Chapter 13

(Logan’s POV)

I can’t take my eyes off her.

Evelyn stands across the ballroom like she owns the damn place—radiant, unshaken, a vision I barely recognize.

her hair swept up to reveal the delicate lines of her neck. She's smiling, talking, laughing softly with some pompous Alpha who clearly doesn’t deserve her attention.

This isn’t the Evelyn I remember.

The woman I knew was quiet. Soft. Timid, even. She never raised her voice, never challenged me. She clung to me like I was the sun and she was afraid of the dark. She didn’t step out without asking, didn’t speak unless spoken to in front of the pack. And yet, here she is—commanding attention, making the most powerful wolves in this room gravitate toward her like moths to a flame.

I watch her laugh at something one of them says. She tilts her head back, her eyes glinting, mouth curved in amusement. My jaw tightens. My fists curl at my sides, the fine fabric of my suit straining around my knuckles. Every inch of me wants to walk over there and drag her out of this place.

How the hell did she change so much?

Did I really know so little about her? Or did I break something in her so completely that she had no choice but to rebuild herself from the ground up?

A sharp voice cuts through my thoughts.

“I was just talking to her politely,” Emma says beside me, sounding like she’s on the verge of tears. “And she threw wine at me…”

I blink, forced to look down at her. Emma’s face is a picture of hurt innocence—wide eyes, trembling lip, one hand clutching the silk of her dress like she’s just been mortally wounded. But her act is too polished. Too rehearsed.

Her words drip with fake sweetness, but they don’t land. Not this time.

I glance back toward Evelyn. She’s across the room, poised and unbothered. Her posture is relaxed, her arms loose at her sides, but her eyes are sharp. She's watching me. Watching us. There’s a glint in her gaze—cool, unreadable—but it’s the smirk that pushes me over the edge.

She’s daring me.

My rage spikes. I can feel it like a wildfire beneath my skin.

I move.

The crowd seems to sense it, parting as I cut through the room, each step heavy, deliberate. Murmurs ripple around me like a current—curious glances, whispers behind raised hands—but I don’t stop. I reach Evelyn, towering over her, my voice a growl I can barely control.

“What happened?”

She turns to me, not flinching. Her smirk stretches wider, that same infuriatingly calm confidence pouring off her.

“What happened?” she repeats, her voice light, flippant. “I threw it at her. So what?”

I grit my teeth. “She’s still the same rude, violent rogue.”

The words fly out before I can stop them, sharp and deliberate, slicing through the tension like claws. The moment they leave my mouth, I see something shift in her eyes. The smirk falters. Her expression doesn’t crumble, but her posture changes—like she’s been struck.

Then she steps closer, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off her, smell her perfume—jasmine, familiar and haunting.

Her voice is low, trembling with emotion barely held in check. “So after three years of marriage,” she says, each word a dagger to my chest, “you still don’t trust me even a little? Did you ever really see me, Logan?”

The question rips through me.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Because the truth is—I don’t know. I thought I did. But this woman? This Evelyn? She’s a stranger.

Before I can answer, Emma appears again, her voice slicing through the air like a knife. “Isn’t your marriage already over?”

She grabs my arm, tugging like she has some right to touch me. I let her. My body follows her lead, but my mind is still with Evelyn. Her words echo in my skull. Did you ever really see me?

We move away from the crowd. When we’re finally out of earshot, Emma’s mask drops.

“She’s insufferable!” she snaps, all sweetness gone, her voice sharp with rage. “That rogue has no respect for anyone. I was just trying to be civil—”

“Why are you fighting with a rogue?” I snap, my patience worn to shreds. “What were you two even talking about?”

Emma’s eyes widen, her face going pale for a second before she recovers. She lies smoothly, too smoothly. “I was just telling her to stay away from you. She’s clearly trying to cause trouble, and I thought it would be better to set some boundaries.”

I don’t believe a word. But I don’t have the energy to argue. Not now. Not when everything inside me feels like it’s about to split open.

“Let’s go,” I mutter.

She follows, quiet now, subdued.

We didn’t come to this cursed ball for drama.

We came for one reason—to beg the Alpha King for access to the Royal Healer. Emma’s been suffering from wolfsbane poisoning for months, and no one in the pack has been able to cure her.

This is our last shot.

Emma’s last shot.

When we’re finally ushered into the King’s chamber, he barely looks at us. Cold. Dismissive. I explain everything—Emma’s condition, the months of failed treatments, the pain she’s in—and I ask for help.

“Please,” I say, swallowing my pride. “The Royal Healer is our last hope.”

The King sneers. “You’re asking me to waste the Royal Healer’s time for this… trivial matter?”

My blood boils.

“It’s not trivial,” I say through clenched teeth. “Her life is at stake, Sire.”

But he’s already turning away, waving us off like we’re dust on his robes.

As he exits, a guard approaches, cautious, voice lowered. “If I may, Alpha… the healer may still be willing to see you. But you’ll need to ask directly.”

I stare at him. “Where?”

“West wing,” he says. “There’s a seminar going on right now.”

We don’t waste time. We move quickly through the palace corridors, Emma trying to keep up despite her faltering steps. As we near the hall, I hear a voice. Strong. Calm. Familiar.

“The healer hosting this must be impressive,” Emma murmurs beside me, trying to mask her unease. “The lecture sounds so… convincing.”

I don’t respond. I know that voice.

And then, as we enter, someone steps forward. “Please wait. Let me bring Evelyn.”

My heart slams against my ribs.

Evelyn?

Emma’s head whips toward me, confusion turning sharp in her gaze. “Why is she here?”

And then she returns.

The world tilts sideways.

I stare at her—at the woman I thought I knew, the woman I dismissed, doubted, overlooked. And I realize something terrifying and undeniable.

She doesn’t need me anymore.

And I hate how much that burns.

Evelyn walks in, flanked by two attendants, her gown rustling softly with each step. But this time, she doesn’t wear it like a trophy. She wears it like armor. Her chin is lifted. Her eyes are cool.

“This,” the healer says, gesturing toward her with reverence, “is our Head Healer.”