The words stick in my throat, heavy and reluctant. I don’t want to say them, but something about the way Siena stands there, head high, shoulders squared, forces them out of me.
“It was imprevive,” I say finally, my tone clipped, as though the admission costs me more than it should. The words feel foreign, dragged from somewhere I didn’t know I had left. “You should be proud…. for your pack.”
Her eyes widen slightly, just for a moment, and I know I’ve caught her off guard.
I don’t compliment her. I never have. Not in years, at least. Not since the early days, back when I thought there was something in her worth admiring. Before everything fell apart.
“Thank you,” she says softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.
The sound of it does something to me, something I can’t quite name. For a heartbeat, the tension between us feels… different. It’s not the usual sharp–edged hostility or the cold indifference we’ve perfected over the years.
It feels like something raw. Something real.
But then I catch myself. My jaw tightens, and I lock everything back down, letting the cold, impassive mask I’ve worn for years slide back into place.
The vulnerability, the fleeting connection I thought I felt–it’s gone.
“A million per day,” I say abruptly, my tone shifting to something clipped and businesslike. I need to regain control of this moment, to remind myself of what this is. “I’ll pay extra for the extended union.”
The words are harsh, even to my own ears, but I don’t soften them. I can’t.
I see the way they hit her, though, the way her expression falters for the briefest moment before she schools it back into that practiced mask of composure.
Her silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating.
I know she’s hurting. I know my words cut deeper than I intended. But I can’t bring myself to say anything else.
This is what we agreed to. This is what she wanted.
Isn’t it?
She nods wordlessly, her jaw tight, and I catch the faintest flicker of something in her eyes. Pain, maybe. Or bitterness.
But she doesn’t let me see it for long.
The music from the ballroom swells faintly in the background, the sound carrying out onto the terrace where we stand. She turns her head slightly, looking toward the distant lights of the city beyond the palace walls, her expression unreadable.
08:38 Sun, 20 Apr
Chapter 27
4.62%
I want to say something. I don’t know what, but the silence between us is unbearable, and even my wolf is restless now, pacing in the back of my mind.
But before I can speak, she does.
“This is what you want, isn’t it?” she says quietly, her voice steady but laced with something sharp. “To keep things transactional. To keep me at arm’s length.”
Her words hit harder than I expect, and for a moment, I don’t know how to respond.
Instead, I say nothing, letting the silence stretch on until it becomes suffocating.
She turns to face me fully now, her gaze locking with mine. There’s no anger in her expression, no fire or fury. Just a quiet, unshakable resolve that unsettles ne more than I care to admit.
“You don’t have to remind me how this works, Raiden,” she says, her tone calm but cold. “I haven’t forgotten.”
Her words twist something inside me, but I push the feeling down, burying it beneath the same walls I’ve spent years building.
“Good,” I say finally, my voice flat. “Then we’re on the same page.”
Her lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, I think she’s going to say something else. But then she shakes her head slightly, as if deciding against it.
“Of course we are,” she says, her tone quiet but biting.
The weight of her gaze is heavy, unrelenting, and I can feel my wolf stirring again, growling low and restless. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like the way she’s looking at me, like I’m a stranger.
Or worse, like I’m nothing.
The music from the ballroom fades into a softer melody, signaling the end of the previous song. The faint sound of laughter and applause drifts through the open doors, but it feels distant, unimportant.
I glance toward the ballroom, needing a distraction, but my attention is drawn back to her almost immediately.
She hasn’t moved, hasn’t looked away.
For the first time in years, I feel like she’s actually seeing me–not the Alpha King, not the cold, calculating man I’ve become,
but me.
I hate it.
Because I don’t know what she sees.
“You’ve done well for your pack,” I say finally, my voice quieter now. “You should be proud of that.”
It’s not much, but it’s the closest thing to an olive branch I can offer.
Her expression softens just slightly, and for a moment, I think I’ve reached her. But then she straightens her shoulders and tilts her chin up, the walls snapping back into place.
“Thank you,” she says, her tone polite but distant.
The words feel like a dismissal.
“Siena,” I say softly, my voice measured, detached. The sound barely carries over the faint hum of the orchestra.
08:38 Sun, 20 Apr
Chapter 27
“Raiden,” she replies, her tone just as cold and distant, her mask, still so perfectly intact.
We spin again, our movements flawless, a performance for the eyes of the watching kingdom To anyone looking on w the perfect picture of unity–an Alpha King and his Luna, regal and composed, embodying strength and grace
But it’s a lie.
The distance between us isn’t just physical. It’s in the way her hand feels limp in mine, in the way her eyes refuse is me mine for longer than a second.
It’s in the silence that stretches between us, heavy and suffocating, filled with words we’ll never say
