Chapter 8

Freya

I woke up to an empty bed, the space beside me cold and vacant.

Rolling over, I stared at the ceiling, remembering the coldness in Paxton's golden eyes when he left last night, after that brief moment of tenderness. He had probably spent the night in his study.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from Lyra. I almost ignored it, but something compelled me to look. Maybe it was masochism, or maybe just the need to know what I was up against.

It was a photo of two hands clasped together - one I instantly recognized as Paxton's, with the distinctive Sterling wolf-pattern ring on his knuckle. The other was smaller, feminine, with perfectly manicured nails.

[Had such a wonderful night with Pax. His wolf eyes are so mesmerizing in the moonlight.]

My heart seized in my chest like a fist clenching around broken glass, the pain so sharp and sudden it stole the breath from my lungs. A violent wave of nausea crashed over me, bile burning its way up my throat as my stomach twisted into knots.

Last night, he had gone to her. The images that flooded my mind were torture—his hands on her skin, his body moving against hers in the darkness while I slept alone.

Before I could process this shattering betrayal, another message flashed across the screen, and I felt what remained of my heart splinter into a thousand irreparable pieces.

[You know, Pax and I knew each other first. He didn't want me taking the mark too early. He was afraid it would put too much pressure on me as a Beta, so he sent me to the European Wolf Academy. That was his way of caring for me, protecting me.]

I let out a cold laugh that echoed in the empty bedroom. Every word felt like a silver needle, stabbing deep into my flesh.

I recalled Paxton's words from months ago: "Freya, I will only mark one mate in my life, but that mate shouldn't be you. We've had blood resonance for a long time, she's always been hidden in my heart. This lifetime, I only recognize her as my mate."

Now I knew without doubt he meant Lyra. The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity.

A third message appeared: [Do you know you're a mark thief? While I was in Europe, you stole five years of marking rights. Now, it's time for you to return the mark to me.]

All along, it had been my one-sided delusion. Paxton never intended to maintain our mark permanently. A forced claim that I had to return, like borrowed property.

"I'm giving it back," I whispered to the empty room, my voice surprisingly steady despite the storm inside me.

I didn't reply to Lyra's messages. She wasn't worth the energy, and honestly, what could I say? That she was right? That I'd been living a lie for five years?

Downstairs, an Omega servant had prepared breakfast, the table set for two as usual.

"Will Alpha Sterling be joining you for breakfast?" she asked politely.

"He's already gone to another territory," I replied, my voice steady despite my reddened eyes. I didn't elaborate that the "territory" was likely Lyra's bed.

As I drank my milk, I choked slightly, my mind drifting to thoughts of Paxton with Lyra. The image made my stomach turn, the milk suddenly tasting sour.

"Are you alright?" Omega Willow asked with concern, then gasped softly as she noticed my neck. "The marking on your neck... it seems to be fading."

I touched the spot where Paxton's mark had been prominent for five years.

"Our mark is about to be dissolved," I stated matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather.

Willow dropped the milk glass in shock, shattering it on the floor.

"I'm so sorry," she stammered, bending to clean up the mess, her hands shaking slightly.

"It was his decision," I said with a bitter smile.

"Mark dissolution is not something to be forced," I added, rising from the table. "When it's stolen time, it must be returned."

I left the mansion feeling hollow.

At Sterling Enterprises, I encountered Paxton at the elevator.

"Good morning," I greeted him coldly.

He nodded, his golden pupils flashing with irritation. He likely thought I was still angry about last night's accusations rather than understanding the full extent of his betrayal.

"I've prepared an evening gown for you. Go try it on in the rest area later. If it doesn't fit, we can still have it altered," he said, his tone businesslike, as if we were discussing a corporate merger rather than a dress for his grandfather's celebration.

"Okay," I replied, staring straight ahead, avoiding the eye contact that marked mates typically shared. The elevator felt suffocating with his scent so close.

In my office, I found the gift box and took it directly to the rest area. Standing in the private room, I remembered how Paxton and I had once completed a post-full-moon marking reinforcement here. Afterward, he had accused me of "deliberately using pheromones to entice him" and hadn't spoken to me for a month.

How ridiculous. Would a marked mate need to entice their mate? My inner Alpha bloodline protested against this humiliation, a low growl forming in my mind. The memory made my skin flush with both embarrassment and anger.

I opened the box to find a pure white dress. I tried it on and was surprised to find it fit perfectly, the fabric flowing around me like moonlight. For a moment, I allowed myself to admire the reflection, to pretend things were different.

As I admired the dress in the mirror, the door opened without a knock. Lyra stood there, wearing an almost identical white dress - except hers had the Sterling family's silver wolf pattern embroidered along the hem.

"Is that the dress Pax chose for you?" she asked with false sweetness, her eyes traveling over the fabric with critical assessment. "Pax knows I love white, so he always chooses white dresses. Every time."

I finally understood - Paxton's preference for white was because of Lyra. For five years, I had been nothing but Lyra's substitute, wearing her favorite color, living in her place until she returned.

Lyra noticed the flash in my eyes, her expression momentarily surprised before returning to smug satisfaction.

I changed quickly, my movements efficient and controlled despite the rage building inside me. I grabbed the box, and marched to Paxton's office. My anger and wounded pride made our marking bond ache with each step, as if the connection itself was protesting against the truth.

"Take back this dress," I said, placing the box on his desk with a firm thud. "I'll choose my own. I refuse to be your Beta's stand-in."