Chapter 7 (Seraphina's POV)

Chapter 7

(Seraphina's POV)

Damien showed no sign of leaving.

He settled back into the sofa, arm draped over the backrest, sprawled out like he was in his own living room.

"Actually, the main reason I'm here is to discuss business with Alpha Ashworth." He turned to Caelan, smile polished. "My father's proposal—a three-way alliance between Cross, Wren, and Ashworth. Shared trade, pooled resources, joint border defense. Benefits all three sides."

My brain buzzed.

A three-way alliance?

They couldn't get to him through me, so those two had changed tactics?

Cross never wanted shared trade. What Victor Cross wanted was power—infiltration, a way to reach inside Ashworth territory.

And with Grace marrying Damien, Wren would become a puppet of Cross. The real point of this "three-way alliance" was Cross using Wren as a front to get close to Ashworth.

"No," I said.

Damien turned to me, one eyebrow raised. "Hm?"

"This alliance can't happen."

"Sera," his tone was impossibly gentle, like coaxing a child who didn't know better, "this is political strategy between Packs. It's not up to one person to decide—"

"Wren is my family."

"But you're not part of Wren anymore, are you?" He tilted his head, green eyes bright with amusement. "You're here. Your father agreed to this marriage. Your stepmother agreed too. You're objecting because... why, exactly?"

He paused deliberately, gaze sliding from my face to Caelan and back.

"Don't tell me it's because... you can't bear to let me go?"

My stomach twisted violently with disgust.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't be shy." He laughed, hands spread open, voice innocent. "I know you've had a crush on me since we were kids. That's no secret. You're against my marriage to Grace, against the alliance—when it comes down to it, it's because you still have feelings for me. Right?"

Disgusting.

So disgusting my nails were about to puncture my palms.

"Don't flatter yourself." My voice was shaking. "I'm against it because this alliance offers nothing—not to Wren, not to Ashworth—"

"Oh, come on, don't be like that." He sighed, wearing that look of tolerant patience reserved for difficult children. "You're still young. You don't understand these things. You will when you're older."

"I'm not a child!"

"See? There you go again." He turned to Caelan with a shrug, just the right amount of helplessness in his voice. "You really ought to set her straight, Alpha Ashworth. Quite the handful, isn't she?"

My sanity was fraying at the edges.

Ember slammed against the walls of my chest, her fury tangling with mine, burning so hot my temples throbbed.

I opened my mouth to tear into him—

"Her personality is none of your concern."

The voice wasn't loud.

But the entire room dropped.

Like someone had plunged the temperature by ten degrees.

Damien's smile froze on his face.

Caelan hadn't looked up. Still reading his documents. He turned a page.

"The marriage between Cross and Wren is between your two families. Ashworth has no interest in a three-way alliance." His tone was like reading a dull report. "You can leave."

Damien was silent for two seconds.

Then he stood, straightened his jacket, and put that sunny grin back on.

"That's a shame," he said. "We'll talk another time."

He walked toward the door, and as he passed me, his steps slowed by half a beat.

His gaze swept over me.

The smile was gone.

The warmth in those green eyes had been switched off, leaving only coldness—the kind you gave a chess piece that had lost its use.

That was his real face.

The door closed.

I stood there, hands still shaking.

"His alliance can't go through." I turned to Caelan. "You have to stop the marriage between Cross and Wren."

He set down his documents and leaned back, studying me.

"Give me a reason."

My mouth opened.

Because they'll kill you. Because in my last life, they worked together to destroy me, and you took a silver bullet through the heart trying to save me.

Because Grace will smile while she drives a knife into your chest, and Damien will stand beside her and clap.

I couldn't say it.

"The Cross family is too ambitious," I tried to find a reasonable angle. "Victor Cross won't settle for trade cooperation. What he wants is—"

"I know all that." He cut me off. "What I'm asking is—why are you this upset?"

My lips moved. No sound came out.

He watched me, blue-gray eyes quiet.

"Do you really still have feelings for him?"

I froze.

What?

What did he just say?

My brain went blank for a full three seconds, then rage surged up like lava—scalding, searing, burning from my stomach all the way to my eyes.

I hated Damien Cross.

And Grace—I wished they'd both drop dead right now.

I wanted to tear that ever-smiling mask off Grace's face with my own hands. I wanted to see Damien on his knees begging. I wanted them to know what it felt like to be betrayed, locked up, tortured.

But I couldn't say any of it.

Because the moment I did, I'd have to explain how I knew.

Explain the past life. Explain the rebirth. Explain things that hadn't happened yet.

Would he believe me?

Who would?

I pressed my lips tight, standing there, nails biting into my palms.

Can't say it.

Can't say it can't say it can't say it.

My vision blurred.

I didn't realize I was crying until a hand reached over and a thumb brushed the corner of my eye.

"You're crying," he said.

His voice was soft, like stating a fact that unsettled him.

"None of your business!" I mumbled, swiping at my tears.

He sighed. He didn't say "don't cry."

He pulled me toward him.

One hand caught my waist, lifted me gently—and I was on his lap.

I went rigid.

He'd sat me on his thigh, one arm circling my waist, holding me in place. His other hand still hovered by my cheek, thumb wet with my tears.

Like soothing a child.

Pine and cold iron wrapped around me completely.

His thigh was hard—I could feel the outline of muscle even through his dress pants. I didn't know where to put my hands, and ended up grabbing the front of his shirt.

Ember went completely quiet.

Like a pup that had found its den, she curled up, buried her nose in her tail, and let out a tiny, contented purr.

I wanted to do the same. Bury my face in his chest, think nothing, say nothing.

Tears kept falling, one by one, landing on his shirt, blooming into dark spots.

He didn't push me to talk, didn't press for reasons. Just sat there, the pressure of his arm exactly right—not tight, but I knew I couldn't pull free.

I stared at his jawline.

So close. From this angle, I could see a tiny nick on his chin from shaving, already healed, just a faint white line.

His heartbeat was steady. It came through his shirt, beat by beat, like some ancient metronome.

I stared at that little scar and a question suddenly surfaced.

What did I actually feel for him?

In my past life, I hadn't known him. I'd never seen his face—only knew he was "that terrifying Alpha who was supposed to marry me."

Then he died saving me.

After being reborn, I came to him for revenge. Because he was the only one who could help me fight Cross and Grace.

Because of his power, his status, his Pack.

But now—

The way he didn't know what to do with his hands when he apologized.

The way he secretly watched me train from the second-floor window.

The way he tore through iron chains on the full-moon night but threw himself into a wall at the last second.

The way he watched over me all night and slipped away before dawn.

My heartbeat was speeding up.

Was this love?

I wasn't sure.

The last time I thought I'd fallen for someone, that person had brought me nothing but pain.

Was he worth loving again?

Would he turn out just like Damien—

"He's different." Ember's voice was soft, certain. "He's not the same."

I knew.

But I was still afraid.

His fingers slid into my curls and gave a gentle rub. Light, like petting a cat that might bolt at any second.

I couldn't cry anymore.

He lowered his head, checked that I'd stopped, and pressed his lips to my forehead.

Dry, warm, lingering for two seconds.

"Take your time with the reason." His voice came from above, low, vibrating through me. "I need to handle something at the border this afternoon. I'll be back tonight."

He paused.

"Wait for me at home."

At home.

Not "here." Not "at the house."

"At home."

He let go of me, stood, picked up the documents from the desk, and walked out.

I sat in his chair, the backrest still holding his warmth and the scent of pine.

Ember whispered inside me: "He said 'home.'"

"I heard."

"He said wait for him."

"I heard."

"You're blushing."

"Shut up!!"