Emily
+25 BONUS
I’d spent the better part of the afternoon overseeing florals, verifying placements, coordinating dietary preferences with the kitchen, and politely declining every attempt Logan made to send someone else to handle it.
I needed control. The precision. The armor that came with knowing every inch of this evening had been shaped by my hands. Now, under the soft glow of antique chandeliers, it looked effortless. Like a vision conjured from thin air. A perfect illusion. Nobles mingled across the room, swirling glasses of dark wine, their laughter low and practiced.
The Pack’s political elite flanked both ends of the long table, and in the center, I sat beside Logan, my posture perfect, my expression composed.
I smiled when I was supposed to. Laughed at a joke I barely registered. Answered questions about trade initiatives and border alliances and economic forecasts like they weren’t filled with condescension.
Every time someone looked at me, I felt the same question: How is she here?
And I answered it with grace.
Not because I owed them. But because I refused to falter.
Logan’s hand brushed mine once as he reached for his glass. The touch lingered. I didn’t pull away, but I didn’t chase it either. Not here. Not now.
My dress was pale gold, structured, attention grabbing. My hair swept into an elegant twist. The image I gave them was pristine. Unshakable.
Let them whisper. Let them wonder. That was the point, after all.
Halfway through the meal, the Alpha next to Logan leaned slightly toward him during a lull in conversation. He didn’t whisper but he spoke softly enough that only those closest would hear.
“She’s managing all of this flawlessly,” he said, voice warm.
Logan’s response was equally quiet, and immediate. “And she manages it all without shifting. She is Impressive. I’m lucky to have found her.”
I blinked. My fork paused halfway to my mouth.
Without shifting.
Without shifting.
The words rang louder than anything else in the room despite how soft they were spoken.
My throat tightened around a breath I couldn’t quite take. I could feel my smile freezing. My fingers stiffening around the silverware. The ache of a bruise blooming somewhere no one could see.
He meant it as a compliment. I knew that. He probably didn’t even realize what he’d said. But after the Sanctuary, after I’d let him see what that place meant to me, after everything we’d shared–it still came down to that.
The implication hung between us: despite being dormant. Even though you’re broken.
I forced a soft laugh, tilting my head just enough to seem flattered
“High praise coming from you,” I said smoothly, not letting him hear the tremble that tried to crawl up my spine.
The conversation moved on. Someone across the table mentioned the spring equinox. Another shared a tale of rogue trouble in
the eastern range.
Chapter 87
But I didn’t hear any of it.
+25 BONUS
I kept smiling. Kept speaking. Kept playing the role I’d perfected since I was young. The polite, capable daughter. The pretty public figure. The contract Liina.
Inside, something small and quiet curled in on itself.
Logan didn’t notice. Or if he did, he didn’t say anything. And that maybe more than his words was what hurt.
The moment the last guest’s footsteps faded down the corridor, I turned to the kitchen staff and murmured a thank you. My voice was steady. Appreciative.
Every part of me still playing the part of th
gracious hostess. I ever smiled, like the praise didn’t still echo hollow in my ribs.
I waited until the hallway was clear before slipping out the side door..
My heels clicked once, twice against the polish
toward my room.
floors before I kicked them off and padded barefoot through the darkened hall
I didn’t know why I was hurrying. It wasn’t like Logan would follow.
He had stayed behind, sipping the last of his drink and chatting with another Alpha. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just casually reminded me in front of Titanfang’s elite that I was the exception to the rule.
An anomaly to be praised for surviving broken.
Without shifting.
I’d shared the Sanctuary with him. Let him see the bruised pieces. I’d thought–stupidly–that maybe that meant he saw the strength it took to live without the things others took for granted.
Apparently, I was wrong.
I reached my bedroom and didn’t bother turning on the lights. The moon was enough, spilling soft and silvery across the bed.
I stripped off the gown, peeling it down my body with slow, aching movements. The zipper snagged once–stubborn, of course -and I nearly tore the delicate fabric trying to free myself.
It wasn’t about the dress. It wasn’t even about the comment. It was everything.
!
It was years of being the exception, the quiet girl without a shift, the one who smiled and overcompensated and tried so damn hard not to be bitter.
It was the silent exclusion from runs, the way people’s eyes flicked toward my neck looking for a mating mark that wasn’t there, the assumptions that I was fragile because I didn’t howl at the moon.
And now, it was Logan–someone I had let in–reinforcing the very thing I’d worked so hard to survive, to heal, and ultimately
accept.
I sat on the edge of the bed in just my bra and panties, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them.
A knock came at the door. A pause. Then: “Emily?”
Logan’s voice was careful. Cautious. I stayed silent.
“I–can I come in?”
1 stood, walked to the door barefoot, and opened it just enough to see his face.
He looked tired. Concern threaded through his expression, but not quite enough to soften the anger sitting low in my chest.
“You did good tonight,” he said.
“Thanks,” I replied flatly.
Chapter 87
He tilted his head, sensing the cold behind the word. “What’s wrong?”
I let out a quiet breathi. “You don’t get to ask me that ”
“Emily”
“No,” I said, not sharply, but firm. “Not tonight.”
+25 BONUS
I could see it in his face–the confusion, the frustration, maybe even regret. But he didn’t push. Just nodded once, jaw light
“I’ll leave you be.”
He turned.
“I’m not fragile,” I said before I could stop myself.
He stopped walking. But didn’t turn around.
“I didn’t say you were.”
“No,” I said quietly. “You just implied it. Like the rest of them. Like I should be proud of doing something without shifting‘ like it’s a miracle I can function at all.”
He stiffened. “I was trying to give you credit,” he said, still not turning.
“I don’t want your credit,” I whispered. “I wanted your understanding.”
The silence between us stretched thin and trembling. He nodded, and then he walked away.
I closed the door gently behind him.
The weight of the evening settled into my bones. He didn’t mean it. I knew that. But that didn’t stop it from hurting.
Somewhere, deep down, I had started to believe he might see me as more than a contract. That he was the first person to see more than just the girl who couldn’t shift.
And tonight, I remembered why I never should’ve hoped for that in the first place.
