Chapter 33 The Things He Refuses to Admit
Grayson:
I hadn’t meant to follow her.
That’s what I told myself as I walked through the west garden path, the cold morning sun slicing between the silver trees. Harrow was a few steps behind her, a silent shadow, but it didn’t stop my wolf from pacing inside my chest, restless and agitated.
I told myself I was inspecting the grounds. Checking the ward lines. Ensuring security.
But then I saw her.
Evangeline.
And everything else fell away.
She was holding a pup, a tiny girl with dark curls and trembling hands. The child clung to Evie’s neck like the world would collapse if she let go. Evie murmured something soft, too soft for me to hear, and Isla settled, small fists gripping her dress.
Her mother approached seconds later, frantic, panicked and snatched the girl away so fast Evie stumbled.
My fists clenched. I expected Evie to flinch, or shrink, or defend herself.
She didn’t.
Her voice stayed calm. Quiet. Steady.
And when the pup ran back to her, arms wrapping tightly around Evie’s legs, calling her safe, something inside me twisted so violently I nearly staggered.
Because nothing made sense.
The girl I believed had poisoned Chloe…
The girl I’d taught myself to despise…
The girl I’d treated like she was venom wrapped in silk…
That girl didn’t cling to children.
Didn’t comfort strangers.
Didn’t kneel in the dirt to soothe a frightened pup she had no obligation to.
But this Evangeline did.
This Evangeline always had.
My wolf pressed hard against my skin.
Mate is good. Mate is kind. Mate is ours.
Why hurt her? Why believe lies?
“Enough,” I muttered under my breath.
But the wolf didn’t quiet. Didn’t retreat. Didn’t let me turn away.
Because even from a distance, I could see it: The way Isla nestled into Evie’s lap like she belonged there.
The way Evie brushed dirt from the girl’s cheek with a tenderness that wasn’t practised.
The way she smiled, real and small and weary, when the mother apologized.
Something inside me cracked. A small, treacherous thought took root.
Could I have been wrong?
No.
No, I wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t be wrong.
But the doubt stayed anyway. And it followed me all day.
It was past two when I gave in. The rest of the estate slept, and the moon was a silver blade hanging in the sky. I stopped pretending I wasn’t thinking about her.
My body felt heavy, unsteady, the kind of exhaustion that didn’t come from training or fighting but from resisting something primal and old. Something bonded.
My wolf was restless. Pacing and pushing me to go to her.
Go to her.
Check her.
Mate is fragile. Sad. Alone.
GO.
I told myself I was just making sure she was resting. That her injuries hadn’t worsened. That she hadn’t snuck into the Luna Wing again.
Lies were easy to swallow at night.
I slipped into her room quietly, barely breathing. Harrow was off shift; two guards stood at the far end of the corridor, unaware.
Candles flickered low in her chamber. And then…
I froze.
She was curled on her bed, asleep, small hands tucked beneath her cheek. Her braid had come loose, strands of hair spilling across the pillow.
Her breathing was soft, too soft, like someone afraid to dream too loudly. My chest tightened. I moved a little closer.
I knew I shouldn’t have.
But I did.
The closer I got, the more I felt it, the bond humming like a faint pulse between us, echoing with guilt and want and pain. She shifted slightly, murmuring something in her sleep.
The bruise on her collarbone had faded, thanks to her wolf and the potion she thought I didn’t know about. But the memory of how it got there made my throat burn.
My hand lifted before I could stop it.
Just a touch.
Just one.
My fingers brushed her hair, and her eyes snapped open. Fear exploded across her face so fast it stole my breath. She sat up sharply, sheets clutched against her chest, breath trembling. She looked at me like I might strike her.
My wolf recoiled, whining in agony.
I stepped back instantly, palms raised.
“Evie...”
She didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just stared. But her eyes said everything.
Fear.
Wariness.
Resignation.
Like she was waiting for pain. Waiting for me to hurt her again.
Something inside me cracked. I didn’t leave. I couldn’t. Her voice came out barely above a whisper, raw and trembling:
“Grayson… we grew up together. Do you really believe I’m the cruel person you think I am?”
Her question punched the air from my lungs. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Because I didn’t know what I believed anymore.
Her face crumpled, just a little, enough to hurt.
“It’s alright,” she whispered. “You don’t have to say anything. I have my answer.”
Silence swallowed the room whole. I swallowed hard.
“How are your injuries?” I asked, the question slipping out because I needed to say something, anything that wasn’t the truth choking me.
Her eyes sharpened, wounded and furious all at once.
“They’re healed. Almost gone.” A beat. “Why? Are you here to leave more?”
My heart dropped.
“You can,” she added, voice thin, cracking. “Because you own me. And I’m yours to break.”
Shame slammed into me so violently that I had to grab the bedpost.
I wanted to apologise. But the words clogged in my throat.
“I... I should never have...”
“But you already did,” she whispered. “You already did, Grayson.”
Her voice was a ghost. A wound. A mirror.
“And if you’re here to take what you own,” she said quietly, “I won’t resist.”
It felt like she had slapped me. Hard.
“Evie...”
Her name shattered in my mouth. But I had nothing else. Nothing that wouldn’t sound hollow. I stepped back. I steadied my breathing. The bond throbbed painfully.
“Next week,” I forced out, “the annual Silverbourne Ball will be held. You will attend by my side.”
Not an order. My voice didn’t have the edge I usually used with her. I didn’t even know what it had.
Her heart clenched. I saw it. Felt it through the bond.
Her fingers curled into the sheets.
“As you say, Alpha Grayson.”
Not sarcasm. Not defiance. Just quiet resignation. Just surrender.
It cut deeper than her anger ever could. I stood there for a long moment.
Watching her.
Hating myself.
Then I left her room.
And the bond followed me like a bruise I couldn’t hide.