By the time Adriana finally sat down and peeled back the fabric around her ankle, the bruising had deepened into an angry shade of purple. The swelling was far worse than before. Walking on it earlier—out of stubbornness more than necessity—had clearly made it deteriorate.

A sharp breath escaped Dr. Donovan, who was reviewing patient charts beside her. “That looks bad,” he muttered, then immediately waved over a passing nurse. “Go inform Alpha Reed. If his future Luna limps around like this and we ignored it, we’ll all hear about it later.”

Adriana’s head snapped up. “No—wait, don’t call him—”

But the nurse had already hurried down the corridor before she could finish.

She exhaled, shoulders sagging. After a brief hesitation, she reached for her communication stone and sent Nathanie a message.

[Someone noticed my ankle and sent a nurse to tell you. I tried to stop them. Please don’t make a fuss over it.]

She stared at the screen afterward, waiting for the faint glow that would signal his reply.

Nothing came.

When the nurse returned several minutes later, her steps were slower this time. She avoided Adriana’s eyes at first.

“Alpha Reed said he’s aware,” she began carefully. “But… Lady Olivia is in his office. They’re talking. He didn’t say he would come.”

The room seemed to grow smaller.

Adriana kept her gaze lowered, focusing on the edge of her desk as though the grain of the wood required intense study.

“He must be occupied,” she said quietly. The words felt like they scraped her throat on the way out.

Her stone vibrated in her palm.

A voice message.

She opened it almost instantly.

Nathanie’s voice came through—steady, composed, distant.

“Got it.”

Two simple words.

No concern. No question. No instruction to rest.

Just acknowledgment.

It felt as though every wolf in the infirmary could hear the emptiness in it.

Before the silence grew too suffocating, the receptionist called out from the front.

“Healer Adriana? A patient is requesting you.”

The excuse came like a lifeline.

“I’m coming,” she replied, rising too quickly and wincing as pain flared through her ankle.

The need to escape the room—escape their sympathetic glances—felt painfully familiar.

The last time she’d wanted to disappear this badly had been during her engagement feast.

That evening had been meant to mark the formal announcement of her union with Nathanie before the pack elders.

He had arrived late.

Hours late.

“Something urgent came up at the infirmary,” he had said, as though she hadn’t spent the entire evening answering polite but pointed questions alone.

For her, it had been a milestone.

For him, an afterthought.

Later, whispers had reached her ears. He had been seen leaving the territory early that afternoon—with a woman.

She hadn’t needed clarification.

She knew.

Now, adjusting her white healer’s coat over her shoulders, she forced herself forward despite the pain.

The rest of the afternoon blurred into duty. Patients came and went. She cleaned wounds, prescribed herbs, issued instructions.

She didn’t allow herself to think.

Only when dusk settled beyond the infirmary windows did she finally sit back.

As she stood, agony shot up her leg, nearly buckling her knees.

She glanced down.

The swelling had worsened, puffed and discolored.

She hadn’t even treated it.

A tired sigh left her lips as she lowered herself back into her chair.

Nathanie had said he would pick her up.

She decided to wait.

The corridors gradually emptied. Voices faded. Night-shift wolves replaced the daytime staff.

Still no sign of him.

No message.

No call.

The silence pressed heavily against her chest.

Finally, she pushed herself upright again, determination overriding sense.

She would go to his office.

She managed only a handful of steps before her ankle throbbed so violently that cold sweat broke across her skin.

She leaned against the wall, breathing shallowly.

This was pointless.

With trembling fingers, she retrieved her communication stone and called him instead.

He answered quickly.

“Yes, Adriana?” His tone was calm—neutral, almost casual.

For a second, she wondered if he truly didn’t remember.

If the promise had meant so little.

She swallowed, pride burning in her throat.

“You told me earlier you’d come for me after your shift,” she said softly. “I’m still here.”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

For several long seconds, all Adriana could hear was faint breathing.

When Nathanie finally spoke again, his voice carried an edge of discomfort. “Adriana… I’m sorry. Something urgent came up at the manor, so I left earlier. Stay where you are. I’ll come back and get you.”

As he spoke, she could hear movement in the background—plates clinking, chairs scraping lightly against the floor.

Then Olivia’s bright, lively voice drifted clearly through the stone.

“Nathanie! Dinner’s almost done. Where are you heading?”

Adriana closed her eyes briefly and pressed her fingers against her temple. A thin, bitter smile curved her lips.

“It’s fine,” she said evenly. “Don’t bother coming. I’ll handle it myself.”

This time, his pause lasted barely a heartbeat.

“…Alright,” he agreed. “Don’t rush. I made something special tonight. It’ll still be warm when you get back.”

The call ended.

Adriana remained standing in the dim corridor, the silence afterward heavier than the conversation itself. Her chest felt hollow, yet the ache inside only deepened.

Her fingers brushed against the folded transfer contract tucked safely inside her coat pocket.

How was she going to make him agree to her leaving the territory?

Leaning her shoulder against the stone wall for support, she forced herself forward. Each step sent a sharp pulse of pain through her ankle. By the time she reached the main road outside the infirmary grounds, sweat had dampened her clothes despite the cool evening air.

After what felt like forever, she managed to flag down a passing cab.

The moment she sank into the seat, she realized just how drained she was. Her hands were clammy, her skin pale.

The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “Miss, you look unwell. Shouldn’t you call your boyfriend to pick you up?”

Adriana let her head rest against the window, exhaling softly. A faint, humorless laugh slipped out. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Just a fiancé.”

“Then call him,” the driver insisted gently. “You look like you might faint. No fiancé would want something happening to his mate.”

She gave a quiet scoff, eyes fixed on the passing lights outside. “That would be nice. Unfortunately, he’s occupied… with someone else.”

The driver frowned slightly before muttering, “That doesn’t sound very dependable.”

She let out a soft chuckle.

“Dependable?” she repeated. “I’d call it indifference.”

Every detail of their upcoming mating ceremony—the invitations sent to allied packs, the arrangement of their shared quarters, the decorations for the hall—had been handled by her alone.

When she once asked Nathanie for his thoughts, he had replied flatly, “You’re better at these things. Why ask me about every small decision? Handle it.”

Yet when everything was arranged, he had found fault in nearly all of it.

In the end, it was Olivia who adjusted the décor until he finally approved.

Thinking about it now left Adriana feeling tired beyond measure.

The cab pulled to a stop outside the Alpha manor.

The distance from the gates to the main entrance was short—no more than a few hundred meters—but it took her nearly half an hour to cross it. Every step felt like walking through fire.

When she finally reached the door, she reached instinctively for her keys.

Her hand came up empty.

She froze.

Then she knocked.

It took a while before the door opened.

Nathanie stood there, his expression already edged with irritation.

“Where are your keys?” he asked sharply. “Why do you keep knocking instead of letting yourself in?”

Adriana didn’t answer immediately. She stepped inside slowly, the pain in her ankle forcing her to move with care.

Only when she reached the living room did she set down her bag and retrieve her keyring.

“My spare key?” she said calmly. “You removed it last week to give to Olivia. Don’t you remember?”

His brows knit together as the memory surfaced. The annoyance faded slightly, replaced by a trace of awkwardness.

“I’ve been overwhelmed lately,” he replied. “You could’ve just made another copy. You have time for that sort of thing.”

Adriana offered a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

She had long ago stopped expecting fairness.

To Nathanie, anything concerning Olivia required immediate attention.

Her needs could always wait.

She moved toward the dining room, steadying herself against the wall.

Olivia was already seated at the table.

The moment she saw Adriana, she jumped up with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“Adriana, you’re finally home!” Olivia chirped brightly, hurrying over and looping her arm through Adriana’s as if they were the closest of friends. She even stuck out her tongue playfully, her smile wide and innocent.

“I’m sorry, Adriana,” Olivia said brightly, though her tone carried only the faintest trace of guilt. “I was starving and couldn’t wait any longer.” She slipped her arm through Adriana’s and guided her toward the dining table as if everything were perfectly normal.

Adriana’s steps were slow, her ankle throbbing with every shift of weight.

When she reached the table, she stopped.

The dishes were nearly empty—just scattered scraps and cooling plates left behind. Whatever had been “cooked specially” was long gone.

She stared at the remains in silence.

A dull ache spread through her chest, heavier than the pain in her ankle. Disappointment. Hurt. Something quieter and more humiliating beneath it.

“It’s fine,” she said softly after a moment. “I’m not feeling great tonight. I’ll skip dinner. You two go ahead.”

She turned before either of them could see her expression and began making her way toward the staircase, gripping the railing for balance.

Behind her, Olivia’s voice rose in exaggerated concern. “Adriana? Are you upset because I didn’t wait for you?”

Nathanie’s low chuckle followed.

“You think too much,” he said, reaching out to pat Olivia’s head in an almost indulgent gesture. “She twisted her ankle earlier. She’s just uncomfortable.”

The easy familiarity of it—the way his hand lingered in Olivia’s hair—made Adriana pause for a split second.

She glanced back without meaning to.

Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something.

In the end, she said nothing.

Only a quiet exhale left her as she continued upstairs and shut herself inside the master bedroom.

The silence there felt thicker.

Her mind replayed the day against her will. Olivia’s single call had been enough for Nathanie to drop everything and rush home. Meanwhile, she had limped through the hospital alone, waited alone, returned alone.

The comparison cut deep.

She shook the thought away and focused on the practical problem—her ankle.

Opening drawers and cabinets, she searched for the first-aid supplies. Minutes passed. Nothing.

Eventually, she remembered the spare medical kit that had once been placed in the guest room.

She made her way there slowly and crouched with difficulty to peer under the closet.

There it was.

Dusty. Forgotten.

Inside, she found only a small bottle of iodine—expired.

She hesitated, then took it anyway.

As she carried it back to the master bedroom, she noticed the guest room looked recently cleaned. The bed neatly made. Fresh sheets.

She didn’t let herself linger on that detail.

Back in the bedroom, she sat carefully on the edge of the bed and rolled up her pant leg.

The swelling had worsened. The skin stretched tight and angry.

She dabbed the cotton with iodine and pressed it gently to her ankle.

Pain exploded up her leg.

A sharp gasp escaped her before she could stop it.

“You shouldn’t be using that.”

The sudden voice made her freeze.

She looked up.

Nathanie stood at the doorway, a fresh bottle of herbal liniment in his hand.

“That iodine expired months ago,” he said, stepping inside. “Didn’t you check? You’re still so careless.”

There was no real harshness in his tone—just quiet reproach.

He crouched in front of her and reached toward her ankle.

Instinctively, she pulled her foot back.

His hand stilled.

“Do you not want me touching you?” he asked evenly.

In the dim lamplight, his expression was difficult to read.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear to avoid his gaze.

“It’s not that,” she replied quietly. “Olivia’s downstairs. You should go keep her company. Just leave the liniment here. I can take care of it.”

He watched her for a moment longer.

Then, without warning, he caught her ankle and drew it firmly into his lap.

The sudden movement made her wince.

“Nathanie—” she protested, but the pain forced the rest of her words into a soft cry.

He paused when he saw the full extent of the swelling.

The faint irritation that had lingered on his face disappeared, replaced by something rarer.

Regret.

“…Sorry,” he said under his breath.

The word stunned her.

In three years, she could not remember hearing him apologize like that.

Not when he had once left her doubled over in pain with a ruptured appendix because he had to attend a medical summit.

Not when she later learned Olivia had been there that same day, introduced publicly as his protégée.

But now—over a sprained ankle—he apologized.

She almost laughed at the irony.

“Since when do you say sorry?” she asked lightly, trying to keep her voice steady.

He avoided her eyes, focusing instead on spreading the liniment carefully over her swollen skin.

“I should’ve checked it earlier,” he admitted. “It’s worse than I thought.”

The sincerity in his tone tugged at something fragile inside her.

For a fleeting second, she felt the warmth she had once clung to.

But it faded just as quickly.

“It’s only a sprain,” she said with a faint smile. “It’s not worth an apology.”

Yet as she spoke, she knew the apology wasn’t really about her ankle.

And that was what hurt most.