Chapter 5

Lucian.

My heart jerks against my ribs the second I see him.

He’s halfway through the door, one foot in the study, the other still on the threshold like he’s unsure if he belongs. That alone knocks the breath out of me. Alpha Lucian doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t ask. He takes.

So what the hell is he doing here?

In my first life, this night belonged to Rosalina. He spent every minute with her—tending to her wounds, holding her close, drinking in the scent of his newfound mate like it was salvation. He never looked back.

But now?

“May I?”

His voice is quieter than I remember, controlled but low enough to sound like uncertainty. It rattles me. In all the years I loved him, I never once heard him ask for permission.

I nod, unsure if I mean it. “You’re a werewolf, not a vampire.”

He frowns, confused. Of course he doesn’t get it. Jokes were never his thing. Lucian is precision. Ice. Calculation. Not even a hair out of place, despite the chaos of the day—despite chasing rogues and cradling his injured mate.

He looks untouched. Unbothered. Untouchable.

And gods, I hate that I still want to touch him anyway.

I force a smile as he steps into the room. He walks toward me like he’s crossing a battlefield—measured, confident, dangerous. He stops at my side, too close, deliberately so. There’s space, plenty of it, but he chooses to stand just shy of touching.

My neck cranes to meet his gaze. Those frostbitten eyes once held all the warmth in the world—for me. Now they’re harder to read.

“I wanted to check on you,” he says.

The words hit like a slap. Now he checks on me?

My chest aches, but I don’t let it show. “I’m okay,” I lie, but the sound barely qualifies as a voice.

Lucian tilts my face up with both hands, gentle yet firm, as if I’ll crack if he presses too hard. His palms are warm. Too warm. Like they belong to someone who still loves me.

My breath catches.

We were never fated. Not really. Just… chosen. Raised together. Bonded by childhood promises and declarations under moonlight. But still, the heat of his touch unravels something deep inside me.

He used to touch me like this when he needed me—when he couldn’t bear the weight of his world and wanted mine instead.

Now he has Rosalina. And yet here he stands.

“I know this is less than ideal,” he murmurs.

His voice is steady, but it doesn’t fool me. I can hear the guilt coiled beneath the surface. The careful pauses. The words he doesn’t say.

Corneille howls inside me, desperate and raw, begging to be enough. Begging him to see us. Choose us. Love us. Again. Still. Always.

No matter how many times Lucian left us bleeding.

No matter how many times he shattered what little we had left.

She still aches for him with a need so deep it feels like drowning. Like something ancient and primal is gripping my ribs and squeezing until I can’t breathe.

The pull of the bond is unbearable.

My breath comes out in shallow gasps. My heart claws against my chest like it’s trying to escape. Tears pool at the corners of my eyes and I hate myself for how badly I want him to mean it this time. For how stupidly I want this moment to be real.

I look at him—truly look—and all I see is the boy I loved.

The boy who held my hand the first time I shifted. The boy who promised we’d never need fate because we chose each other. The boy who kissed me under the blood moon and said I was it for him.

For a heartbeat, I let myself believe it all still matters.

That maybe, just maybe, this life could be different.

Even though I swore I’d be stronger this time. Smarter. Colder. Even though I promised myself I wouldn’t fall for him again…

I break.

And whisper the one word I swore I never would.

“Please…”

His hands tighten around my face like he’s grounding me. Like he’s trying to tether me to the version of him I used to believe in. He pulls me closer, forehead brushing mine, voice low and careful.

“I promise, Nara. I promise we’ll break the bond. We’ll send her away.”

I feel each word like a knife pressed gently against my ribs.

Each syllable is a blade.

Then comes the part that always comes.

The condition. The excuse. The lie wrapped in a bow.

“As soon as she’s strong enough to survive the rejection.”

There it is.

I almost laugh. The sound twists in my throat, bitter and broken—half sob, half scream. But I swallow it. Swallow it like every other painful truth he’s ever handed me with trembling hands and a perfect excuse.

I don’t ask why she matters more. Why my pain has never once been a reason to stay.

I already know.

But tonight, I’ll let it go. I’ll pretend just for a little while that this love wasn’t the thing that killed me. I’ll take these last seconds of warmth and carve them into my skin like armor.

Lucian watches me, confused by my silence, his eyes searching mine for something I can’t give anymore.

I raise my hands, slowly. Stroke his cheek like I used to. My thumb drags over the edge of his jaw, and he leans into the touch like he needs it as badly as I do.

Maybe he does.

Maybe he still loves me in his own broken way.

And maybe that’s what makes it hurt the most.

My fingers slide up to the back of his neck, and I pull him in.

Our lips meet like a memory—familiar, electric, painfully sweet. His hands drop to my waist, clutching like he’s scared I’ll fade. His body presses into mine, warm and solid and devastatingly close. I melt into him, into the illusion, into the ache I’ve carried for three lifetimes.

It feels like love.

But it’s not.

It’s grief dressed in warmth.

Desperation disguised as hope.

And I let it happen.

Because I need this moment. Just once more.

One last taste of what it felt like to be wanted by him. To be chosen by him. Even if it’s a lie.

Even if he’ll never mean it the way I need him to.

I kiss him until my lungs burn, until the pain in my chest becomes unbearable. Until I can no longer tell the difference between the pieces of me he broke and the ones I willingly gave.

When I finally pull away, I rest my forehead against his.

This will be our last goodbye.

He just doesn’t know it yet.