Curves And Claws: The Lycan King's Relentless Claim novel Chapter 112

**Fireflies in Winter Rain — Neil A. Varma**
**Chapter 112**

Roana.

The night felt as though it had no end, stretching infinitely before me. The flickering candlelight danced along the ornate ceilings, casting elongated shadows that seemed to mock my isolation.

Perched on the edge of the bed, I found myself staring vacantly at the intricate designs above, my hands resting limply in my lap. The emptiness enveloped me, a tangible weight pressing down on my chest. Cassian had not come. Not a single message, not a whisper, not even a flicker of his presence to calm the storm raging within me.

And there was no explanation for the turmoil that had unfolded. Nothing at all.

Inside me, my wolf growled, a low, restless sound that echoed my inner chaos. Rye paced anxiously, twisting and turning, unable to find peace. The frustration was palpable, a mirror to the ache of betrayal that my heart could not silence. Each beat of my pulse served as a harsh reminder: he was with her. With Carolyn. I didn’t want to dwell on it, but the memory of that earlier moment—the hug, the fleeting brush of lips—seared into my mind like a brand.

I despised cheaters. I loathed betrayal. And I couldn’t bear to remain in a relationship when there was another woman in his embrace. Not even for a fleeting second. The thought constricted my chest, and my hands balled into fists as I fought to regain my composure. My breath came in uneven, shaky gasps, each one laced with anger, and I knew what I had to do.

The contract.

I had pushed it aside before, dismissed it as if it were trivial, something to be left behind in the shadows of emotions I was not ready to confront.

But tonight, clarity was essential. If there was even a sliver of a chance that everything I had felt was merely an illusion, I needed to confront it. I had to review the terms, the conditions, and remind myself of what we had agreed upon. I needed to act as if nothing had transpired between us. I had to fortify myself.

Rising from the bed, I felt the stiffness in my legs and the dull ache of tension coiling in my shoulders. Each step toward the drawer where I had stashed the contract weeks ago was deliberate, measured, and controlled. I opened it slowly, as if rushing might shatter my fragile state. The papers inside were crisp and formal, unyielding—much like him. They echoed the rules that had bound us before feelings complicated everything.

My fingers traced over the signatures, gliding over the cold, unfeeling clauses that dictated what I was permitted to feel, what I was allowed to hope for.

The words twisted my stomach into knots, each one a reminder of the invisible chain that bound us, the absolute line Cassian had drawn between us. I was a contract. I was not a choice. I was merely a replacement.

We were meant to avoid falling in love. No, I was meant to avoid it. Because from the very beginning, he had never loved me.

I closed the drawer with a slow exhale, forcing myself to act as if my chest weren’t tightening, as if my heart weren’t hammering like a drum in my ears. I would remain calm. Controlled and detached. The contract would serve as my shield, my armor, my excuse to ignore the volatile emotions he had ignited in his absence.

“We will act as we are supposed to!” I told myself firmly. “I’ve had enough of torturing myself over illusions and false hopes. It’s pathetic!”

Wiping away my tears, I lay down, chastising myself for daring to dream of something different.

The next morning, I slipped out of the house without breakfast, avoiding contact with anyone, even Sierra. My feet carried me to Sarah’s bakery, where her face lit up with delight upon seeing me.

The day passed in a blur, like a fleeting moment in my life. The bakery was alive with young pups, students eager to start their day with fresh bread and new aspirations. The bustling atmosphere helped me momentarily forget the turmoil that had plagued me the night before.

After working tirelessly throughout the day, despite Sarah’s insistence that I take it easy, I returned home, utterly exhausted.

However, as I stepped into the bedroom, a jolt of shock coursed through me. There she was—Carolyn—opening gift boxes without permission.

Carolyn, with her cheerful demeanor, appeared innocent, or at least she was pretending to be. The sound of her heels clicking against the marble floor sent an icy shiver down my spine. My stomach churned. I could feel Rye bristling within me, his tail stiff, growling softly, sensing the danger before I even fully comprehended it.

“Roana,” she greeted, her voice sweet yet airy, like sugar laced with venom. “I didn’t expect you to be out of the house for so long! Meeting someone special?” Her lips twisted into a passive-aggressive smirk.

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