The Alpha's Silent Bride: Seventh Time's The Charm novel Chapter 59

Chapter 59: 059: Mate?

~ RONAN ~

Is it a curse? Am I doomed never to be loved?

The question echoes through my mind as I sit on the edge of the guest bed, staring at nothing, my entire world crumbling around me like ash.

Fuck.

My life was finally starting to come back together. I had her. I had Roselle. I knew we’d wake up every morning beside each other, that I’d get to see her face, her smile, that beautiful expression she gets when she’s lost in thought. I knew that beautiful girl with the quiet strength who somehow managed to sneak her way past every wall I’d ever built would always be there with me.

I was willing to face the curse. I was willing to fight for us, to search every corner of the world for a cure that would save us both and destroy the obstacle threatening to tear us apart. I’d have burned down the entire Council if it meant keeping her safe. I’d have challenged the Moon Goddess herself if it meant protecting what we had.

I was looking forward to our wedding day.

To standing beside her as we exchanged our vows. To seeing just how breathtaking she’d look walking toward me in that gorgeous white gown she’d been designing. To hearing her voice her beautiful, recovered voice—speaking the words that would bind us together for eternity.

I’d pictured it all so many times in my head. Every single moment. The way the light would catch in her hair. The way her hazel eyes would shine with unshed tears. The way her hand would feel in mine as we sealed our bond.

So what the fuck went wrong?

What changed? Why did she suddenly look at me like I was a monster? Why did she say those things? Those cruel, piercing words that felt like daggers being driven straight into my heart?

She doesn’t mean it, Kael growls from deep within me, his voice rough and broken. She can’t possibly mean it. She loves us. I know she does. I can feel it.

But even as he says it, even as he tries to convince me, there’s a tremor in his voice. A crack in his certainty that mirrors the fracturing of my own belief.

I reach for the bottle of tequila I’d grabbed on my way to the guest room, one of several bottles I’ve been systematically working through over the past hours. I don’t bother with a glass anymore. The first bottle required some semblance of civility, some attempt at maintaining composure.

But civility is a luxury I can no longer afford.

I bring the bottle to my lips and drink directly from it, the liquid fire burning down my throat, searing my chest. It’s punishment and comfort all rolled into one.

The burn is nothing compared to the pain in my chest.

Nothing compared to the agony of her words replaying over and over in my mind like some twisted record player from hell.

"You treat me like I’m some gullible child."

"You’re exactly like everyone else."

"I don’t want you anymore."

"I want to leave."

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