The Heartbroken Luna's Choice Banish Love novel Chapter 8

**Cassian’s POV**

The hours dragged on in my office at the packhouse, a place that had become both my refuge and my prison.

The atmosphere was thick with tension. The number of rogues lurking along our border had surged alarmingly in recent weeks, a threat that loomed over us like a storm cloud. We had no choice but to advance the patrol line, pushing our guards to their limits. They were working overtime, their shifts becoming a chaotic rotation of exhaustion and unease.

Suddenly, Alaina’s Mind-Link pierced through my thoughts for the third time that day, her voice tinged with urgency. “Why aren’t you home yet? Your Luna is sick.”

I felt a familiar tension coil in my chest as I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to ward off the headache that threatened to form. The argument we had that morning replayed in my mind like a broken record.

When I had presented her with the diamond bracelet, her reaction had been immediate and cutting. It was clear she had dropped it on purpose, a deliberate act of defiance. She was furious, and I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of relief.

Trista was not one to shy away from confrontation; silence was never her forte. I remembered the fiery woman who would scream and fight when things spiraled out of control. That was the Trista I cherished, the one who wore her heart on her sleeve. But then, in a cruel twist of fate, she had suddenly lost her grip, collapsing to the floor with her eyes closed, leaving me in a state of panic.

Trista had experienced these “low blood sugar” episodes before, typically triggered by the tension between us. It was a pattern I recognized all too well—once I relented, she would bounce back as if nothing had happened.

Just then, my beta, Wynn, reached out through the Mind-Link, urgently asking for my location. The situation at the border was critical, and the guards needed my orders. I instructed Wynn to keep an eye on Trista before making my way to the packhouse, my thoughts racing with worry.

Pulling myself from the grip of those memories, I exited my office and made my way to the car. The drive back to the ex-Alpha’s villa felt like an eternity.

As soon as I stepped inside, Alaina’s anger flared to life. “Cassian, how are you taking care of Trista? Don’t you know she’s sick?” Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife.

“What did the pack doctor say?” I replied, my tone flat and devoid of emotion, trying to keep my own frustration in check.

Wynn shot me a glare, her eyes blazing with indignation. “The doctor said she has low blood sugar, and you upset her! That’s why she passed out!”

I merely hummed in acknowledgment, trying to suppress the rising tide of irritation within me.

Alaina slammed her hand down on the table, the sound echoing in the tense silence. “Your Luna faints at home, and you’re an unfit mate! What kind of attitude is that?”

“Don’t worry. She’s fine,” I reassured them, though I could feel the knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach.

Knowing Trista as I did, I suspected she was using this “illness” as a means to manipulate the situation.

Alaina thrust a thermos of healing broth into my hands, her expression softening slightly. “Take this back to her. She’s weak and probably hasn’t eaten. You need to make sure…”

Suddenly, my father, Wilmot Simmons, interrupted Alaina with a cold, dismissive tone. “Ignorant she-wolves. The Alpha should focus on the pack, not babysitting his mate!”

He scoffed at me, his disdain palpable. “The Silverlight Pack is on the brink of bankruptcy. Their territory is minuscule. Her so-called Alpha status only extends to a handful of members. She has nothing. We’ve been more than generous not to force you to reject her. She shouldn’t be so ungrateful.”

Grandpa Howard’s icy gaze bore into me. “A Luna who can’t manage the pack, hasn’t produced an heir, and can’t even take care of herself. What good is she?”

I wanted nothing more than to end this conversation, to silence their criticisms. I offered them some vague reassurance before turning to leave the living room, the weight of their words heavy on my shoulders.

Just as I reached the door, Wynn hurried after me, her expression frantic. “Cassian, did that woman come back?”

My hand froze on the car door handle as I turned to face her. “Who?”

“Cassian,” Samantha’s voice came through, laced with an apologetic tone. “You’re already busy with work and running to the clinic for me. Just sign my discharge papers. I’m practically well.”

“The healing center has the best shifter doctors. Stay a few more days and follow their advice,” I responded gently, my tone softening. “When you get discharged, I’ll take you and your son shopping.”

Her voice brightened with delight. “Thank you! You haven’t changed at all in six years. You must be tired. Go home and rest.”

I ended the call, placing the comm-stone on the counter before pushing open the bathroom door. My breath caught in my throat.

The light was on, illuminating the chaos that lay before me. Glass and ceramic shards glittered coldly on the floor, remnants of a tantrum that had spiraled out of control.

I carefully stepped over the mess, my heart racing as I spotted her lying on the floor, face up, her hair fanned out like dark tendrils. Unfinished tears clung to her lashes, a heartbreaking reminder of her distress.

Kneeling beside her, I gently helped her up, my palm brushing against her icy skin. “Even if you’re upset, don’t play games with your own body,” I murmured, my voice low and soothing.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, but her gaze was unfocused, distant. Her lips moved, yet no sound escaped. A single tear slipped down her cheek, a silent testament to her suffering.

I lifted her carefully and carried her back to bed, pulling the blankets over her trembling form.

She instinctively shrank away from me, still refusing to speak, her silence a heavy weight in the air.

I took a couple of steps back, then turned to sit on the edge of the bed, smoothing the corner of the blanket as I checked the temperature of her forehead and fingertips. Keeping my voice steady, I asked, “Are you calm now?”