Chapter 19 CHAPTER 19

Chapter 19 CHAPTER 19
Bronte's POV

I wake up with the book still in my hands.

Sunlight streams through the window and I realize I must have fallen asleep at some point in the early morning hours, Jane Eyre pressed against my chest like a secret I'm trying to keep safe.

I read the underlined passage again.

"I would always rather be happy than dignified."

The words feel heavier in daylight, more real, like Sebastian is asking me a question I'm not ready to answer.

I hide the book in my dresser drawer before Irina can come in and ask questions I don't want to answer.

A knock on my door makes me jump.

"Bronte?" Irina's voice. "Are you awake? Breakfast is ready."

"Coming," I call.

I get dressed quickly and head downstairs.

The pack house is already busy with activity. Pack members moving furniture, hanging decorations, the coordinator barking orders with her tablet in hand. It's not the final push before the ceremony, just another day of the endless preparations that have been happening since I arrived.

In the dining room, Alexander is already at the table with his beta, discussing security rotations.

"There she is," he says when I walk in, standing to pull out my chair. "Did you sleep better?"

"A little."

"Good." He kisses the top of my head before sitting back down. "We have a full day ahead. The florist is coming to finalize the arrangements, and I thought you might want to approve the menu one more time."

"Sure."

Irina slides into the seat beside me and passes me the juice. "You look tired," she whispers.

"I'm fine."

"You keep saying that."

Breakfast passes with Alexander talking about the day's schedule while I push food around my plate and try to look interested.

When he finally leaves for a council meeting, Irina leans closer.

"What's going on with you?"

"Nothing."

"You've barely eaten, you look like you haven't slept in days, and you keep staring at the door like you're waiting for something."

"I'm not waiting for anything."

She gives me a look that says she doesn't believe me but lets it go.

The morning is a blur of decisions I don't care about. Napkin colors, candle placements, whether the arch should have more white roses or fewer. The coordinator asks my opinion on everything and I nod and agree and try to remember why any of this matters.

That's when I see him.

Sebastian crosses through the entrance hall, talking to one of the warriors. He's too far away to hear what they're saying but I can't stop watching him, the way he moves, the way he gestures with his hands when he's making a point.

He looks up.

Our eyes meet across the distance.

Neither of us moves.

Neither of us looks away.

The warrior says something and Sebastian nods, responding, but his eyes stay on mine for exactly three seconds before he turns and walks away.

"Bronte?" The coordinator's voice pulls me back. "Did you hear me?"

"Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you prefer the ivory tablecloths or the cream."

"Ivory is fine."

She makes a note and keeps talking but I'm not listening anymore.

The rest of the morning continues like that. Brief glimpses of Sebastian across rooms, in corridors, always at a distance. Each time our eyes meet for just a moment before one of us has to look away.

By afternoon I'm exhausted from pretending I'm not searching for him in every space I enter.

I'm in the sitting room reviewing seating charts when Serena appears with a tray of tea.

"Thought you might need a break," she says, setting it down on the table beside me.

"Thank you."

She sits across from me, pouring two cups with that practiced grace she does everything with. "Big day today. So many decisions."

"It's a lot."

"You're handling it well though." She hands me a cup. "Much better than I would in your position."

"I doubt that."

"No, really." She takes a sip of her tea. "I get so distracted by everything. Like right now, I keep noticing where people's attention goes instead of focusing on what they're saying."

The way she says it makes my skin prickle.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing specific." She smiles. "Just an observation. Like how you keep looking at the doorways, the corridors. Almost like you're looking for someone."

I set my cup down carefully. "I'm just tired."

"Of course you are. Wedding planning is exhausting." She stands. "I should let you get back to it. But Bronte? Be careful where your attention goes. People notice these things."

She leaves before I can respond.

I sit there for a long moment, my heart racing, before Irina appears in the doorway.

"Was that Serena?"

"Yes."

"What did she want?"

"To bring me tea and make veiled threats."

Irina closes the door and sits beside me. "What did she say?"

"That I should be careful where my attention goes because people notice."

"She's watching you."

"I know."

"Then you need to stop, Bronte. Stop looking for him. Stop making it obvious."

"I'm not making anything obvious."

"Yes you are. I've been watching you all day and you can't go five minutes without scanning the room for him." She takes my hand. "You're playing with fire and you're going to get burned."

"I know."

"Then stop."

"I can't."

The words come out before I can stop them and Irina's face softens.

"Oh, Bronte," she says quietly.

"I know it's wrong. I know I should stay away from him. I know all of it. But I can't stop and I don't know what to do."

She squeezes my hand but doesn't say anything because what is there to say?

The afternoon drags on with more decisions and more preparations and more glimpses of Sebastian that I try and fail not to notice.

By evening I'm so tired I can barely stand but sleep feels impossible.

After dinner, which I barely touch, I tell Alexander I'm going to bed early.

"Good idea," he says, kissing my forehead. "You need rest."

But I don't go to my room.

I wait until the pack house quiets down, until I'm sure Alexander is in his office with his beta, until the hallways are mostly empty.

Then I go to the library.

I push the door open slowly.

The room is dark except for moonlight coming through the windows.

Empty.

I step inside anyway and close the door behind me.

That's when I see it.

On the table by the couch, a lamp positioned so light falls on an open book.

I cross the room.

Wuthering Heights.

Open to a page with one line circled in pencil.

"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."

I sink onto the couch and read it again, my fingers trembling as they trace the words.

He's not here but he's here, in these books, in these messages he's leaving me.

I sit in the dark library with the book open on my lap and wonder how much longer I can keep pretending I don't want exactly what these messages are saying.