Chapter 83

Chapter 83
Violet's POV:

I forced myself to sit up despite the lingering ache in my abdomen, my hand reaching for the bouquet of white datura before Celeste could finish her saccharine performance.

"Bringing flowers with such terrible symbolism to visit someone in the hospital? How thoughtful of you, Celeste."

Before she could respond with more lies, I hurled the entire bouquet directly at her. The vase shattered against her shoulder, water and petals exploding outward in a spray of white and glass.

The white datura flowers lay scattered across the sterile hospital floo. Celeste stumbled backward, her hand flying up to cover the scratch. Her baby-blue eyes widened with what looked like genuine shock, tears beginning to well up at the corners.

"I... I didn't know," she stammered, her voice breaking in that way that always made people want to protect her. "I just thought they were beautiful, Violet. I wanted to cheer you up. I had no idea white datura meant something so terrible."

Ember snarled inside my mind, her presence stronger than it had been in years. The wolf knew what I knew. This girl standing before me, playing the innocent victim, had deliberately brought death flowers into my hospital room. In wolf tradition, gifting white datura to someone recovering from illness was the equivalent of wishing them dead, of cursing their very existence. No one who grew up in a pack could possibly be ignorant of that symbolism.

"Stop with these little games, Celeste," I said, my amber-gold eyes locking onto hers with cold precision. "You know exactly what those flowers mean. Now get out of my sight. Immediately."

Something flickered behind her baby-blue eyes then, something cold and calculating that vanished so quickly I might have imagined it. But I hadn't imagined it. When she turned toward the door, still clutching her cheek with that perfectly wounded expression, I caught the briefest flash of a smile crossing her face. Satisfied. Triumphant. Like she'd gotten exactly what she came for.

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone with scattered white petals and mounting rage. I pressed the call button, and when the nurse arrived to clean up the mess, I tried to settle back into the hospital bed and focus on staying calm. Dr. Chase's warnings echoed in my mind—stress could cost me my daughter. I couldn't let Celeste's provocations put my baby at risk.

But the damage was already done, and I knew it.

That evening, my phone buzzed with a message from Lily. The preview showed a video link and three words: "This is bad."

I opened it with dread pooling in my stomach. The edited footage started with me grabbing the bouquet, my face twisted in anger as I threw it at Celeste. The camera caught the moment the thorn scratched her cheek, caught her stumbling backward with tears streaming down her face. What it didn't show was the beginning—the white datura, the deliberate provocation, the death curse she'd brought into my hospital room. The context had been completely removed.

The caption read: "Former Luna Violet Goldcrest brutally attacks innocent Celeste Morrison during hospital visit. Is this the true face behind the elegant facade?"

The comments section was a nightmare. Petra Quinn had written, "I always knew there was something off about her." Connor Hayes added, "Jealousy is a disease." Even wolves I'd helped during my time as Luna felt qualified to weigh in, their judgments swift and merciless.

But what struck me most was Daemon's silence. In my past life, he would have immediately posted his own statement defending Celeste, making a public spectacle of choosing her over me. Yet his accounts showed nothing. No posts, no comments, no defensive statements. It was as if the incident hadn't registered on his radar at all, which made no sense given his obsessive protectiveness of her before.

I stared at my phone screen, trying to reconcile this change with everything I remembered. What was different this time?

"Let them believe what they want," I said quietly when Lily called moments later, frantic with worry. "I know the truth, and that's enough for me."

But even as I said it, I could feel the weight of isolation settling over me like a heavy blanket. The pack had turned against me with frightening speed, and I was utterly alone in this fight.

The next morning, Dr. Chase arrived with my discharge papers and a folder thick with instructions. Her gray eyes were serious as she settled into the chair beside my bed.

"Your bleeding has stopped completely," she said, flipping through my chart. "The ultrasound shows your daughter's heartbeat is stronger. But Violet, I need you to understand something very clearly. Your progesterone levels are still dangerously low. The next three months are critical. You're not out of danger yet."

She leaned forward, making sure I was looking directly at her. "Any major emotional upheaval, any physical strain, any situation that spikes your stress levels could trigger another bleeding episode or worse. I know you work as an event planner, and I know it's peak season. But if you try to maintain your current workload while pregnant, I cannot guarantee you'll keep this baby."

The words hit me like a physical blow. My career was just beginning to take off. I had three major events scheduled in the next month, projects that could establish my financial independence. But the alternative was losing my daughter, and that wasn't even a choice.

"What do I need to do?" I asked quietly, my hands moving to rest on my stomach.

Dr. Chase pulled out detailed nutrition guides and supplement schedules. "Complete bed rest for two weeks minimum. After that, severely limited activity for your entire first trimester. No heavy lifting, no stressful situations, no long hours on your feet. You'll need prenatal vitamins daily, avoid caffeine completely, and come in for monitoring twice a week initially."

She handed me a prescription for additional progesterone supplements. "Violet, this baby is depending entirely on you right now. Every choice you make, every stress you allow into your life, directly impacts her survival. Don't let pride or external pressures cost you what matters most. If you continue with high-intensity work and emotional stress, I cannot guarantee this outcome."

Her bluntness was almost cruel, but I needed to hear it. I took the folders with trembling hands, memorizing every warning sign and dietary requirement. This was real. This was happening. I was going to have to rearrange my entire life around keeping my daughter safe.

"I'll do whatever it takes," I said firmly, meeting her eyes. "Just tell me she has a chance."

"If you follow these guidelines, you're giving her the best possible chance," Dr. Chase said, her expression softening slightly. "That's all any of us can do."

My apartment door buzzer rang that evening. I'd been discharged an hour ago and had barely settled onto my couch when the sound startled me. Through the intercom screen, I saw Evan standing outside with a large suitcase.

I buzzed him up, confused. When I opened the door, he looked slightly sheepish but determined.

"Medical exchange program," he explained before I could ask. "Frost Pack medical committee assigned me to a five-month cross-pack project. I'll be working at the local wolf clinic here. My temporary housing isn't ready yet, so..." He trailed off meaningfully.

I stared at him, my mind immediately suspicious. "You want to stay here? Why not stay with Daemon? Or Kael? They're both in the area."

"I haven't told them I'm here yet," Evan said casually, which only made my suspicion deepen.

I crossed my arms. "So our relationship is somehow closer than yours with them? Evan, you literally said you didn't like Celeste a few weeks ago. You mentioned someone 'not suitable to pursue.' That person isn't me, is it?"

His expression confirmed my fear before he said anything. My heart sank. This was the last thing I needed right now.

"No," I said firmly, before he could speak. "Absolutely not. You can go stay at a hotel."

"Because of Daemon?" Evan asked, seeing right through me.

I shook my head. "He's part of it, but mainly it's just inappropriate. We can't live together like this."

Evan smiled slightly. "Then let me at least have dinner here before I go find a hotel? I'll leave right after."

That request I couldn't refuse. I nodded reluctantly and went to the kitchen to start preparing food. When I opened the refrigerator to pull out ingredients, Evan appeared behind me.

"Let me do it," he said, reaching for the vegetables in my hands. His fingers brushed mine, and I felt how hot his skin was.

"Evan, are you running a fever?" I asked, concerned despite myself. "Your hand is burning up."

"I'm fine," he said shortly, moving to the sink to wash the vegetables.

I followed him, frowning. "You're a doctor. You should know better than to ignore symptoms. I have a thermometer—go check your temperature. What if you collapse?"

I reached up to feel his forehead, but before my hand made contact, he caught my wrist. His green eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. There was something dangerous in his gaze, something I'd never seen before.

"Why can Beck stay here but I can't?" he asked quietly.

I froze. "How did you know about that?"

"Lucian mentioned it."

I pulled my wrist free, embarrassed. "Sienna asked me for a favor. Beck only stayed two or three days, then left."

Evan's next question came out of nowhere. "Have you completely let go of Daemon now? No desire for revenge at all?"

I felt my thoughts scatter in confusion. "What do you mean? You know we completed the rejection ceremony—"

"I know," Evan interrupted, his voice low and intense. "But if you still hate him, you can use me."

I stared at him, shocked. "Use you?"

He held my gaze steadily. "However you used Zane, you can use me. I should be more effective anyway."

"Stop!" I practically shouted, my mind reeling. "Evan, are you running a fever or have you lost your mind? Do you realize what you're saying? You're Daemon's best friend! This is insane!"

His smile was bitter. "I fell for you. That's already insane, isn't it?"

The words hung in the air between us, impossible and devastating. I remembered Dr. Chase's warnings about stress, about keeping my emotions stable. I took a deep breath, forcing calm.

"Evan, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," I said carefully. "You're clearly running a fever and not thinking straight. Go lie down on the couch. I'll go buy you medicine."

I grabbed my keys and practically fled the apartment, needing distance and air and anything that wasn't Evan's confession echoing in my mind. I pulled on a baseball cap and medical mask before heading to the 24-hour pharmacy, my thoughts spinning in circles.

The pharmacy was nearly empty at this hour. I grabbed fever reducers and cold medicine quickly, paid, and headed back to the parking lot. That's when I saw Kael walking toward a familiar black luxury sedan—Daemon's car.

"Violet!" Kael waved, friendly as always. "What a coincidence running into you here."

He approached with his usual easy smile. "I'm working on a joint project with Daemon's company. Actually, we're heading to a business dinner." His eyes dropped to the pharmacy bag in my hand. "Someone sick?"

"Just a friend," I said vaguely, already moving toward my car. "I should go. Nice seeing you, Kael."

But when I reached my vehicle, I stopped short. A black SUV had parked illegally right behind me, completely blocking me in. I couldn't move my car at all.

I pulled out my phone to call a towing company, frustration building. That's when I heard the familiar purr of an expensive engine. Daemon's car had made a U-turn and was pulling up beside me.

The window lowered, revealing blood-red eyes that locked onto mine with unsettling intensity. "Get in," Daemon said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I'll drive you home."

I took a breath, keeping my expression neutral. "No need, Daemon. I'll call a cab."

I turned to walk away, but he was already out of the car, his tall frame blocking my path. His gaze dropped to the pharmacy bag in my hand, eyes narrowing.

"Cold medicine and fever reducers," he observed quietly. His blood-red eyes lifted from the bag to my face, searching. "Are you sick?"

"No," I said flatly, taking a step back to create distance between us. "I'm not."

His gaze sharpened, clearly not satisfied with my answer. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken questions. When he spoke again, his voice carried a dangerous edge.

"Then who are these for?" He gestured toward the pharmacy bag. "Is it Beck? Is he still staying at your place?"