Chapter 47 What Remains
Grayson:
Isabella’s words would not leave my head.
Not because I believed them.
Not because I thought she was right.
But because I saw the way Evie changed when Isabella spoke.
I saw her shoulders stiffen.
I saw her eyes drop.
I saw something bright inside her close in on itself.
And I knew instantly, painfully, that I had caused the weakness Isabella used against her.
That guilt sank its teeth into me the second Evie went quiet. The guilt of what I had at our mating night and after. The guilt of what I had allowed myself to believe about her. The guilt of how easily I had let Chloe’s voice echo louder than Evie’s truth.
By the time the bonfire broke apart and we walked back to the estate, my wolf was restless under my skin. Anger simmered in my veins, sharp and focused.
Not at Evie.
Never at her.
Not anymore.
At Isabella.
At myself.
At the fractured path that had led us here.
Evie walked beside me, but she kept a small distance I didn’t remember creating. It felt like losing something I had only just earned. The cool night air didn’t help; every step, every silence, settled heavier in my chest.
When we reached our chambers, she went inside without looking back. Not coldly. Not rudely. Just… withdrawn. Like someone bracing for impact. I closed the door behind us and stood there for a moment, letting the quiet stretch.
“Evie,” I said softly.
She paused at the dresser, fingers touching the ribbon I had tied earlier. She didn’t turn.
My chest tightened. “I am sorry about what she said.”
“It is fine,” she murmured.
It wasn’t fine. Nothing in her voice was fine.
“Look at me,” I asked.
She hesitated, then faced me. Her eyes were calm. Too calm. A practiced calm. A calm I recognized from months ago when she wore it like armor. My wolf let out a low, frustrated sound inside me. He hated that look on her. Hated that I caused it.
“She does not get to talk to you that way,” I said.
Evie lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. “She only said what she wanted to say.”
“She said it to hurt you.”
“She said it because she believes it,” Evie whispered. “And maybe she is not entirely wrong.”
The air in my lungs froze.
No. No, no, she wasn’t going to start thinking like that again. Not after all the progress she had made. Not after she had finally begun to smile again.
I took a step forward. She took a step back. That was what finally broke something in me. I reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away.
“Evie, please.”
Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak. Her eyes glittered with exhaustion she didn’t want me to see.
“I am the reason you doubt yourself,” I said. “I know that.”
Her throat worked, tightening.
“I put that hesitation in you. I built the fear you carry. I gave Isabella the tools she used tonight.” My voice dropped. “This is my doing.”
She looked down, her breath shaky.
“I cannot ask you to trust me,” I said. “Not after everything. But I can ask for a chance to show you. Not with promises. With actions.”
Evie’s fingers closed around the edge of the dresser, steadying herself.
“Grayson…” she whispered. “I do not want to argue tonight.”
“We are not arguing,” I said gently. “I am asking you to let me be here. Let me ease what I caused. Let me hold you.”
Her eyes lifted, uncertain. “I do not want to break again.”
I stepped close enough that I could feel her breath. “If you break, I will hold the pieces. I will not let anyone, including myself, shatter you again.”
Her breath caught.
“Evie,” I said quietly, “let me.”
For a long moment, she didn’t move. Then her shoulders trembled, just once, and she let her forehead fall against my chest. The sound she made when she exhaled hurt something deep inside me.
I wrapped my arms around her carefully, giving her space to pull away if she needed it. She didn’t. She leaned in. Slowly at first, like she was testing if it was safe… then all at once, collapsing into me with a small, choked breath.
I held her. Gods, I held her like she was something I had no right to touch but could not bear to lose.
Her fingers curled into my shirt. A small, broken sob escaped before she could stop it. She buried her face against me, shoulders shaking.
“That is enough,” I murmured into her hair. “You do not have to hold it in.”
Another breath hitched, and her voice cracked. “I hate that she gets in my head.”
“I know,” I whispered. “And I hate that I ever gave her the space to do it.”
She clung tighter.
“This is the last time you will ever cry because of me,” I said. “Or because of anyone else’s words. I swear it.”
Her breath shuddered against my chest.
“And Evie…” I lowered my voice, “I do not care what she says about first loves. Or old ghosts. Or places in my heart. She does not know anything about what is here.”
Her fingers tightened again, as if she needed something real to anchor herself. We stood like that for a long time. The kind of quiet that comes from two people holding the same wound.
Eventually, her breathing steadied. Her body softened against mine, not with defeat but with a tired kind of trust. A fragile one. But real.
When she finally lifted her head, her eyes were rimmed red, but there was clarity there too.
“I do not know how to stop doubting,” she said quietly.
“I know,” I answered. “And that is why I have to prove myself. Not talk. Prove with my actions.”
She blinked, and I brushed her cheek with my thumb, careful, slow.
“Let me be what you lean on,” I said. “Not what you fear.”
She nodded faintly, resting once more against my chest. I held her, steady and certain, until her breathing eased into something calmer. But as she settled, my thoughts sharpened.
This Evie, this woman shaking in my arms, trying to believe in something new, was not the version Chloe spoke of. Not the girl Isabella described. Not the villain I had convinced myself existed.
So what was the truth?
My wolf pressed hard against me in agreement. We felt it together. Something was wrong in the story I had been told.
And I would find it.
Every missing piece.
Every lie.
Every reason someone wanted me blind.
Holding Evie close, feeling her trust in the smallest trembling breaths, I vowed silently:
Whoever twisted the truth about her, I would tear it apart. Because this woman in my arms was nothing like the story I had been given.
And I would not fail her again.