Chapter 4
Isolde's POV
I turned and walked toward the door, leaving the suffocating atmosphere of Dad's study behind.
"Where are you going?" my father called after me.
"To pack," I replied without turning around.
Back in my room, I sat on my bed, staring at the open suitcase before me. What do you pack when you're being sold into a werewolf harem? The question was so absurd I almost laughed.
A few changes of clothes? My books? My mother's jewelry that I'd managed to hide from Dad's creditors? Everything I owned could fit in two suitcases, which was pathetic for someone who used to have everything.
A soft knock at my door interrupted my thoughts. Kieran stood in the doorway, his face a mask of regret.
"Can we talk?" he asked.
"There's nothing to say," I replied coldly, not looking up from folding a sweater.
He stepped inside anyway, closing the door behind him. "Isolde, I'm sorry. I never meant for things to happen this way."
"Which part? Sleeping with my sister or getting caught?"
He winced. "I deserve that. But you have to understand—"
"I don't have to understand anything," I cut him off, shoving the sweater into my suitcase with more force than necessary. "You made your choice."
"That's not fair," he protested. "This situation with Silver Moon—it has nothing to do with me and Sybilla."
I barked out a laugh. "Doesn't it? You've been living a double life for six months while I worked myself to death trying to keep us afloat."
Kieran ran a hand through his hair, and I could see his frustration building. "Maybe if you had been more... available, things would have been different."
I froze, my hands stilling on the clothes. "Excuse me?"
"Come on, Isolde. We've been together for two years, and you've never once let me touch you. Really touch you." His voice was getting more agitated. "What kind of relationship is that?"
The audacity of this man. "So this is my fault? Because I wouldn't sleep with you?"
"It's not normal!" he exploded. "Two years, Isolde. Two fucking years, and you've never let me get past second base. Do you know how frustrating that is?"
I stood up slowly, feeling Lyra stirring angrily in my mind. "So you decided to fuck my sister instead?"
"Sybilla doesn't have whatever hang-ups you have," he said cruelly. "She actually wants to be with me. She doesn't push me away every time I try to get close."
"Get out," I said quietly.
"And now you're acting like the victim here, when you're the one who couldn't even—"
"GET OUT!" I roared.
Kieran's face went pale. "Jesus, Isolde—"
"Don't you dare blame me for your cheating," I snarled. "Don't you dare make this about my choices when you're the one who betrayed me."
"I'm just saying, maybe if you weren't so frigid—"
I moved faster than human speed, grabbing him by the shirt and slamming him against the door. "Finish that sentence. I dare you."
He looked genuinely frightened now. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did." I released him and stepped back. "Now get out of my room before I show you exactly how 'frigid' I can be."
He scrambled for the door handle. "Isolde, I really am sorry about everything—"
"Save it for someone who gives a shit."
After he left, I slammed the door and locked it.
I had never let him touch me. Not really. Every time he tried to take things further, something inside me recoiled. It wasn't just nervousness or wanting to wait—it was like my body simply wouldn't respond to him. To anyone.
I'd always told myself I was being responsible, that I wanted to wait for the right moment, the right feelings. But the truth was, I'd never felt anything. Not the way other girls described it. Not the breathless desire, the aching need. Nothing.
Maybe there's something wrong with me, I thought, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
Fuck this. Fuck all of this.
I grabbed my leather jacket and headed for the door. If this was my last night of freedom, I wasn't going to spend it wallowing in self-pity.
The downtown bar was exactly what I needed—dark, loud, and filled with people who didn't know or care about my problems. I ordered whiskey and kept ordering it, letting the burn wash away the taste of betrayal and fear.
"Rough night?"
I looked up to find a guy about my age sliding onto the stool next to me. Dark hair, nice smile, the kind of conventionally attractive that would have made my friends swoon.
"You could say that," I replied, taking another sip.
"I'm Jake," he said, extending his hand.
"Isolde." I shook it.
"That's a beautiful name," he said, and I could hear the practiced charm in his voice. Normally it would have annoyed me, but tonight I found it oddly comforting.
"Thanks. It means 'ice battle' in Old German."
"Fitting," he grinned. "You look like you could freeze a man with a look."
Despite everything, I laughed. "Maybe I can."
We talked for another hour, the alcohol making everything feel softer around the edges. Jake was funny, flirtatious, and clearly interested. When he suggested we go back to his place, I surprised myself by saying yes.
What are you doing? Lyra asked.
Something for me, for once, I replied.
Jake's apartment was nice enough—clean, modern, the kind of place a young professional would have. He poured us more drinks, and when he kissed me, I kissed him back.
It was... fine. Pleasant, even. His hands were warm as they slid under my shirt, and I felt my body responding in ways it never had with Kieran.
Maybe this is what I needed, I thought as he led me to his bedroom. Maybe I just needed someone different.
But as his hands moved to unbuckle my jeans, something inside me recoiled. Something fundamental.
"Wait," I said, catching his hands.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his breathing heavy.
I looked at him—this stranger whose last name I didn't even know—and felt a wave of disgust wash over me.
"I can't do this," I said, pulling away and straightening my clothes.
"Did I do something wrong?" He looked confused and frustrated.
"No, it's me. I'm sorry, I thought I could, but..." I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door.
"Isolde, wait—"
But I was already gone, practically running down the street until I found a cab.
As the city lights blurred past the window, I finally understood something that had been bothering me for years. It wasn't that I was frigid or broken. It wasn't that I was afraid of intimacy.
It was that I was waiting for something. Someone. Some connection that I'd never felt with anyone, not even close.
Maybe it doesn't exist, I thought sadly. Maybe it’s just that there is nobody on this planet can ever get me aroused or something...
When I got home, the house was dark and quiet.
What’s worse, everything would change tomorrow.