your problems."
"They didn't hear me," I muttered, though I wasn't sure if I was defending myself to Leo or just stating a fact. "I asked them to be quiet, but they didn't hear me."
Leo's laugh was devoid of humor, harsh and mocking in a way that made me want to curl into myself and disappear. "Even if they heard you, they wouldn't care. You're not the man you were six months ago—the confident Alpha's son who commanded respect just by walking into a room. You're a drunk, pathetic shell of yourself, and everyone can see it."
Before I could respond, before I could even process that particular character assassination, a voice cut through my thoughts—rough and aggressive, belonging to someone who'd clearly had enough of my public breakdown.
"Got something to say, ya pussy?"