I watched him in the kitchen, always careful, thoughtful. He’d serve me my soup, gently, like he’d done a thousand times before. But then he’d turn and wipe sauce from Chiara’s lips, smiling down at her, laughing warmly, as if she was everything he’d ever wanted.
“Silly girl,” he signed, “how can you be this cute?”
I lowered my head, my lips tasting the soup, my eyes burning, and I couldn’t cry. I wanted to. I tried to. But I couldn’t. Because I knew him. I recognized that movement. That look in his eyes. That care. That love.
And then it hit me. All of it. All the warmth, all the touches, all the promises he’d given her. He’d really… fallen for her.
And I was nothing.
After dinner, my private pack doctor came again, like he always did and checked my eyes.
“Alpha Thornhill, Dr. Peterson couldn’t make it today, so I came instead. I reviewed her records, and honestly… if she keeps taking the proper treatment, there’s a really high chance her eyesight will come back.”
I stood outside the door, quiet, listening. My chest felt heavy for no reason.
What would it even change… if I could see? Would I see him choosing her more clearly? Would I see every lie right in front of me?