The Heartbroken Luna's Choice Banish Love novel Chapter 27

**Where Soft Light Shines, Darkness Fades From Tired Hearts by Evan Holt Crane**
**Chapter 27**

**Trista’s POV**

Cassian deactivated the comm-stone light, the soft glow fading into the depths of his pocket.

It was over.

That fleeting glimmer of closeness in his gaze extinguished with the light, leaving me feeling as if a thin needle had been extracted from my chest, dulling the ache that had become all too familiar.

I fought fiercely against the tide of pheromones that surged within me; the driver remained in the car, and I couldn’t afford to lose control here, not now.

The ride was cloaked in a heavy silence, the weight of unspoken words thickening the air around us as we approached the Ironthorn House.

He stepped out first, the door creaking open as he held it for me.

As I emerged, I noticed Wynn on the other side, a bag in her hand. Her face lit up like the dawn upon seeing us side by side, her innocence a stark contrast to the turmoil swirling in my heart.

I offered a bitter, self-deprecating smile, knowing that the naive Wynn likely believed we had reconciled.

But Cassian didn’t walk inside with me; instead, he glanced between me and Wynn, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You two talk. I have to go out on business.”

His words landed on my chest like a dull thud—the mating bond between us flickered, a string plucked and vibrating with an unsettling resonance.

My wolf stirred within me, its tail tucked tightly, sensing the tension in the air.

The hallway was thick with the metallic scent of post-rain humidity, and the air conditioning dulled the foreign she-wolf scent that clung to him, but it lingered like a ghost.

He turned to leave, and instinctively, I reached out, gripping the hem of his suit jacket. My fingers were pale and rigid, betraying the turmoil within me. “You’re going to see her again?”

His brow furrowed, a flicker of frustration crossing his features as he pinched my wrist, peeling my fingers away one by one. “Trista, don’t do this.”

His refusal to answer directly spoke volumes. In our world, that silence was a confession, an admission of guilt that hung heavily between us.

Despair bubbled within me, a seething pot of boiling water sealed tight, the steam trembling against the lid, desperate for release.

I reached for his comm-stone, longing to glimpse the name of the caller. But before I could touch his jacket, he tightened his grip on my wrist, a vise of authority.

“Stop the drama. You have work tomorrow,” he commanded, his forearm crossing my chest like a barrier, forcing me one step back into the doorway.

His aura surged around us, cold and unwavering, a force that pressed against me, demanding compliance.

The pressure stilled my breath, the control mantras from my training rushing into my mind—Suppress, Submerge, Seal. I fought to follow them, pushing the escaping pheromones back behind my carefully constructed boundary.

Yet, my emotions simmered dangerously close to the surface: the low-burning shame and pain, a fire flickering beneath a thin layer of frost, only intensified as I forced it down.

I watched as he deliberately avoided my gaze, and a low snarl threatened to escape my throat, barely contained. “If you walk away now, I’m going to The Elder Council. I’ll lay everything— you, her, our contract—out on the table. Stop forcing me to learn ‘composure’ in the shadows.”

I could hear the tremor in my voice, not from weakness, but from the brink of losing control entirely.

His expression remained as impassive as stone, and he prepared to turn away again.

I inhaled deeply, summoning every ounce of strength to coax my wolf to the forefront.

My hand bones shifted beneath my skin, a slight crack echoing as my knuckles clicked. Slowly, black claws emerged from my fingertips, glistening ominously in the dim light.

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