“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.

Adriana knew how dangerous tenderness could be.

If she allowed herself to soften now—if she clung to this small flicker of warmth—her resolve to leave the territory might crumble.

She inhaled slowly, steadying herself.

“Well,” she said lightly, forcing a teasing tone, “you’re the Alpha everyone has to schedule weeks in advance just to consult. Now you’re personally tending to me for free. I should feel honored. Most wolves can’t even get a proper appointment with you.”

Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Nathanie’s hands paused for the briefest moment. His brows drew together faintly, as if he sensed something beneath her words.

Was she mocking him?

The thought irritated him more than he expected.

He suppressed the feeling and resumed applying the liniment, his fingers firm but controlled as he worked around the swelling.

Only after he finished rubbing the first layer into her skin did he finally speak.

“Olivia’s place was broken into last night,” he said, voice calm. “I’ve arranged for her to stay here for a while. Just until things settle.”

Adriana’s body went still.

So that was it.

The unusual patience earlier. The missing key. The guest room that had been freshly cleaned.

None of it had been spontaneous.

He had already planned everything.

And only now was he informing her.

A quiet understanding settled over her chest like frost.

She considered objecting. For a split second, she imagined asking why he hadn’t discussed it with her first.

But what would that change?

“It’s your territory,” she replied after a moment, her tone even. “Handle it however you see fit.”

Her compliance seemed to dissolve whatever explanation he had prepared. The tension in his shoulders eased.

“You’re not bothered?” he asked, almost cautiously.

She met his gaze.

“No.”

The answer came easily.

Relief flickered across his face. He rose to his feet and placed the bottle of liniment beside her.

“Reapply it gently in about half an hour,” he instructed. “I’ll go sit with Olivia. She’s downstairs alone.”

Of course she was.

“I’ll come back later,” he added.

Adriana nodded faintly.

Inside, she marked another tally.

He had received reassurance. That was enough. He could leave without guilt.

He reached the door and grasped the handle.

Then he paused and glanced back.

“Adriana,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, “Olivia is sensitive. Try not to behave so coldly around her next time. She might misunderstand.”

She blinked.

So that was it.

Her quiet retreat upstairs had been impolite.

Should she have stayed and shared their leftovers instead?

Her fingers tightened around the liniment bottle until her knuckles paled.

Still, she forced her lips into a polite curve.

“I understand,” she replied softly. “Please apologize to her for me.”

That seemed to satisfy him.

He gave a small nod and left.

The door closed with a soft click.

The moment the sound echoed through the room, her composure shattered.

Tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them.

This was the wolf she had loved for three years.

Her chosen mate.

And yet, not once had she truly occupied the center of his heart.

The throbbing in her ankle was nothing compared to the ache spreading through her chest. It felt as if her ribs were caving inward, crushing something fragile beneath them.

When the time came to apply the liniment again, she did it herself.

She didn’t expect him to return.

Downstairs, faint laughter drifted up the staircase—light, easy, intimate.

She lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling in the dim room, feeling colder than the night air outside.

Eventually, thirst forced her to move.

She pushed herself upright and made her way downstairs, gripping the railing as she descended.

Each step sent a dull wave of pain up her leg.

When she reached the kitchen and approached the water dispenser, she automatically reached for her usual cup.

It wasn’t there.

In its place sat a new porcelain mug—delicate, unfamiliar.

She didn’t need to ask whose it was.

The porcelain cup sitting on the counter wasn’t random.

It was part of a matching pair.

One identical to the one Nathanie used every morning.

“Adriana… I’m really sorry,” Olivia said softly, lifting the new cup with both hands. “I dropped yours earlier by accident. It shattered. If you don’t mind, you can use mine for now.”

She smiled in that sweet, harmless way she had perfected over the years.

Adriana looked at the cup without expression.

She didn’t answer.

Nathanie, however, spoke up before she could.

“Olivia, don’t worry about it,” he said casually. “It’s just a cup. There are dozens in this house.”

Just a cup.

Adriana’s fingers curled at her sides.

That cup had not been ordinary.

It was the one they had used during their engagement ritual—the one they had raised together before the elders when their bond was announced. She had washed it herself every time. Kept it carefully on the highest shelf.

To her, it had meant something.

To him, it was replaceable.

“It’s fine,” she said after a moment, her tone light. “I’ll grab a disposable one.”

She poured herself some water, drank quietly, then returned upstairs without another word.

Once inside the bedroom, she sat on the edge of the bed, her thoughts circling back to the transfer application tucked away in her drawer.

The urgency inside her sharpened.

If Nathanie refused to sign off on it as Alpha, the Council wouldn’t approve her departure.

She needed to understand exactly where he stood.

“Why are you still up?”

His voice came from the doorway, pulling her from her thoughts.

She quickly lifted her phone to her ear, as if she had been in the middle of a conversation.

“Mm. Alright. I’ll ask him about it for you,” she said into the empty line before lowering the device.

Then she looked at Nathanie casually. “You’re not asleep either. My ankle’s throbbing, so I was talking to someone from the infirmary to pass the time.”

At the mention of her injury, something flickered across his face.

He seemed to recall, belatedly, that he had said he would reapply the liniment.

Without commenting on it, he stepped forward and pulled back the blanket, inspecting her ankle again.

“The swelling’s gone down,” he observed. “Another few days of rest and it’ll be fine.”

Then his gaze shifted to her phone.

“Who were you speaking to?” he asked lightly. “You sounded pretty relaxed.”

Adriana tightened her grip on the device.

If he had looked closely, he would have noticed the dark screen—no call in progress.

“Dr. Donovan,” she replied smoothly. “Everyone’s been talking about the overseas relief program. He was asking if you’d heard any updates.”

Nathanie nodded, not questioning her.

The program had indeed been a frequent topic at the infirmary. The initial volunteer numbers hadn’t met the quota, so the application window had been extended.

“It’s not a short deployment,” he said thoughtfully. “But it’s useful for wolves who need credentials. Returning with international experience makes them stand out.”

Adriana listened quietly, her heart steady despite the tension building inside her.

“And what do you think?” she asked carefully.

He didn’t hesitate.

“You don’t need it,” he said flatly. “By the time you’d finish a term abroad, I could’ve already secured a higher position for you here.”

There it was.

The refusal she had expected.

She exhaled softly, lowering her gaze.

Of course.

In his mind, her path should always run parallel to his.

An old memory surfaced unbidden.

In the past, when their arguments had spiraled, Nathanie’s temper had sometimes crossed lines. And afterward—perhaps out of guilt—he would soften, offering concessions to smooth things over.

There had been one night in particular.

Olivia had called, saying she’d cut her hand while preparing dinner. It was minor—barely more than a scratch.

Adriana had asked Nathanie to stay.

“Can’t someone else handle it?” she had said then, exhausted from her own shift. “It’s just a small wound.”

He had gone anyway.

But before he left, the argument had escalated.

And when he returned later that night, anger still simmering beneath his calm exterior, he had struck her across the face.

“If you hadn’t delayed me,” he had snapped, “Olivia wouldn’t have gotten hurt at all.”

The words still rang clearly in her memory.

As if she had been the cause.

As if Olivia’s every misfortune could be traced back to her.

Sitting now in the dim bedroom, Adriana looked at the wolf she had once believed was her future.

And she wondered, not for the first time, how she had convinced herself that this was love.