I saw him later. Touching Chiara’s belly, the same way he had touched mine. The same way he’d whispered to me, the same way he’d promised he’d protect us. And I smiled bitterly, the edges of my heart cutting like glass. Because the only person trapped that winter was me.
Then I heard him talking to her. “Honey, I’ve been tied up with the pack. I hired a nutritionist to make sure you’re taken care of while I’m busy.”
His hand covered hers, his eyes soft and doting, like she was the only mate that mattered.
“Hello, Miss Brightman,” she said, shy and sweet, and my chest twisted. Miss Brightman. Not Mrs. Thornhill. Not mine.
Drake frowned for a moment, and then he just… let it go. Didn’t correct her, didn’t even flinch.
I clenched my fists in my lap, fingertips digging into my palms, trying not to scream. Trying not to shatter right there.
And then he draped a wool coat over my shoulders, “It’s cold out. Come on, let’s go home, honey.”
I froze, and through the corner of my eye I saw Chiara nod, and he leaned down and kissed her, soft, lingering, like he’d been waiting to do it forever.
That evening...