Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 277

Ch.47

Cassandra

I’m not sure why I’m so surprised. I’ve been telling myself for weeks that I’m ready for this. I’ve known for weeks that this was coming, that Noah was going to choose Piper, that I wanted him to, even because he deserves to be happy after everything I did and didn’t do.

I told myself I was ready. I told myself a lie. Because this… this pain that feels as if my ribs have been cracked open and my heart ripped from my chest, it’s unbearable.

My breathing accelerates until I’m gasping for air. Torturous thoughts flood my mind and I’m helpless to stop them. My hands are wet where they cradle my face and I taste salt on my lips.

He chose. He chose her and she stayed over and it’s done now, it’s actually done, and somewhere in this building there is a man and his wolf—his wolf who is my fated mate, who knows it, who has always known it-and he chose someone else, and it’s all my fault.

A high-pitched keening reaches my ears before I realize it’s coming from me. The sound cuts off on a choked sob when I feel Liam stir next to me. But it doesn’t cut off my suffering.

The pond is still there. That’s the part I can’t make sense of tonight. Warm and present and entirely certain. Still pulling and tugging, urging me to go to him and prostrate myself at his feet, regardless of what he chose and regardless of what I deserve and regardless of the fact that I made my decisions at that gate before I understood what I was throwing away.

The bond doesn’t care about any of that. I’m sitting on the edge of a bed in the dark in a house where the man I love just spent the night with someone else, and I earned every second of this, and I know that, and knowing it doesn’t make it not hurt.

“Are you okay?”

I look up, startled by the sound of Liam’s voice and finding him sitting beside me with his hand on mine. He wasn’t asleep. He’s been watching me fall apart in the dark and that knowledge is worse than suffering alone.

“Yes,” I lie, quickly wiping away my tears and painting on a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes but hopefully fools a four-year- old.

He doesn’t believe me. I can see it in the way he scrunches his nose and the tiny wrinkle between his eyes. He watches me carefully, deciding if he’s going to call me on the lie or not. Finally, he sighs and presses against my side, his head dropping onto my shoulder.

“No you’re not.” He calls me out. “But that’s okay. I’ll take care of you, Mamà,

It takes all the strength I possess to hold in the whine fighting its way up my throat at hearing those words from my sweet little boy. “I know you will.” I manage instead. “We’ll take care of each other. You and me, from now on.” I promise.

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