Chapter 103
Violet's POV:
"Is there a better time?" Lily asked.
"There is," I said, nodding slowly as I set my empty glass down.
The three of them exchanged glances—that silent communication weighted with concern and unspoken questions. They were afraid to contradict me, afraid that one wrong word might push me over whatever edge they thought I was teetering on.
My psychological resilience had been forged in a previous lifetime of betrayals and losses. I thought I'd become immune to impulsive decisions, hardened against the storms. But even the strongest foundation could crack under sustained pressure. I shouldn't have kept drinking—the wine was supposed to help me relax, to quiet the endless loop of memories. Instead, it had stripped away the careful controls I'd built.
The consequence was predictable: I drank too much, let the alcohol pull me under until my thoughts scattered like leaves in wind. Every gathering ended the same way now—with Jade and Lily playing babysitter, pouring me into cars, and making sure I got home safely. Sienna had stopped drinking entirely since her pregnancy, which meant Lucian came to collect her the moment our evenings ended.
"Oh god—" The nausea hit me like a freight train, my stomach lurching violently. I barely registered the plastic bag that appeared in front of my face before my body was convulsing, expelling everything I'd consumed in harsh, painful waves.
"Don't you dare throw up in my car," a familiar voice said from somewhere above me, pitched low and laced with resignation.
I clutched the bag with trembling fingers, my dignity abandoned. When my stomach finally settled into queasy emptiness, I tied off the bag with shaking hands and grabbed a tissue, wiping my mouth with movements that felt disconnected from conscious thought.
Through the blur of tears and disorientation, I turned my head and found Evan behind the wheel, his profile sharp against the glow of passing streetlights.
"How did I end up in your car?" My voice came out hoarse, confused.
"Jade called me. Asked if I could pick you up." His tone stayed measured, but there was an edge underneath. "Are you planning to keep destroying your body like this? You do realize you only get one, right?"
"You already know, don't you?" The laugh that escaped me sounded hollow and bitter. "My body can't even carry children anymore. So what's the point of preserving it? What use is a female wolf who can't fulfill her biological purpose?"
The red light ahead brought us to a stop, and Evan turned to face me fully. In the dashboard's soft illumination, his pale green eyes held something that might have been compassion. "You're still whole, Violet. Your value was never defined by your ability to bear children. And besides..." He paused. "You could find someone who would truly cherish you. Someone who wouldn't care about any of that."
I released a long breath. "What man doesn't care about that?" Then something in my alcohol-soaked brain registered danger. "You promised me you'd never tell anyone about this. If you break that promise, Evan, I swear I won't let it go."
"How exactly would you 'not let it go'?" Evan's question carried a thread of something I couldn't quite identify. In my intoxicated state, his gaze seemed almost tender, though I immediately dismissed that impression.
"I don't know." I waved one hand vaguely. "But it would be really, really bad for you. Trust me on that."
The words were barely out before exhaustion crashed over me. I let my eyes fall closed, my head lolling against the seat as the car's gentle motion pulled me toward unconsciousness.
---
Morning arrived with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. My mouth tasted like something had died in it, my head pounded with each heartbeat, and every muscle ached with the specific misery that came from sleeping drunk.
It took several blinks before my surroundings came into focus. This wasn't my apartment. The bedroom was immaculate—minimalist furniture arranged with geometric precision, everything radiating ordered cleanliness. No photographs cluttered the surfaces, no personal items scattered across the dresser. The only scent was faint soap fragrance rising from crisp white linens.
Evan was different from most wolves I knew. Despite his wealth and status, he'd chosen one of the most demanding professions possible, working brutal hours rather than coasting on family money. He was, by most reasonable standards, a genuinely good man.
As long as things didn't go the way they had in my previous life—when he and Daemon had torn each other apart with such viciousness.
"You're awake?" Evan's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Come eat something."
I emerged from the bedroom cautiously, very aware that I was still wearing last night's clothes—rumpled, wine-stained, and reeking of poor decisions. At least they were still my clothes.
Shadow chose that moment to swoop down, his talons finding purchase on my shoulder. The eagle fixed me with one bright eye before releasing a sharp cry and taking flight again.
Evan watched with raised eyebrows. "You should shower. There are clean clothes on the bathroom counter."
The mortification of my current state hit me. I fled to the bathroom before he could say anything else.
When I emerged, wearing Evan's oversized t-shirt and sweatpants rolled multiple times, I grabbed my phone with something approaching dread. Two missed calls from my mother, but Jade's text eased my anxiety: Told your mom you got drunk and crashed at my place. You're welcome, by the way.
My friends had apparently decided that Evan collecting me last night qualified as some kind of covert operation requiring cover stories. They'd been dropping hints for weeks that they suspected he had feelings for me.
"Something wrong?" Evan's question made me jump. I'd emerged from the bathroom still staring at my phone, lost in thought.
"No, just—thank you. For picking me up last night. For letting me crash here." I slipped the phone into my pocket and attempted a smile that probably looked as strained as it felt. "Very kind of you. Very... doctor-like."
One of Evan's eyebrows lifted in that way that suggested he found my discomfort amusing. "You think I'd have done this for anyone?"
My scalp prickled with discomfort, alarm bells ringing in the back of my mind. I'd spent so much energy trying to avoid exactly this kind of complication—trying to keep Evan firmly in the "friend and confidant" category without allowing anything else to develop.
"Well, obviously we're friends," I said quickly, forcing brightness into my tone. "I mean, you wouldn't pick up some random stranger from a bar at midnight. That would be weird. But friends help friends, right? That's just... that's normal." I was rambling now, words tumbling over each other in my haste to redirect the conversation. "Speaking of which, this breakfast looks amazing! Did you make all of this yourself?"
I practically threw myself at the dining table, where Evan had laid out what looked like a full restaurant spread—fluffy scrambled eggs, perfectly toasted bread, fresh fruit arranged in geometric patterns, even a small pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice. The presentation was meticulous, almost artistic.
"I like cooking," he said simply, though something in his tone suggested he'd noticed my desperate subject change and was choosing to let it slide. "It's meditative."
The meal passed in stilted politeness, both of us carefully dancing around the elephant in the room. I complimented the food extensively—because it genuinely was excellent—and he accepted the praise with modest shrugs. But underneath the surface civility, tension hummed like a live wire, fed by my paranoia and whatever unspoken thing he'd been implying earlier.
My mind kept circling back to my previous life, trying to reconcile this version of Evan with the man who'd eventually become so obsessed with Celeste that he'd gone to war with his oldest friend. In that timeline, his fixation had developed slowly, subtly, until it consumed everything else. But this time around, months had passed and he'd shown no interest in her whatsoever.
Instead, he seemed focused on me. Which was absolutely not supposed to happen.
The doorbell's sharp chime cut through my spiraling thoughts, offering blessed interruption. Evan rose to answer it, and I followed a few beats later, thinking I should probably leave anyway. I'd imposed enough, and the atmosphere had grown suffocating.
Then Evan opened the door, and my entire body went rigid with shock.
Daemon stood in the hallway, his dark eyes sweeping the interior of Evan's apartment with predatory focus. Whatever he'd been about to say died on his lips the instant his gaze landed on me.
Time seemed to slow as his expression transformed—surprise giving way to something colder and infinitely more dangerous. His attention dropped to catalog what I was wearing, and I watched his jaw tighten as he registered the oversized men's clothing hanging off my frame, the obvious implications of my presence here at this hour.
"Why are you here?" The question emerged low and deadly, each word precisely enunciated.
"I came for breakfast," I said flatly, refusing to show how his sudden appearance had rattled me. The meal was finished anyway, and I'd been planning to leave regardless. This was just unfortunate timing. I turned to Evan, deliberately casual. "Thanks again for everything last night. I should get going."
"Of course. Be safe getting home," Evan replied, his tone perfectly neutral. He didn't look remotely uncomfortable about being caught with his best friend's ex-wife in his apartment at dawn, wearing his clothes. The man had nerves of steel.
I nodded and moved toward the door, fully intending to slip past Daemon without further engagement. But my conscience—that persistently inconvenient thing—wouldn't let me leave without attempting damage control. Evan didn't deserve whatever confrontation was brewing, not when he'd literally just been doing a good deed.
"Daemon." I stopped at the threshold, meeting his cold stare directly. "Nothing happened between Evan and me. I got drunk last night, Jade called him to pick me up, and he let me sleep in his guest room. That's the entire story. Don't read anything else into it."
My explanation seemed to have the opposite of its intended effect. Rather than easing the tension, Daemon's expression darkened further, storm clouds gathering behind his eyes in a way that promised violence.
"I didn't drive here," I added, addressing Evan while keeping my peripheral vision locked on Daemon's barely leashed aggression. "Can you give me a ride?"
"I'll take you," Evan said immediately, already reaching for his car keys.
"No." My hand shot out to stop him. "Let Daemon do it. He's already here, and you were about to head to work anyway."
The last thing I needed was Daemon's paranoia metastasizing into actual violence. His possessiveness might not extend to wanting me himself, but it absolutely encompassed preventing anyone else—especially his best friend—from having me. The fact that we'd officially dissolved our bond wouldn't matter to that particular brand of Alpha territorial madness.
Evan's jaw tightened, but he relented after a long moment. "Fine. But Daemon—" He turned to face his friend directly, his pale green eyes hard. "Everything happened exactly as she described. If you want to doubt someone, doubt your own ability to trust people who've never given you reason not to."
Then he grabbed his keys and left, brushing past both of us without looking back. The door clicked shut behind him with a finality that left Daemon and me standing in the hallway alone, the silence between us thick enough to choke on.
I didn't wait for him to speak. Didn't give him the opportunity to start whatever interrogation he was clearly gearing up for. I simply turned and headed toward the elevator, my borrowed clothes swishing around my legs with each step.
Behind me, I heard Daemon move to follow. His footsteps were deliberate, measured, but they carried an undercurrent of coiled tension that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. We rode down to the parking garage in suffocating quiet, both of us staring straight ahead at our own reflections in the polished elevator doors.
When we reached his car, I climbed into the passenger seat without comment.
He started the engine but didn't immediately pull out of the parking space. Instead, he sat there with both hands on the steering wheel, knuckles white with pressure, staring through the windshield at nothing in particular.
"Where are we going?" I finally asked when the silence stretched past uncomfortable into unbearable.
Instead of answering, Daemon put the car in gear and peeled out of the garage with enough force to press me back against the seat. I watched the city blur past through the window, trying to orient myself based on landmarks, but we were heading in the wrong direction—away from my apartment, away from my parents' territory.
Toward the hospital. Specifically, toward the hospital where Evan worked.
"Why are we here?" I demanded as Daemon pulled into a spot near the main entrance. Through the glass doors, I could see the familiar sterile brightness of the lobby, the flow of staff and visitors moving through their morning routines.
Evan's car was parked three spaces over.