Chapter 132
Third Person’s POV
Cassian reached the door, then stopped.
The lights inside were dim. Trista stood in the center of the living room, looking brittle and drained, as if her very bones had been hollowed out.
She held her scent in a tight, forced grip, but that agonizingly cold restraint still leaked through the cracks, coating the air like a thin layer of frost.
Cassian turned back to look at her, a flicker of movement in his eyes.
In that split second, his wolf made the choice before his logic could intervene.
He doubled back, lunging forward to haul her into his chest–a move as swift as a predatory reclamation.
Trista didn’t have time to react before his scent brushed against her neck. The mangled mating bond instantly snapped tight, like an old chain being violently yanked, sending a jolt of pain from her chest straight to her throat.
Cassian leaned down, his kiss landing softly against her brow.
“Happy twenty–sixth birthday, Trista,” he murmured, his voice muffled.
Then he let her go, turned, and walked out of the apartment.
The moment the door clicked shut, Trista felt like she’d been shoved out of a vacuum. Her breathing turned chaotic.
She practically scrambled into the bathroom, twisting the faucet to splash ice–cold water onto her face.
In the mirror, her eyes were bloodshot and her lips pale. Her wolf hadn’t fully receded; it hummed beneath her skin like a low–voltage current in her veins.
When she first discovered Cassian was her mate, people told her they would either be the perfect match or destroy each other.
Back then, she would always boast, “Definitely the perfect match.”
They looked right together, the age gap was perfect, and their personalities complemented each other.
But she had overlooked one thing–Cassian’s logic was made of iron, and his wolf was a blade.
Raised in the rigid cage of Ironthorn rules, he was a man of calculated interests, a man who locked his emotions in a cell and made ruthless choices at every crossroad.
In truth, she had known they weren’t right for each other long before Cassian did. She just hadn’t been able to let go.
She turned off all the lights and collapsed onto the sofa, drained.
The fractured bond in her chest still throbbed with a dull ache, a reminder of the kiss he just gave her–a kiss that only made her feel dirty. It just hurt.
Outside the door, Cassian didn’t leave immediately.
Humphrey stood before him, holding the cake box, looking trapped between staying and going. “Alpha Cassian… you came all this way. Are you really leaving just like that?”
Cassian lit a cigarette, leaning his back against the hallway wall.
The smoke curled up his jawline, masking most of the emotion in his eyes.
He kept his scent suppressed, heavy and cold in the corridor–like a winter night in the Ironthorn territory.
“If I don’t leave, she won’t rest,” he said quietly.
Humphrey stepped back and fell silent, still clutching the cake.
Cassian didn’t speak either, just smoking.

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