Back then, I told myself that being by his side was already more than enough. I was happy simply belonging to him, even if only behind closed doors.
I’d loved him long before that—back when we were still students. I could trace it to a single moment: the day a jealous bully hurled a kettle of boiling water at me, and Ronan lunged forward without hesitation, taking the splash meant for my face. I still remembered the scent of scorched fabric and the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Ten years had passed since then.
And somehow, my feelings hadn’t dulled. Not even a little.
Three years ago, after Ronan and Delilah severed their bond, he drank himself into oblivion. The Alpha who never showed weakness staggered through a bar thick with smoke and noise, drowning himself in liquor and regret. I followed him there, choking on the scent of alcohol and cigarettes, and stayed with him when everyone else left.
In the blur of that night, with his eyes unfocused and his words slurred, he asked me if I wanted to try being together.
I knew what it was.
A rebound.
A way to spite the she-wolf who walked away from him.
I knew he didn’t love me.
And still… I agreed.