Chapter 21
Violet's POV:
Daemon looked at me with pure, unadulterated annoyance.
"What are you talking about?"
His voice was low, laced with the exhaustion one reserves for a petulant child. He didn't wait for an answer. To him, my proposal to break the bond so he could pursue his "True Mate" wasn't a strategic move—it was simply the hysterical rambling of a woman desperate for attention.
"You’re being ridiculous, Violet. Go to sleep."
With a dismissive wave, he turned his back. His broad shoulders remained stiff as he strode toward the staircase, never once looking back.
I stood frozen in the center of the vast living room, staring at the empty space where he had just stood.
He had been chasing Celeste for nearly a month now. Hadn't he realized yet that his reaction to her was completely different from all those meaningless flings in the past? For a man so ruthless and brilliant in business, so sharp in pack politics, how could he be so incredibly dull when it came to emotions?
Why wouldn't he just agree to break the bond?
I let out a long, defeated sigh. I turned away from the cold luxury of the living room and headed upstairs to my bedroom.
The following morning, the dining hall was silent. Sunlight streamed across the table, but it did nothing to warm the chill radiating from Daemon.
I, however, was in high spirits. I had woken up to a text from Zane.
Zane: She came to me! We talked for a long time. She said she was just confused. We’re meeting for breakfast. Thank you, Violet.
I hid a smirk behind my coffee cup. Of course she went to find him. I had sent her to his location when he was vulnerable, ensuring her guilt would override her attraction to the man texting her.
Daemon sat opposite me, slicing his steak with surgical precision. He hadn't spoken a word since sitting down. His phone, resting face-up on the table, suddenly vibrated.
Daemon glanced at the screen, and his expression darkened instantly. His hand froze, knuckles turning white around the knife handle. If Zane was having a happy reunion breakfast with Celeste, then Daemon had just received a rejection text.
He stood up abruptly. The chair screeched against the marble floor as he grabbed his jacket, his movements sharp and predatory.
"Tomorrow morning, nine o'clock," I called out coolly, not bothering to turn around. "My father's birthday. Don't forget."
He didn't answer. The heavy front door slammed shut a moment later, the echo reverberating through the empty house.
I chewed my toast slowly.
An hour later, I stood at the edge of the estate where the manicured lawns gave way to the dense forest. This was the old training ground.
I stripped off my clothes and focused on the spark I had suppressed for years.
Ember.
For five years, I had kept her dormant to be the perfect human Luna. But today, I needed the pain.
I pushed the change. It didn't come as a fluid slide; it came with the sickening crunch of bone rearranging itself. A scream tore from my throat as my spine snapped into a new arch. Fur burst through my pores like hot needles. I fell to my hands and knees, gasping and convulsing in the dirt.
When the transformation finally settled, I lay panting on the forest floor. I looked down at my paws—dark grey, dusted with silver. I was clumsy. I tried to stand, but my rear legs wobbled like a newborn pup's. I stumbled, my snout hitting the earth.
Pathetic, I thought. This is what happens when you cut off a part of yourself to fit into someone else's box.
I forced myself up again. I ran. I wasn't fast, and my gait was uncoordinated, but the wind rushing through my fur felt real. I was taming my wolf again, rebuilding the Violet that had been dismantled by years of neglect.
By the time I arrived at Evan Thorne’s clinic, I had showered and dressed in a sharp blazer and jeans.
I saw Evan through the glass partition of his office. He looked up, saw me approaching, and immediately moved to close the door.
I was faster. I jammed the toe of my boot into the gap and shoved the door open.
"Good morning, Dr. Thorne," I said, breezing past him to the guest chair.
Evan sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. His green eyes were guarded. "What now? Planning to use me to make Daemon jealous again?"
"Neither." I pulled out my phone and opened Instagram. I navigated to Zane's profile and found the photo posted two years ago—a selfie of him and Celeste running on the beach. "Do you know this girl?"
I held the screen up.
Evan glanced at it, his expression flat. "No. I assume she's a friend of the boy you ran over. Why?"
"Don't play dumb, Evan. It insults both of us." I retracted the phone. "This is Celeste Morrison. Zane's girlfriend. And coincidentally, the woman Daemon is obsessively pursuing. He didn't tell you?"
A flicker of caution passed through Evan's eyes. "I knew there was... someone. I didn't know the details."
"Really?" I raised an eyebrow. "They are my friends. Small world. I saw Daemon texting her. I never thought the icy Daemon Blackwood could look so desperate."
Evan’s jaw tightened. "Why are you telling me this? Do you expect me to warn them?"
"I expect you to understand reality," I said, dropping the mocking tone. "You keep telling me to hold on. But look at this mess. Do you think Daemon will stop because of me?"
I stood up. "I tried, Evan. In my head, I’ve played this out a thousand times. Daemon is an Alpha; he takes what he wants. If I tell Celeste, she’ll feel guilty and run, which will make him chase her harder. If I tell Zane... what can he do? He’s a kid. He can’t fight a billionaire Alpha. Maybe I could sleep with Zane? Give Daemon a taste of his own medicine? Just to find some twisted sense of balance?"
Evan looked shocked. My composure usually cracked into sadness, not this cynicism.
"I’m telling you this," I stepped close to him, "because I need you to stop playing peacemaker. Stop convincing Daemon our marriage is salvageable. I truly, genuinely want to break the bond."
The room fell silent. Evan studied me, searching for the lie. He was the only one who knew how pathetic my unrequited love had been.
"You're serious," he murmured.
"Dead serious."
He held my gaze, then let out a heavy sigh. "If that’s what you want."
A weight evaporated from my chest. Having Evan neutral was a victory.
"Thank you, Evan."
The next day, I drove to my father’s estate. It smelled of pine and old money, a stark contrast to the cold modernism of Blackwood Manor.
"Happy Birthday, Dad!" I walked into the living room, arms laden with gifts.
Marcus Goldcrest stood up from his armchair. He smiled, but as he hugged me, his gaze darted to the empty doorway behind me.
"Just you?" he asked, voice gruff.
"Just me," I answered, meeting his gaze evenly.
In my past life, I would have instantly fabricated a lie about an emergency Council meeting or a border dispute to cover for him. I would have desperately tried to smooth over the cracks in my marriage. But today, I offered no excuses. I wanted them to see the empty space beside me. I wanted them to know exactly where I stood.
My mother, Eleanor, walked in, scowling. "Just you? On his father-in-law's sixtieth birthday? That boy has no respect, Violet."
"It's fine, Mom," I said calmly, though inside, the absence of my usual defense felt strange. "I'm here. That's what matters."
"It matters that he treats our family with dignity!" My father’s voice rose, the Alpha tone bleeding through. "If he thinks the Blackwood name gives him the right—"
He stopped mid-sentence. His eyes widened, looking toward the foyer.
I turned around.
Daemon stood in the entryway.
He was dressed in an impeccable charcoal suit. His hair was styled back, revealing the sharp lines of his face. In one hand, he held a bottle of vintage wine; in the other, a gift box.
"Apologies for the delay," Daemon said, his voice smooth as velvet. He walked in, radiating charm and power. "I had to personally collect this vintage from the cellar. Happy Birthday, Marcus."
I stood rooted to the spot. He wasn't supposed to be here. He hadn't come in the last timeline. Why now?