Chapter 58
Violet's POV:
Evan leaned against the doorframe with his usual doctor's coat, his blonde hair slightly disheveled as if he'd been running his hands through it.
"No," I replied.
"Well," he said quietly, "I know it's late, but I was thinking you might not want to spend New Year's Eve alone in here. The hospital roof has a pretty decent view of the city skyline. We could watch the countdown from up there if you want. Better than staring at your phone, at least."
I was about to answer when a young nurse walked past, stopping short when she spotted him. "Dr. Thorne? I thought you were off tonight. Isn't Dr. Harper supposed to be on the night shift?"
Evan's expression didn't change, smooth and practiced. "Harper wasn't feeling well, so I offered to cover for him. Figured I'd be around anyway."
Amy nodded and continued down the hallway. I watched the exchange with growing awareness. He wasn't supposed to be here. He'd given up his New Year's Eve to stay at the hospital, presumably because he knew I'd be alone. The realization settled over me like a warm blanket I didn't know I needed, and for a moment I couldn't speak around the tightness in my throat.
I swallowed hard, pushing down the complicated tangle of gratitude and guilt that threatened to overwhelm me. "Okay," I said quietly, reaching for the thick cardigan draped over the chair beside my bed.
The hospital roof was freezing, the January wind cutting through my layers with brutal efficiency, but the view was breathtaking. Frost's downtown district sprawled before us, a glittering constellation of lights and glass towers, the tallest buildings already beginning their pre-midnight light show.
In one corner of the roof, someone had left behind supplies from the staff New Year's party that had apparently wrapped up earlier in the evening. There were a few boxes of party poppers, confetti cannons, and plastic noise makers scattered across a folding table, abandoned but still festive.
Evan walked over and picked up two party poppers, handing me one with a small smile. "Traditional equipment. You pull the string when the countdown hits zero." He paused, glancing at the distant lights. "By the way, Mason Morrison's heart surgery went extremely well. He'll be discharged in a few days, fully recovered."
The name hit me like ice water. I kept my expression neutral, but my grip tightened on the party popper until the cardboard crinkled under my fingers. "That's good news," I said carefully, my voice flat. "You should tell Daemon. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear it."
"I don't need to tell him. Celeste will make sure he knows first thing."
"Well," I said after a moment, "that's good then."
The countdown reached two minutes. The crowd noise from the streets below grew louder, people shouting and laughing, the energy building toward that final moment. Evan and I both raised our party poppers, holding them ready. Sixty seconds. Fifty. Forty.
When the countdown hit zero, I pulled the string on my party popper. Colorful streamers exploded into the air around me, twisting and falling in bright spirals of pink and gold and silver. But instead of celebrating, instead of shouting "Happy New Year" like everyone else in the city below, I turned my face toward the heavens and screamed, "Fuck you, Daemon Blackwood!"
The words tore out of my throat with five years of suppressed rage and heartbreak behind them, raw and vicious and completely uncontrolled. My chest heaved, my eyes burned.
Evan didn't move, didn't try to stop me or calm me down. He just stood there, silent and steady, giving me space to fall apart. When I finally ran out of breath and sagged against the railing, shaking and empty, he stepped closer and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, his hand giving my arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out with trembling hands. The first message was a voice note from my father. "Happy New Year, sweetheart! Your mother and I are so proud of you. We love you more than words can say." His voice was warm and steady, exactly what I needed to hear, and I had to blink back tears as I listened to it twice.
Then a voice note from my mother. "Baby, happy New Year! I have a surprise for you. We're getting you a gift, the latest BMW heavy bike. The one you've been looking at online."
I stood there clutching my phone, and something shifted inside me. I wasn't alone. I had parents who loved me unconditionally, friends who would fight for me, a whole life waiting beyond the wreckage of this marriage.
Two days later, the doctor cleared me for discharge. I returned to Blackwood Estate where Mara had prepared a welcome-home lunch. I went upstairs for a nap after lunch. I'd barely been asleep for an hour when my phone started ringing. Zane's name flashed on the screen.
"Violet!" His voice was tight with worry. "Are you okay? I heard you were in the hospital. What happened?"
I sat up slowly, confused. "How did you know I was in the hospital?"
"Celeste told me. She said you had an accident. I went to the hospital to check on you, but they said you'd already been discharged."
Ice slid down my spine. Why would Celeste tell Zane about my hospitalization? Unless she wanted him to come looking for me, wanted to create more interaction between us.
"I'm fine, Zane," I said, keeping my voice light. "Just a minor concussion. Nothing serious. Thanks for checking on me."
Five minutes after we hung up, my phone rang again. Daemon's name this time.
"You're out of the hospital," he said without preamble, his tone sharp with irritation. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Why would I? Did you go there looking for me?"
"Obviously. The nurse said you'd been discharged hours ago." He paused, grinding his teeth audibly. "I wasted my entire noon."
Something clicked into place. Celeste had known Daemon was planning to visit me at the hospital today. That's why she'd told Zane, hoping they'd run into each other there. Except I'd ruined her little scheme by leaving early.
"Well, I'm home now," I said coolly, then hung up before he could respond.
I went downstairs, restless. The late afternoon sun streamed through the living room windows, and my eyes caught on the pair of skis leaning against the wall beside the fireplace, exactly where they'd been since our disastrous skiing trip. I walked over and touched them briefly. Beautiful, expensive, unused—just like everything else in this marriage.
I thought about my friends and their lives. Sienna with her endless roster of men, Jade excelling at warrior training, even Lily rediscovering her passion for poetry.
"What am I going to do after the ceremony?" I whispered to the empty room.
Ember stirred in my mind. "Be yourself. Not his shadow. Not his possession. Just Violet."
I stood by the window, looking out at the sprawling grounds, when I felt rather than heard someone approaching behind me. I spun around, my heart jumping, and found Daemon standing less than ten feet away, watching me with an unreadable expression.
My eyes immediately locked onto what he was wearing on his head. A hand-knit black and white checkered beanie. I froze, recognition slamming into me like a physical blow.
I knew this hat. In my previous life, I'd seen it in an Instagram post the winter after our rejection ceremony. Daemon wearing it while laughing with Celeste in the snow, her comment underneath gushing about how glad she was that he liked "the hat I made for you" with a heart emoji.
Now, up close, I could see the small embroidered tag sewn into the brim. "C.M." in delicate cursive script. Celeste Morrison's initials.
Something hot and possessive flared in my chest. Ember snarled in my consciousness, her rage immediate and visceral. "He's our mate! Why is he wearing another woman's gift?"
I should have walked away. I should have ignored it, maintained my dignity, stayed distant. Instead, I found myself moving toward him, my voice deliberately light and casual even as my wolf screamed inside me. "New hat? Let me see."
Daemon went still, clearly not expecting this reaction, but he didn't pull away. He actually lowered his head slightly, allowing me access, and I stepped even closer until I could have counted his eyelashes. This close, I could see every detail of his face, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his blood-red eyes held mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
My fingers brushed the edge of the beanie, deliberately grazing the embroidered initials. "Very well made," I said, my tone cool and assessing. "She clearly put a lot of effort into it."
"It's just a hat," Daemon said quietly, his voice rough.
I met his eyes directly, holding his gaze as I let my hand drop. "Right. Just a hat that someone made specifically for you, with their initials sewn into it, that you're choosing to wear." I paused, then smiled without warmth. "Actually, never mind. I shouldn't put it on anyway. It's hers, made for you. I'd hate for her to be upset that I touched something so personal."
"She's not that petty."
The words hit me like a slap. His immediate defense of her, his certainty about her character, his trust in her intentions. I almost laughed. I had recordings of Celeste abandoning me outside that factory, leaving me to die while she led Daemon away, and here he was telling me how generous and understanding she was.
I wanted to pull out my phone right then, play him the audio, show him exactly what kind of person he was defending.
But I held back. The rejection ceremony was coming. I don't want to ruin it.
"Let's go inside," I said flatly, already turning toward the main house. "I assume you didn't come here to model winter accessories."
We walked into the manor in heavy silence, the vast hallways echoing with our footsteps. I led him to the living room and sat down on the sofa near the fireplace, deliberately choosing the side that put distance between us.
I looked directly at him, my voice steady and businesslike. "So. The rejection ceremony paperwork. Is it ready?"
He turned to face me fully, and for the first time since entering, I saw something shift in his expression. "It's being processed."
"Processing what?" I kept my tone flat, refusing to show the frustration building in my chest. "I told you I don't want anything. No property, no assets, nothing. The paperwork should be straightforward."
Daemon's jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath his skin. He stared at me for a long moment, and then asked quietly, almost carefully, "Are you really in such a hurry to go through with this?"
I stood up, closing the distance between us until we were less than two feet apart, forcing this confrontation. "What's there to hesitate about?" My voice came out sharper than I intended. "You couldn't fall in love with me, your chosen mate, in five years. Now you've found your true mate. Why aren't you rushing to be with her?"
He didn't answer, his blood-red eyes fixed on my face with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
I pushed harder, my words gaining an edge. "Is it the alliance? Are you worried about losing the connection between Frost Pack and Wildfire Pack?" I laughed, the sound bitter. "Don't be. You've built your pack into something powerful enough that you don't need us anymore. Or is it something else?"
I paused, my heart hammering against my ribs, and then I said the thing I'd been wondering about for weeks. "Unless..." I took a breath, holding his gaze. "Unless you've actually developed feelings for me?"