Chapter 2

The hallway lights clicked off, leaving me in darkness.

I pulled myself off the floor, my legs unsteady.

In the bathroom mirror, I studied my own face — the face Ethan had looked at while thinking of someone else.

I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water over my cheeks until the burning behind my eyes faded to something manageable.

Ethan left at eleven.

He'd changed into the black button-down I gave him for his birthday — the one I'd spent two weeks researching because he'd mentioned once, offhandedly, that he liked a certain cut. He smelled like amber moss cologne—my choice. I'd spent an embarrassing amount of time in the fragrance section of a department store picking it out, trying to find something that suited him.

"Pack emergency," he said, avoiding my eyes.

The door closed.

I grabbed my keys, telling myself I was being paranoid the entire drive over.

You're tired.

You're reading into things.

The messages meant nothing.

Ethan loves you.

You're his fated mate — you felt it the first time you looked at each other across that crowded bar three years ago, that electric click of recognition that doesn't lie.

I parked across the street from the Silver Tap and sat in the dark with the engine running, giving myself one last chance to turn around.

Then I killed the engine and got out.

The bar was dim and loud enough to swallow a person whole.

I found a booth near the back, half-hidden behind a decorative pillar, and ordered a drink I had no intention of touching.

The ice clinked against the glass.

I wrapped both hands around it and waited.

Ethan was at a corner table with four men from his inner circle — Marcus, Jake, Tommy, and Reeves.

He had a cigarette going, which surprised me.

He'd told me he quit two years ago. He'd made a whole thing of it, actually. Showed me the nicotine patches, accepted my praise with a modest shrug.

I watched the smoke curl toward the ceiling and thought: what else?

"So Lena's really coming back." Marcus leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice carrying the low excitement of someone delivering news they've been sitting on.

The name hit me like stepping off a curb I didn't know was there.

My hands tightened around the glass.

"Yeah." Ethan took a long drag, unhurried. "Her flight lands in two hours."

"And you're going to pick her up."

"Obviously."

Tommy whistled low. "What about Vera?"

"What about her?" Ethan's expression didn't change.

The casual dismissal in his voice was so complete, so practiced, that for a moment I genuinely couldn't process it.

"She's been with you for three years, man," Jake said. The only one at the table who sounded uncertain. "You can't just—"

"I never promised her forever." Ethan stubbed out his cigarette with the same calm efficiency he brought to everything. "She knew what this was."

"Right, because she was always just the placeholder." Marcus laughed — a sound like gravel shifting. "You found her because she looks like Lena."

"The resemblance is what caught my attention," Ethan said, his voice perfectly flat. "I've been looking for pieces of Lena in her this whole time."

I pressed my back harder against the booth.

He's been looking for pieces of Lena in her this whole time!

Every compliment he'd ever given me reassembled itself in my memory and turned into something else. You have her laugh. I'd thought it was a slip of the tongue, a comparison that meant nothing. Your hair looks beautiful like that — had he been picturing someone else's hair? You're so fucking beautiful — had he been seeing a different face?

"So she's basically been a placeholder." Jake again, quieter now. "She probably thinks he's actually in love with her."

"Vera's useful." Ethan poured himself another drink. "She's easy to manage — doesn't complain, doesn't ask questions, keeps the house running. Since she moved in, I haven't had to think about any of that."

The men laughed.

The sound scraped against the inside of my chest like broken glass.

"You turned her into a live-in housekeeper with benefits," Tommy said.

"More or less." Ethan's tone was the tone of a man discussing logistics. "She handles everything domestic, and when I need to unwind—" He made a gesture I didn't need described.

More laughter.

Louder this time.

"What happens when Lena wants you to choose?" Marcus asked.

"Vera won't be a problem." Ethan stood, pulling on his jacket. "She has no family, no pack, nowhere to go. She won't throw away three years of stability over something she can't prove."

He pulled out his phone and checked the time. "And honestly? She's the devoted type. Flowers, a decent apology, a weekend away — she'll forgive anything. It's just how she's built."

He left cash on the table and walked toward the door without looking back.

I sat in that booth for a while after the door closed behind him.

The ice in my untouched drink melted slowly.

She's useful. Easy to manage. Doesn't ask questions.

I'd been so proud of not asking questions.

I'd called it trust.

The river walk behind the bar was empty at this hour.

I stood at the iron railing and looked at the dark water below, both hands gripping the cold metal, and let the full weight of it settle over me.

Every time he looked at me, he saw her face.

Every 'I love you' was addressed to someone else.

I have been living in another woman's shadow for three years, and I thanked him for the privilege.

I straightened, let go of the railing, and looked at my own hands.

Vera Ashwood.

The name I'd buried under for three years.

Alpha Rodrigo's daughter.

Caelan Blackwood's intended.

I'm not a placeholder.

Not a housekeeper.

Not a substitute for anyone.

I pulled out my phone.

The contact had been sitting at the bottom of my list for three years, never deleted, never called. My father's name glowed on the screen.

I pressed call before I could change my mind.

It rang twice.

"Vera." His voice came through immediately, as he'd always been waiting.

My throat closed up.

"Dad." The word cracked on the way out. "I want to come home."

Silence.

"What happened?"

"Nothing happened." I stared at my reflection in the dark window across the room. "I'm just tired of playing house."

"Vera—"

"I was wrong to fight you on this. I was young and stupid, and I thought I knew better." I swallowed hard. "I should have listened."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me." His voice went soft. "You're my daughter. I've never stopped loving you, no matter how angry I was."

The tears came then, quiet and unstoppable.

"I'll handle things here and come back to Ashwood soon."

"Take your time. The offer still stands — it always has."

"Thank you, Dad."

"Vera?" He hesitated. "Whatever brought you to this decision... I'm glad you're coming home."

After I hung up, I sat by the window for a long time.

Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed with an incoming message.

The name on the screen made my heart skip a beat.

Caelan Blackwood: [The ceremony is set for next month. I'm flying to Silverfall tomorrow.]