Chapter 199 CHAPTER 199
Isabel had never noticed how loud silence could be until the moment she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.
The soft click echoed more than it should have, lingering in the quiet space as if the walls themselves were listening. She remained standing there for a few seconds, her hand still resting on the handle, her body unmoving as though she had not fully crossed the threshold. It felt as if part of her was still in Ethan’s room, still trying to understand what had just happened, still trying to make sense of the shift that had taken place so suddenly, so sharply, that it had left her disoriented.
But she was not there anymore.
She was here.
Alone.
And the emptiness of the room pressed in on her in a way she had never felt before.
Slowly, her fingers loosened from the handle, and her hand dropped to her side. Her back slid down against the door as if her body could no longer hold itself upright, until she found herself seated on the floor, her knees bent loosely in front of her. The cold surface beneath her barely registered, because her thoughts were louder than any physical sensation.
It was his voice that stayed with her.
Not the transformation.
Not the sudden, overwhelming presence of the lycan that had filled the room.
She had seen that before. She had seen Rex when Lisa shifted for the first time, and while others might have been afraid, she had not been. She had seen something powerful then, something wild but beautiful, something that did not frighten her.
But tonight had been different.
Because tonight, it had not been the wolf that unsettled her.
It had been Ethan.
More specifically, it had been the way he spoke to her.
There had been something in his voice when he told her to leave, something unfamiliar and distant, something that had closed a door between them without warning. It had not been loud, it had not been cruel, but it had been final in a way that made her chest tighten painfully.
Her breath caught as the memory replayed itself again, sharper this time.
“I didn’t mean to…” she whispered, though the words felt incomplete even as they left her lips.
She did not even know what she had meant to say, or what she had done wrong.
All she knew was that something inside her hurt.
And then, before she could stop it, the first tear slipped down her cheek.
It surprised her.
She blinked quickly, lifting her hand to wipe it away, almost as if she could undo it, as if pretending it had not happened would stop whatever was beginning to rise inside her.
“No,” she murmured under her breath, shaking her head slightly. “No, don’t…”
But the protest came too late.
Another tear followed.
And then another.
Her vision blurred as the tears gathered faster than she could wipe them away, spilling freely down her cheeks despite her efforts to stop them. She pressed her sleeve against her face, trying to catch them, trying to control it, but her chest had already begun to tighten in that painful, familiar way that meant she was losing the battle.
A soft, broken sound escaped her before she could hold it back, and she covered her mouth instinctively, as if the silence of the room would judge her for it.
Why?
The question rose inside her, persistent and sharp.
Why did it hurt this much?
He had only asked her to leave.
That was all.
There had been no insult, no harsh words, no explanation, just a quiet, firm dismissal.
So why did it feel like something far deeper had been taken away?
Her hand moved to her chest without thinking, pressing lightly against the ache that had settled there, as if she could steady it, as if she could remind herself that this was nothing, that she was overreacting, that she needed to stop.
“I’m being ridiculous,” she whispered, though her voice trembled.
But even as she said it, she knew it was not that simple.
Because the pain did not fade.
It grew.
And with it came a realization she had not been prepared for.
She had not just been there for him.
She had not just been trying to make him feel better because he needed her.
Somewhere along the way, quietly and without her noticing, she had begun to need him too.
The thought struck her with such clarity that it made her breath hitch.
She could see it now in a way she hadn’t before—the ease she felt around him, the way her thoughts settled when she was near him, the way she didn’t feel like she had to measure her words or watch her every move. Being around Ethan had felt natural, effortless, like stepping into a space where she belonged without having to question it.
And now that space had been taken away.
Or perhaps it had never truly been hers to begin with.
Her lips trembled as a fresh wave of tears blurred her vision again, stronger this time, harder to hold back.
“What were you expecting?” she whispered to herself, her voice breaking under the weight of the question.
Her fingers curled tightly against her chest as she forced herself to confront the truth she had been avoiding.
“What did you think this was, Isabel?”
She let out a weak, unsteady breath, almost laughing at herself through the tears, though there was no humor in it.
“That the Lycan King would look at you and see something more than… what?”
Her gaze dropped to the floor as the words continued to form, harsher now, sharper, as if she needed them to hurt in order to believe them.
“A human girl who shows up with ice cream when he’s in a bad mood?”
Her shoulders shook as the tears continued to fall, faster now, harder to control.
“You did this to yourself,” she said, her voice trembling despite her attempt to steady it. “You walked in there like you belonged there. Like you had a place in his world.”
Her breath hitched again, and she pressed her forehead against her knees, curling inward slightly as if trying to make herself smaller.
“He wouldn’t even look at Celine twice,” she continued quietly, the comparison slipping into her thoughts before she could stop it.
Celine.
Beautiful. Strong. A lycan. The daughter of an elder.
Everything Isabel was not.
“And you…” she whispered, her voice barely audible now. “You thought you stood a chance?”
The question lingered painfully in the silence.
Her hand lifted again, wiping at her tears, but they kept coming, refusing to be contained.
“Grow up, Isabel,” she murmured, though there was no strength behind the words. “Know your place.”
But her heart did not listen.
It refused.
No matter how many times she told herself it was her fault, that she had imagined something that was never there, that she had overstepped without realizing it, the pain remained.
And it would not let her stop crying.
Time passed without her noticing.
The tears eventually slowed, not because the ache had disappeared, but because her body had grown too tired to keep up with it. Her breathing steadied little by little, though it remained uneven, and her head leaned back against the wall as exhaustion crept in, heavy and unrelenting.
Her eyes grew heavy.
Her thoughts blurred.
And slowly, without her realizing it, she drifted into sleep right there on the floor, her body slumped against the wall, her heart still aching beneath the surface.
At some point in the night, she stirred faintly.
There was a sensation - subtle, almost dreamlike - of being lifted, of warmth surrounding her, of arms that held her carefully, as though she were something fragile.
Her eyes fluttered open briefly, just enough to catch a vague outline of a figure, familiar in a way her tired mind could not fully grasp.
But the moment passed too quickly.
Sleep pulled her under again before she could understand it.
Morning came gently, though it did little to ease the heaviness that lingered.
“Isabel…”
The voice was soft, careful.
“Wake up.”
A hand touched her shoulder lightly, and she stirred with a quiet groan, her head throbbing as she slowly opened her eyes.
The light filtering into the room felt too bright, and she squinted slightly as she pushed herself up.
“What time is it?” she asked, her voice rough from the night before.
“Time to get ready for school,” Lisa replied gently.
Isabel blinked, still trying to orient herself, and then suddenly she paused.
She was in the bed.
Her brows furrowed slightly as she looked around, confusion settling in.
“I was on the floor,” she said slowly, her voice trailing as she tried to piece together what had happened.
She turned to Lisa.
“How did I…”
The memory flickered faintly.
The feeling of being lifted.
Her breath caught slightly.
“Was it you who…?” she began, though the question did not fully form.
Lisa nodded before she could finish.
“I found you asleep,” she said softly. “You looked uncomfortable, so I brought you to the bed.”
Isabel hesitated for a moment, something in her chest tightening faintly, as though the answer did not fully settle.
But she was too tired to question it.
“Oh,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”
Lisa studied her carefully, her expression soft with concern.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked gently.
For a brief moment, Isabel considered it.
The words hovered at the edge of her lips.
But then she shook her head, forcing a small, practiced smile into place.
“Not now,” she said lightly. “I think I just need food.”
Lisa nodded, though her eyes revealed she understood more than Isabel was saying.
“Alright,” she replied softly.
As Isabel stood and made her way toward the bathroom, her reflection met her in the mirror once more.
Her eyes were slightly swollen.
Her expression quieter.
More guarded.
She stared at herself for a long moment before taking a slow breath.
“You forgot your place,” she murmured under her breath.
Her fingers tightened slightly against the sink.
“You’re just a guest here.”
The words settled heavily inside her.
“It’s time to stop dreaming.”