Chapter 2: A House Divided

The opulent manor that had been my home for years had transformed into a gilded cage overnight. Every corridor echoed with the memory of his rejection. The silence was a living thing, thick and heavy with the unsaid, with the hum of the broken bond that now connected us—a constant, painful reminder of what was and could never be.

The physical effects of the severed connection began to set in within hours. A dull, persistent headache took root behind my eyes. A low-grade anxiety thrummed under my skin, making me jumpy and restless. It felt like a part of me was missing, a vital organ had been ripped out, leaving a cold, aching void. The worst was the phantom pull, a relentless tugging behind my breastbone, always in the direction I knew he was.

‘He’s in his study,’ my wolf whined, a pathetic, mournful sound. ‘It hurts. Why does he make it hurt?’

‘Because he has to,’ I told her, and myself, clinging to the shreds of my dignity. ‘Because what we feel is wrong.’ But the bond didn’t care about right or wrong. It only knew it was incomplete, rejected, and it screamed its protest through every fiber of my being.

Three days after the birthday party from hell, the strain was becoming unbearable. I hadn’t seen him, not properly. He’d become a ghost in his own home, his scent lingering in rooms just vacated, the sound of his office door closing a moment before I entered the hall. The deliberate avoidance was a special kind of torture.

It was in this fog of pain and sleep deprivation that I stumbled. Literally. Heading down the grand staircase, my foot caught on the edge of a rug. My already unsteady balance gave way. A gasp tore from my lips as I pitched forward, bracing for the impact with the cold, hard marble below.

It never came.

A strong arm shot out, wrapping around my waist and hauling me back against a solid, familiar chest. The world righted itself in a dizzying whirl.

And then the bond exploded.

The moment he touched me, it was like throwing a lit match into a pool of gasoline. The dull ache vanished, replaced by a searing wave of pure, undiluted sensation. Electricity crackled where his skin met mine, even through the fabric of my clothes. His scent—pine and ozone and pure, potent Alpha—engulfed me, a heady drug that made my head spin and my knees weaken. The void inside me roared to life, singing with a terrifying, perfect rightness.

My wolf howled in triumph. ‘Mate! He came! He caught us!’

For a single, suspended heartbeat, we were frozen. My back was pressed flush against his front. I could feel the rapid, heavy thud of his heart against my spine, a frantic rhythm that matched my own. His breath ghosted across the shell of my ear, ragged. His arm tightened around me, a reflexive, possessive pull.

I dared to tilt my head back. His face was inches from mine. The storm in his grey eyes was chaotic, turbulent with the same shock, the same undeniable need that was threatening to consume me. The carefully constructed wall of the Alpha was gone. In its place was just a man, as utterly enslaved by this force as I was.

It was the most beautiful and terrifying thing I had ever seen.

Then, reality, cold and brutal, slammed back down.

He didn’t just let go; he shoved me away from him as if I were made of live coals. The loss of contact was a physical wound, the bond screaming in agony at the renewed separation. The cold emptiness rushed in, sharper and more painful than before.

The Alpha mask was back, but it was fractured. Anger, panic, and something that looked like self-loathing warred in his gaze. His chest heaved.

“Watch your step,” he bit out, his voice rough, stripped of all its usual cool control.

I hugged my arms around myself, trembling, the ghost of his touch still burning on my skin. “I… thank you.”

He took a step back, then another, putting a safe, respectable distance between us. The hallway felt a mile wide. “This… thing between us,” he gestured sharply, a slash in the air, “it cannot happen. Do you understand me, Lila?”

The use of my name, usually so formal from him, felt like a caress and a slap at once.

“You think I don’t know that?” The words came out a broken whisper. “You made it perfectly clear.”

“It wasn’t clear enough if you’re still looking at me like that,” he retorted, his eyes darkening. He was right. I knew my face showed everything—the yearning, the pain, the hopelessness.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, a gesture of sheer frustration I’d rarely seen in him. “You need to forget whatever you felt. Whatever you think you feel. For your sake. For mine. For the good of this entire pack.” His voice dropped, low and intense, laced with a desperation that terrified me. “We cannot be the reason it falls apart. Do you understand the consequences? The scandal? The curse it would bring?”

Each word was a hammer blow. Forget. As if the bond were a stray thought, not the very core of my being now. Consequences. Curse. He made our connection sound like a plague.

Tears welled in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I straightened my spine, calling on a strength I didn’t know I possessed. “I understand my place, Stepfather.” I put as much icy distance into the title as I could. “I won’t trouble you again.”

I turned to leave, my legs shaking, the pull of the bond a physical weight trying to drag me back to him.

His voice stopped me, softer now, but no less devastating. “Lila… it’s the only way.”

I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. Because a part of me, the part that was still the girl who adored her protector, wanted to run back to him. But the newer, wounded part, the part that had felt the bond’s glory and then its brutal rejection, knew he was right. And that was the true torture. We were trapped in a nightmare of our own, with the only key being the one thing we could never have: each other.

The ache in my chest intensified with every step I took away from him. The game of push and pull had begun, and I was already losing, torn between a love that felt destined and a reality that was utterly forbidden.