Chapter 39 The Past Lovers
After dinner, I found myself back in the garden.
It was quieter now, the chaos of voices and clinking glasses muted behind thick glass doors and stone walls. Whoever had designed this place understood restraint. The garden wasn’t loud or excessive, it was intentional. Soft lights hung from trees like captured stars, illuminating winding paths and flower beds shaped with care. Lanterns glowed along the edges of the terrace, their reflections trembling in time with the ocean beyond.
I stood near the balustrade, resting my hands against the cool stone as I looked out over the sea.
The waves crashed endlessly below, dark and wild, as if the ocean itself refused to be tamed by the luxury perched above it. I liked that. There was honesty in it. Violence, even. No pretending.
For a moment, I let myself appreciate the silence—the smell of salt. The breeze was teasing loose strands of my hair. The way the lights softened the night's sharpness.
Then heels clicked behind me.
I didn’t turn right away. I didn’t have to. I could feel them, eyes crawling over my back, curiosity sharp and invasive.
“So,” a woman’s voice said, smooth and amused, “you’re Darius’s mate.”
I turned slowly.
Three women stood a few steps away from me, all dressed beautifully, all perfectly composed. They looked like they belonged here in a way I never would, like they had learned the rules of this world long before I stumbled into it.
The woman who had spoken stepped forward. She was tall, elegant, her hair a rich chestnut that fell over one shoulder in controlled waves. Her smile was polite but brittle, like glass stretched too thin.
“And who are you?” I asked.
Her eyebrows lifted slightly, as if she hadn’t expected the question.
“Cassandra,” she said. “Though I’m surprised he hasn’t mentioned me.”
“I didn’t ask if he had,” I replied.
A flicker of irritation crossed her face before she smoothed it away.
“I used to be close to him,” she continued. “Very close.”
I waited.
She clearly wanted a reaction. She continued, her voice dropping to a purr. “He used to adore me. There wasn’t a night he didn’t come to my bed whenever we bumped into each other”.
There it was. Her attempt to rattle me, to make me feel insecure or jealous. But after everything I’d been through, after everything Darius had put me through, the thought of his past lovers didn’t faze me, I couldn't care less. I looked up at her, my expression blank.
“That’s great,” I said, my voice flat. “But I couldn’t care less about what happened between you and him.”
One of the other women laughed softly.
“Everyone thought he was going to claim me as his chosen mate,” Cassandra said, her voice tightening just slightly. “But he said he couldn’t claim anyone. That he was waiting for his fated mate.”
Her gaze pinned me.
“And then you appeared.”
I studied her for a moment, really looked at her. She was beautiful, no denying that. Confident. Used to being wanted. Used to winning.
And yet here she was, standing in a garden at night, trying to prove something to a woman who hadn’t asked.
“That must have been disappointing,” I said calmly.
Her smile sharpened. “You don’t seem jealous.”
“I’m not,” I said simply.
She scoffed. “You should be. Darius is not a man who lets go easily. He has a long history.”
“I don’t give a damn,” I replied.
The words landed heavy and final.
Silence followed.
Cassandra stared at me, clearly reassessing. “You don’t care that he loved other women before you?”
“I don’t care that he existed before me,” I said. “I don’t care about who he touched, or who he almost chose. Whatever happened between you and him belongs to the past, and frankly, it’s none of my concern.”
Her eyes narrowed, and for a brief moment, I saw her confidence waver. She hadn’t expected that. She had wanted me to crumble, to be hurt by the knowledge that she had once held his affection. But I wasn’t here to play her games.
“I know what you’re trying to do,” I added, standing up from the bench. I faced her fully now, meeting her gaze head-on. “You want me to feel threatened or insecure about your past with him. But let me make something clear—I don’t care. His past doesn’t concern me, and neither do you. I don’t care about Darius. Or any of his women, past, present, or imaginary. So if you’re hoping to unsettle me, you’re wasting your time.”
The silence that followed was tense, and I could see the other women exchange glances. They hadn’t anticipated this. I could almost taste their frustration.
Her face flushed.
For a moment, I thought she might say something cruel.
Instead, she straightened.
Without another word, the three of them turned on their heels and left, their heels clicking sharply against the stone pathway as they disappeared from view.
I let out a slow breath, glad to be rid of them. But as I sat back down, thinking I could finally enjoy the peace of the garden again, another voice spoke, soft but commanding.
“I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself.”
I rolled my eyes, assuming it was one of those women coming back for round two. “I thought I told you I don’t care ” I began, but the words died in my throat as I looked up.
The woman standing in front of me was not one of the previous group. No, this one was different. Taller. More elegant. Her presence was regal, almost overwhelming. She had jet-black hair that fell in sleek waves to her waist, and her eyes were a piercing, almost unnatural shade of blue. They were like the ocean during a storm, beautiful but dangerous.
Her lips curved slightly. “I didn’t realize I’d offended you.”
I frowned. “You weren’t the one I was talking to.”
“I assumed as much,” she said. “You looked ready to claw someone’s eyes out.”
Despite myself, I snorted.
“Long night,” I muttered.
She stepped closer, not invading my space, but close enough that I felt the weight of her attention. “They shouldn’t have bothered you.”
“I can handle myself,” I said.
“I can see that,” she replied calmly.
We stood there in silence for a moment, the sound of waves filling the space between us.
“And you are?” I asked.
She inclined her head slightly. “Amina.”
Something about the way she said it made the name feel important.
“I’m Lyra,” I said.
“I know,” she replied.
I raised an eyebrow.
“I’m Faruk’s mate,” she added.
An uncomfortable silence stretched between us, and I felt the weight of her presence pressing down on me. I wasn’t sure what she wanted or why she had approached me, but I could sense that there was something more to this encounter than idle conversation. Just when I was about to open my mouth and say something to break the silence.
“Darling!”, Faruk’s voice cut through the air.