The Heartbroken Luna's Choice Banish Love novel Chapter 342

Third Person's POV

Fred's expression was dark. "To lose his own flesh and blood for a kid that isn't even his... he really is a piece of work."

Trista shook her head. "He's not worth my resentment anymore, and he's definitely not worth my hate."

In the werewolf world, everything came back around.

She realized that withdrawing her emotions—refusing to waste a single drop of feeling on him—was the ultimate karma.

In the shadows not far away, the window of a black luxury car was rolled down halfway.

Cassian sat inside, his body rigid, every cell in his being feeling like it was being torn apart.

He stared at Trista under the streetlight, his fingers gripping his shirt so hard he ripped the fabric. His bloodshot eyes were brimming with tears.

He opened his mouth to breathe, but it felt like his windpipe had been cut; he couldn't make a sound.

Late night, at the second floor of the Imperial Club, when Fred pushed open the door to the private suite, he was shoved back a half-step by a wave of Alpha aura so thick it felt physical.

The room reeked of spilled hard liquor and Cassian's out-of-control, blood-edged pine pheromones.

Fred snatched the swaying glass from Cassian's fingers. "You heard her, didn't you? Every word she said on the street tonight."

Cassian's brow was furrowed into a deep knot. His fingers dug deep grooves into the leather armrest of his chair.

He lowered his eyes, which were clouded with misery. Inside him, his wolf was letting out a dry, desperate howl of abandonment.

His lips twitched, a broken, hoarse growl escaping his throat. "It was me... I'm the one who tore our bond apart."

Fred tried to keep his cool, releasing a few calming signals to settle the violent energy in the room. "Cassian, Trista gave you the best years of her life, and you hurt her until her soul nearly burned out. If you have any dignity left, show her some mercy for once. Sign the papers and set her free."

Cassian grabbed his jacket and stood up, swaying on his feet.

The mix of alcohol and regret made his brain feel like it had been thrown into a boiling cauldron; every nerve was being flayed alive.

Right now, he just wanted to find the coldest, most desolate wasteland to bury the self-loathing that was about to explode.

He didn't even look at Fred as he stumbled out the door, leaving a trail of decaying pheromones in the hallway.

For the next two days, Cassian completely "vanished" from the pack.

He spent his days buried in work at the Ironthorn offices, acting like a machine that didn't know how to tire. At night, he curled up on his office sofa, swallowing the agony of the bond's backlash alone.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify