Chapter Forty: Willing Blindness

Sophie's POV

"Thank goodness you're all safe." Victoria descended the stairs, the warm foyer lights softening her features.

"Oh my god, Victoria!" I broke away from Marcus's side, stumbling forward. "Where were you? We couldn't find you anywhere after the attack started. I was so worried-" My voice wobbled embarrassingly, but I couldn't help it.

My hands grabbed her arms, checking frantically for injuries. That's when I really noticed she was dressed differently now, a simple silk blouse and loungewear pants instead of the evening gown she'd worn to the party. No cuts, no bruises, no sign she'd been anywhere near tonight's chaos. She looked like she'd spent the evening at a spa rather than fleeing assassins.

"I started feeling unwell at the party and came home early," Victoria explained, squeezing my trembling hands. "I had no idea what happened until the security teams reported in."

Wait. Something about that niggled at my memory. Hadn't I glimpsed her entering the main house with someone right before the attack? The timing felt... off. But my exhausted brain refused to process what that might mean. Maybe she'd just gone back to get her things before heading home. Right now, all I could feel was relief - the one person in this whole mess who actually seemed to give a damn about me wasn't lying dead in some forest somewhere.

"You left without informing anyone." Marcus's voice was level, but held an edge of... something. Not quite an accusation, more like a careful evaluation.

"I apologize, Alpha." Victoria used his title, she met his gaze steadily. "I didn't want to disrupt the gathering. I had no idea things would..." She glanced at my torn dress, genuine concern flickering across her face.

Marcus said nothing more, just gave a slight nod.

"You need to clean up and rest," Victoria announced, her tone gentle but firm as she gestured to some hovering maids. "I'll handle the arrangements."

"The dress..." I started apologetically, but Victoria waved it off.

"Dresses can be replaced," she said firmly. "You can't."

The massive bathtub filled with steaming water, Victoria's careful hands guiding me in while the maids gathered the ruins of my dress. Every scratch and bruise from our forest escape stung as they made contact with the water.

"Careful with her feet," Victoria instructed softly. "They took quite a beating tonight."

I hissed as they cleaned the cuts on my soles, memories of running barefoot through the woods flashing behind my eyes. Victoria's gentle hands worked methodically, picking leaves and twigs from my tangled hair with infinite patience.

"There now," Victoria helped me into a soft robe. "Into bed with you. Everything else can wait until tomorrow."

I caught her hand as she turned to leave. "Stay? Just... just for a little while?"

A shadow crossed her face, there and gone too quickly to read. But she settled beside me, fingers combing through my hair with that maternal tenderness that always made my chest ache.

"You're safe now," she murmured. "Try to sleep."

Exhaustion was pulling me under fast. The last thing I remember was Victoria's gentle humming - a melody that stirred something in the depths of my memory, though I couldn't quite place it.

In that space between sleeping and waking, I thought I heard my door open. Footsteps approached my bed, followed by the whisper of fabric as someone leaned close. A familiar feeling - Marcus? - but consciousness slipped away before I could be sure.

The next thing I knew, sunlight stabbed through my eyelids, accompanied by a sharp knock. I groaned, burrowing deeper into my blankets only to hear Marcus's voice: "Time to get up."

The sound of his voice made my stomach clench. Everything about last night felt like some bizarre fever dream. Running through the forest, crossing that icy river on his wolf's back, the electric current that had sparked through me every time he touched me. But then I remembered his cold dismissal in the car: "You know I can't do that."

"Go away," I muttered into my pillow, not ready to face him or these complicated feelings.

"Sophie." His voice held none of last night's ice. Almost gentle, which somehow made it worse. "The pack needs to see us functioning normally after the attack."

"Since when do you care what I need?" The words came out bitter, muffled by blankets.

A pause. Then: "The children at the orphan school will be frightened. They need reassurance."

Damn him. He knew exactly which buttons to push. I emerged reluctantly from my blanket cocoon and immediately regretted it. Because there he stood, not a hair out of place, looking fresh as morning dew. His stance drew my attention exactly where he wanted it - the spot where that bullet had ripped through him. The perfectly healed skin visible at his collar felt like a taunt. Like he was daring me to remember how he'd bled for me.

He was literally using his injury to play me. And It was kind of working.

"Using orphans as emotional manipulation is low," I muttered, but I was already sitting up despite my protesting muscles.

Something that might have been amusement flickered in his eyes. "If it works..."

"Twenty minutes," I said, refusing to acknowledge how his almost-smile made my stomach flip.

"Ten."

"Fifteen," I countered. "Unless you want me looking like I actually got shot at last night."

He studied me for a moment, considering. "Fine. Fifteen minutes. And Sophie? No running in heels this time."

I threw my pillow at his retreating back, but he was already gone. Asshole.