Chapter 20 The Aftermath
Malia's POV
I've been scrubbing the stain from the wine for twenty minutes, and it’s not coming out.
Of course it’s not.
Red wine on a delicate fabric—it was meant to be permanent. Just like humiliation. I perch on the floor of the bathroom July’s destroyed dress splayed out on my legs, and I let the tears fall at last.
Not big, theatrical sobs. Just quiet, tired crying. Was there any other kind?
Because tonight it broke something inside of me.
Not the public humiliation — not when I've gone through that before. But the systematic meanness of it. The organization. How Lydia took my most vulnerable moment, turned it into a weapon, and held it up for hundreds of people.
And those texts. Watch your back.
Someone is after me. And I don’t know why.
My phone buzzes.
July: I just heard what happened. I'm on my way over.
Me: Don’t. I'm fine.
July: That’s a lie and we both know it.
Me: I just need to be alone right now. Please.
A long pause.
July: Okay. But I’m coming to check on you first thing tomorrow. And Malia? The dress doesn’t matter. You matter.
Fresh tears spill over. I put my phone away and go back to scrubbing the stain for no good reason.
It’s ruined.
Completely, irreversibly ruined.
Just like my reputation.
Just like all the other opportunities I had to fit in here.
—-----
I don’t know how long I sit there. So long that my legs fall asleep. Long enough for the tears to dry on my cheeks, long enough for me to hear the dorm room door open.
Aiden’s back. I freeze up, listening to his footsteps. Heavy. Tired.
He doesn’t call out to me, doesn’t even ask if I’m okay. Just pacing around the room with his usual efficiency—coming and going with keys, jacket, the standard noises of his presence in the home we reluctantly share.
I should get up. Go out there, thank him for defending me.
But I just can’t bring myself to move.
Because now coming face-to-face with Aiden—after everything that happened, after he blatantly decided to stand up for me in public despite all his best advice to stay away—feels like too much to deal with.
Too raw. I hear his footsteps approach the bathroom door. A pause.
Then his voice, soft and hesitant: "Malia?"
I swipe at my face harshly. “Yeah?”
“You okay?”
The question is so unexpected, and so completely out of character for Aiden, that I almost laugh.
"I'm fine."
"You’re such a bad liar."
But you’re a worse friend, and you would never want your friend to be with the worst friend in this world. Fair.
Another pause.
Then: “I’m leaving something on your bed. Don’t... just don’t argue about it.”
His footsteps retreat.
I wait a few minutes to muster up quite a little amount of bravery, and then I stand on shaky legs. My reflection in the mirror is a mess – makeup smeared, eyes bloodshot, hair escaping from July’s meticulous styling.
I look exactly how I feel. Ransacked. I wash my face, slip into some sweatpants, and eventually make my way out of the bathroom. Aiden is at his desk, his back to me. And on my bed there's a shopping bag.
Priceless. Designer logo pressed in gold on the side. I creep up on it gradually, as if it’s going to pop. Inside there's a dress. Not just any dress.
A breathtaking dress in rich emerald green, the material so luxuriant it feels like water. Classic and chic, with light beading at the neckline that sparkles in the light.
It’s beautiful!
More stunning than anything I’ve ever had.
I lift it cautiously, and a tiny card flutters down to the floor. I pick it up.
For next time. —A
My throat closes.
“Aiden,” I say quietly.
“Don’t.” His voice is gruff . “It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal. This must have cost—”
“I said don’t.” He hasn ’t turned around yet. “It’s just a dress.”
“It’s not just a dress.” I come toward his desk, holding the card. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Cause I couldn’t have my room mate looking like a loser at the next formal!” It’s a dismissive tone, but something is there. Something softer.
“That’s not the real reason.”
“It's reason enough.”
“Aiden, you publicly humiliated Lydia Ashford tonight. You threatened her family. You used your name to protect me.” My voice grows a bit. “And now you’re buying me designer dresses. So stop pretending you don’t care.”
Finally, he turns.
His blue eyes are guarded but tired. Like tonight took something out of him too.
“What do you want me to say, Malia?”
“The truth.”
“The truth is complicated.”
“Then uncomplicate it.”
He laughs—bitter and sharp. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Since—” He runs a hand through his hair, visibly agitated. “Because the truth would make everything worse. For both of us.”
“How can it get much worse than now? Than whatever this is?” I gesture between us. “You push me away, then defend me. You tell me to stay away from your brothers and then you protect me in front of everyone. You pretend I’m a problem, then you buy me expensive gifts. I don’t get you.”
“Good,” he says quietly. “You shouldn’t.”
"That’s not fair."
"Life isn't fair." But his voice is missing its usual icy sharpness. “You of all people know that.”
He's right. close Life hasn't been fair for me.
But I’m not going to stop asking for honesty just because it’s hard for me to hear the truth.
“Just tell me this,” I say. “Why did you defend me tonight? The real reason.”
Aiden is silent for a long moment.
Then: “Because seeing her hurt you made me want to break something.”
The confession hangs in the air between us.
Raw. Honest. Vulnerable.My heart pounds against my ribcage.
“Why?” I whisper.
“I don’t know.” But the way he looks at me — so intense, conflicted, desperate — indicates he knows. He just won’t say it.
“Aiden—”
"Go to sleep, Malia." He turns back to his desk, ending the conversation. “It’s been a long night.”
He's right about that. But I stay there for a moment longer, my hands full with the dress, my mind grappling with his words, attempting to understand a boy who looks as though he could not be more of an opposite to himself.
Slowly, I return to my bed and hang the dress in my tiny closet with care. It's just too nice for me.
Too expensive, too thoughtful.
Just like Aiden’s defense tonight was too public, too protective, too much like something more than indifference.
I climb into bed, pulling the blanket up.
The only sound in the room is the faint tapping of Aiden’s fingers on the keyboard.
"Thank you," I say into the darkness. "For tonight, for the dress... for, for... everything."
The typing stops. A long silence.
Then, so quietly I almost miss it. "You're welcome."
Two simple words. But they seem to break through his armoured up state.
A glimpse of whoever Aiden Moonfall really is behind all the walls and hostility and complicated emotions.
—------
I’m awake for hours, staring at the ceiling.
My mind replays everything—the video, the wine, Lydia’s satisfied smile.
But also: Aiden’s cold fury. His public threat. The way he looked at me with something that was almost like ... care.
Because it hurt to see her hurt you I wanted to destroy something, he said simply.
What does that mean?
And why does it make my wolf stir with interest when every logical reason tells me to stay far away from him? From across the room, I hear Aiden shifting in his bed.
Also awake, also thinking.
"Aiden?" I whisper.
"What?"
"Why does it bother you so much, when your brothers spend time with me?"
Silence stretches.
I think he’s going to ignore the question.
Then: “Because they don't know how to take care of themselves. And you don't know what you're getting in to.”
“What am I getting into?”
Another long pause. “More than you realize.”
It's cryptic and frustrating and classic Aiden—giving me just enough to make me more confused, but it's also honest.
A tiny slice of truth in the darkness.
"Goodnight, Aiden," I say softly.
"Goodnight."
I close my eyes, exhausted at last toying with taking me under. And in some place in my dreams, I see three wolves—one silver, one gold-brown, one dark grey—waiting in front of a forest.
Waiting, watching, protecting. But from what, I don’t know.
—----
Aiden's POV(brief)
I lie awake long after Malia's breathing evens out into sleep. Tonight was a mistake, defending her publicly. Threatening Lydia.
Making it obvious that Malia matters to me.
Because now people will watch her more closely.
Target her more deliberately, use her to get to me.
Exactly what I was trying to prevent.
But watching that video—seeing her most vulnerable moment turned into entertainment—had triggered something primal in me.
My wolf had surged forward, demanding protection, demanding vengeance. And for a change, I hadn’t fought it.
I just let the protective instinct take over.
Even when I was aware of the repercussions.
Even knowing that would make everything more difficult.
“Because seeing her inflict pain on you made me want to smash something.”
The truth that I could never fully speak. The bond I am still fighting, the mate pull, that is getting stronger every day no matter how much I try and resist it.
I tilt my head a bit, glancing over at Malia's sleeping spot. She looks peaceful in the moonlight, younger.
She is vulnerable in a way she never is in the daylight. My wolf whimpers, eager to reach her, to soothe her, to own her. But I force it down.
Because it’s dangerous to care about Malia Reed.
For both our sakes.
And I cared too much already, too much.