Chapter 150 Bond

Chapter 150 Bond
Rosalie's POV

The note felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket as Wynter and I made our way down the winding path toward the lake.

The sun had already dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in deep purples and blues, the first stars beginning to pierce through the gathering darkness.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

"You don't have to do this," Wynter said quietly, her hand finding mine and squeezing. "We can turn around right now. Tell her to go to hell."

I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But the note's words kept echoing in my mind: Meet me by the lake tonight. Come alone. You'll regret it if you don't.

"I need to know," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of our footsteps on the gravel path. "I need to know what she wants. What she's planning."

Wynter's jaw clenched, but she nodded. "Then I'm coming with you. Non-negotiable."

The lake came into view, its surface reflecting the darkening sky like polished obsidian. The moon was rising, nearly full, casting silver light across the water in a shimmering path that looked almost solid enough to walk on.

But Evangeline was nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe she changed her mind," Wynter suggested, scanning the shoreline with narrowed eyes. "Maybe this was just a power play—make you show up and then humiliate you by not appearing."

"Maybe," I agreed, but something felt wrong. The air was too still, too quiet. Even the usual sounds of the lake—frogs croaking, insects chirping—seemed muted, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Then I heard it.

A sound. Soft, barely audible, but unmistakable once I focused on it.

A woman's voice. Gasping. Moaning.

My stomach dropped.

"Did you hear that?" I whispered, my hand tightening on Wynter's arm.

Her expression darkened. "Yeah. I heard it."

The sound was coming from across the lake, from the small grove of trees that bordered the water on the far side. We moved without speaking, our feet carrying us along the shoreline path, drawn toward the noise like moths to a flame even though every instinct screamed at us to run the other way.

As we got closer, the sounds became clearer. More distinct.

A woman's breathy moans, punctuated by gasps that might have been pleasure or pain—I couldn't tell which. A man's low, guttural groans. The rhythmic sound of bodies moving together, skin slapping against skin.

"Rosalie, maybe we should—" Wynter started, but I was already pushing through the last line of bushes, already stepping into the small clearing.

And then I saw them.

The moonlight filtering through the trees illuminated the scene with cruel clarity, turning everything silver and shadow, beautiful and terrible all at once.

Connor was there. My Connor. Completely naked, his clothes scattered across the grass like discarded thoughts.

And beneath him, equally naked, was Evangeline.

She was on her hands and knees, her dark hair cascading down her back, catching the moonlight and throwing it back in shades of mahogany and gold. Her head was thrown back, mouth open in a silent cry of pleasure, and Connor was behind her, his hands gripping her hips with bruising force as he thrust into her with desperate, almost violent intensity.

The sound of their coupling filled the clearing—wet, obscene, undeniable. Connor's fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips, leaving red marks that would definitely bruise. Evangeline's breasts swayed with each brutal thrust, her nipples hard and dark against her pale skin.

"Fuck, yes," Connor groaned, his voice rough and unrecognizable. "God, you feel so good—"

"Harder," Evangeline gasped, pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts with equal force. "Don't stop—please don't stop—"

The world tilted.

My vision went white at the edges, my ears ringing with a sound like rushing water. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening. This was a nightmare, a hallucination, anything but reality—

But it was real. The moonlight was real. The sounds were real. The way Connor's face twisted with pleasure as he buried himself inside her was real.

A scream tore from my throat—raw, animal, breaking something fundamental inside me as it clawed its way out.

Connor's head snapped up, his eyes going wide with horror as he saw me standing there. "Rosalie—fuck—Rosalie, wait—"

But I was already running.

My feet slipped on the damp grass, my vision blurred with tears, but I ran anyway, crashing through bushes that tore at my clothes and skin. Behind me, I heard Wynter's voice calling my name, heard the sounds of Connor and Evangeline scrambling to find their clothes, but I didn't stop.

I couldn't stop.

If I stopped, I would have to accept what I'd just seen. If I stopped, I would have to acknowledge that the boy I loved—the boy who'd promised me just days ago that he would stay away from her, that he would choose me—had broken that promise in the most devastating way possible.

"Rosalie!" Wynter caught up to me about fifty yards from the clearing, her hand closing around my arm and forcing me to stop. "Rosalie, breathe. Just breathe."

But I couldn't breathe. My lungs felt like they were full of broken glass, every attempted breath sending fresh pain through my chest.

"He—" I gasped, my hands clutching at Wynter's jacket like she was the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly turned to quicksand. "He was—they were—"

"I know," Wynter said, her voice tight with fury and sympathy. "I know. I saw."

Behind us, I heard running footsteps. Connor's voice, desperate and pleading: "Rosalie! Please, just let me explain—"

"Stay away from her!" Wynter snarled, positioning herself between me and Connor as he burst through the trees, still fumbling with his shirt buttons, his hair wild and his face flushed.

Evangeline emerged a moment later, looking far more composed despite the obvious evidence of what they'd been doing. Her clothes were rumpled but mostly in place, and there was a small, satisfied smile playing at the corners of her mouth that made me want to claw her eyes out.

"Rosalie, please," Connor said, trying to move around Wynter, but she blocked him with her body. "Please, just listen—"

"Listen?" My voice came out shrill, hysterical, nothing like the calm, reasonable tone I usually maintained. "Listen to what, Connor? Listen to you explain why I just found you fucking another girl? Listen to you tell me it's not what it looked like?"

"The Bond—" He ran his hands through his hair, looking genuinely anguished. "It's so strong, Rosalie. When she texted me to meet her here, I thought I could resist, but the moment I saw her—"

"She texted you?" I repeated, my voice going dangerously quiet.