The Heartbroken Luna's Choice Banish Love novel Chapter 179

Chapter 179 

Third Person’s POV 

This was the first time Cassian had ever raised his voice at her like that–it was practically unheard of. 

He knew she was miserable. 

He knew she had every right to be. But he also knew that if he let her keep drifting like this, the already frayed mating bond between them would snap. Eventually, there wouldn’t even be enough left to pull them back together. 

He pointed a finger at the pile of plush toys near the foyer, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble. “Where did this junk come from?” 

Trista leaned her elbow on the back of the sofa, propping her head up with her hand. Her expression was so weary she didn’t even bother to make her dismissal sound convincing. “Alpha Isaiah won them at a claw machine.” 

Alpha Isaiah. 

Cassian tilted his head back and took a slow, deep breath, fighting to shove the rising tide of bile back down his throat. 

At least she was honest about it. 

His hands balled into white–knuckled fists at his sides, his palms cold. 

He tried to keep his voice sounding like a reminder rather than an interrogation. “I know you were his primary healer in France. But Isaiah doesn’t play by the rules, and he has zero sense of boundaries. Aside from what’s strictly necessary for his treatment, stay the hell away from him.” 

Trista kept her eyes closed. Her eyelashes didn’t even flicker. It was like she was listening from behind a lead wall, keeping his voice from actually reaching her. 

“He seems pretty normal to me,” she countered flatly. “At least he knows that a male shouldn’t overstep once he’s bonded. And he knows that people who wreck other people’s mating aren’t exactly ‘the good guys!” 

Cassian’s face went dark, his voice turning to ice. “Samantha is not a ‘home–wrecker.‘ She is my past. How many times do I have to say it?” 

Trista didn’t argue. She just threw back a casual, weightless reply, “Right. She isn’t. I am.” 

The conversation was suffocating. 

Cassian paced the living room, his footsteps sounding unnervingly sharp in the dead of night. 

He stopped and issued a command that bordered on a threat. “Trista, listen to me. You are the Luna of Ironthorn. Every move you make reflects on this pack. It reflects on me.” 

Trista nodded, a compliant gesture that felt like she was just following a script. There was no soul in it. 

“Whether it’s that press conference or this Alpha Isaiah,” Cassian continued, “I want this to be the last time.” 

Still, she gave him nothing. No real response, no promise. 

Cassian’s patience finally hit rock bottom. He sharpened his tone. “Trista, don’t think for a second I don’t have ways to handle you. You’re back now, so you’re going to stay in line.” 

Just then, the comm–stone on the coffee table flickered. 

The light was brief, but in the dark room, it was blinding. 

Trista didn’t move; she didn’t seem to have the energy to even reach for it. 

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