The Heartbroken Luna's Choice Banish Love novel Chapter 167

Chapter 167 

Third Person’s POV 

She hadn’t waited up for him, and she hadn’t left a single light on in the house. 

This wasn’t an oversight; it was a clear statement. 

Cassian entered the bedroom, switching on only the dimmest strip of floor lighting. 

The faint amber glow snaked along the baseboards like smoldering fire kept on a short leash. 

He stood by the bed, silently watching Trista sleep. 

She was on her side, her breathing shallow, her shoulder blades looking sharper than he remembered. With the blanket pulled to her chest and her hair spilled across the pillow, she looked like a piece of silent, still art. 

In the past, no matter how late it was, she would always wait for him. 

Even later on, when she found out about him and Samantha and they were at each other’s throats, she might have stopped leaving the light on, but she never actually slept. 

She would toss and turn, like a restless she–wolf constantly patrolling the borders of her territory. 

Back then, she was always picking fights over Samantha and Algernon. 

He had always wanted her to be calmer, more rational–to learn how to bottle up her emotions. 

Now, she had finally done it. 

She was calm enough to suggest he go to Samantha for his “needs” without a flicker of irritation. Her pheromones were as flat as a dead sea, as if she’d completely sealed herself off. 

Yet, there was a hollow ache in his chest. 

It wasn’t the relief of finally getting what he wanted; it was a gnawing restlessness. The other end of the mating bond was far too quiet, leaving him unable to gauge a single thing she was thinking. 

The next morning, Trista woke up in Cassian’s arms. 

She had assumed he’d spend the night at Samantha’s; she hadn’t expected him to come back. 

Opening her eyes, her first reaction wasn’t a pleasant surprise, but a wave of exhaustion and absurdi 

Tending to the woman and child he loved one minute, then returned to this bed to play her ‘mate‘ 

If she thought about it for even a second, she felt exhausted for him–and pathetic for herself. 

The moment she shifted to get up, Cassian stirred. 

He sat up and hooked an arm around her waist, pinning her to the bed. 

“Why didn’t you leave a light on for me last night?” he asked. 

Trista looked down, her voice as flat as a manual. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time. I’ll try not to make that mistake again.” 
During those six months she was in France, he had Samantha to keep him company; he hadn’t needed her light then. 

She knew these “demands” were just his way of constantly reminding her of the agreement–training her like a disobedient wolf until she became the Luna he envisioned. 

Her response was stiff, creating a blatant wall between them. 

Cassian’s face darkened. 

Trista froze at the door. 

She realized what he meant almost instantly. 

She turned back, walked over to him, stood on her tiptoes, and gave him a brief, feather–light brush of her lips against his. 

The kiss was incredibly short, lacking any linger–it was purely a “daily check–in.” 

No emotion, no response. Just clinical compliance. 

She didn’t even wait for him to reach out before she turned and vanished through the door. 

The front door stayed open for a moment as Cassian stood there, watching her enter the elevator. 

Before the doors slid shut, she didn’t even look back. 

He couldn’t quite put his finger on what was wrong, only that the current Trista felt like a blade with the edges sanded down–still sharp, but no longer pointed at him. 

The ringing of his phone snapped him back to reality. 

Around 10 AM, Cassian arrived at the apartment where Samantha was currently staying. 

The buildings and security were decent enough, but they were nowhere near the “territorial” standards of the Ironthorn pack. 

As he walked in, his first move was to scan the living room with cold, diagnostic eyes–like he was inspecting a scene. 

“I heard Algernon was hurt,” he said. “Where is he?”