The Rejected True Heiress (Liora and Callum) novel Chapter 335

“Let me guess,” I muttered. “Another mistake.”

Callum sat up on the mat. “It’s complicated, Liora.”

“I was your mate!”

“Well, you’re not now. And we’re both in a relationship, so…”

I stared at him. My mouth wanted to say the words: “I’m the princess, not Bianca. You should be with me.”

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. It was too painful, the thought of knowing that he would immediately shift gears once I told him the truth. That he would suddenly decide he could have me once he knew that I was the lofty goal his family had set for him since he was a child.

He stood, grabbing his shirt, and pulled it on in one swift motion. “I’m sorry, Liora. But it’s better this way.”

“Right.” I stared at the floor. “Because it’s so much better to blindly marry her just because she’s a princess.”

He sighed, standing so close I could feel it tickle my hair. “It’s more than that, Liora.”

“Then what is it?” I snapped my gaze up to meet his. “Don’t say duty. Because that’s a weak fucking excuse for rejecting your mate over and over again, and I’m sick of it.”

His jaw tightened. “You want the truth?” Callum’s eyes darkened, but not in the husky way they had before. This was danger. Fear. Not for me, but for him.

I waited, folding my arms across my chest.

“My parents will hurt you,” he said. The words came out rough, like he didn’t want to say them. “If they even know I’ve been talking to you at all, let alone this—” He gestured to us— “then they’ll hurt you. Badly.”

I stared at Callum, searching his face for some kind of lie, but I found none. He was being serious.

If anything, I needed to use this as a wakeup call. I needed to train harder, become better, faster, stronger, anything it would take to get my wolf back.

Then, and only then, could I reveal my identity.

By that point, I would have made up my mind completely: Callum was right. We couldn’t be together. Not now, not ever. Not even in a past life.

I pulled my fist back and swung at the punching bag hard, but missed. With a cry, I pitched forward, catching myself against the leather. More tears bubbled up, but I didn’t let them fall. I straightened myself, composed myself, and swung again.

This time, I struck.

Again, again, and again.