Perry’s POV
"She refused both lunch and dinner, Your Majesty. When I brought her evening al, the afternoon food sat there cold and untouched. I checked again just now—sa thing with dinner," Mason delivered her report while keeping her gaze fixed on the floor, terrified that I might bla her for failing to do her job properly.
"She’s throwing a tantrum to grab your attention," Flynn muttered without bothering to look up from his paperwork. He pressed his palms against his tired eyes—the late hour weighing on him, though his workload showed no signs of shrinking.
I despised handling this bureaucratic nonsense.
"What’s she doing right now?" I asked, my voice sharp with irritation.
My blood still boiled from her brazen rejection. Fantasizing about another man while I was inside her?! That woman had balls of steel to pull that stunt.
"She’s asleep at the mont."
I dismissed Mason with a wave, and she scurried out.
"She’s playing gas with you. She wants you to despise her enough to ship her back to her pack so she can run into the arms of whatever man she’s pining for."
Flynn shot a look as I maintained my unsettling silence. "I warned you to reject her, but you wouldn’t listen. What’s the point of keeping her here?"
"She’ll die if I reject her." I stared out at the dark sky, unable to shake the image of her crumpled on that bathroom floor.
Every instinct scread at to go to her, to hold her, to offer so comfort—but for what? I’d be the biggest fool alive, consoling a woman whose heart belonged to soone else.
"Well, you can’t be certain of that." Flynn’s words hung in the air. He understood that Phoebe had lost her wolf after the first rejection, making a second rejection potentially fatal. But it was just theory.
Still, Flynn wasn’t heartless enough to openly suggest I kill soone. I already had enough blood on my conscience—no need to add more.
Besides, he’d been trying to soften my crueler impulses lately.
Pushing toward murder would contradict everything he’d been working toward. This whole ss frustrated him beyond asure, so he kept his mouth shut and returned to his reports.
Then he rembered sothing unavoidable that needed addressing.
"What about the formal introduction? Since you marked her publicly, everyone knows you’ve found your mate. They’re expecting you to present her."
Since I’d refused to sever our mate bond, the logical next step was introducing her as my mate—aning this kingdom would finally get a queen.
But Flynn couldn’t see doing that.
I’d given no hint of planning any announcent regarding Phoebe.
"What’s your plan?"
"Let them wait," I replied with complete indifference, my attention drifting to the horizon. My thoughts consud , and I tuned out whatever Flynn said next.
——
Phoebe’s POV
I had no idea when sleep claid , but I jolted awake to find my room plunged into complete darkness, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe.
I hated this suffocating blackness.
Mason must have checked on while I slept and switched off the lights, thinking she was being considerate. Her heart was in the right place, but sleeping in darkness sent my anxiety skyrocketing—I needed to see every corner, every shadow.
Kevin had made sure of that.
It took several agonizing minutes to wrestle down my panic before I could force myself out of bed. I imdiately flooded the room with light, and only when every corner blazed with brightness could I breathe normally again.
I scanned the room, confirming I was alone. The clock revealed sunrise was still two hours away—my usual wake-up ti.
I stood and headed toward the bathroom, but froze at the doorway as mories of earlier crashed over .
The pain lingered, spreading through my body like poison. It twisted together with every cruel thing Kevin had done to , and I felt invisible hands dragging under.
I was drowning with no one to save .
My breathing turned ragged, but I clenched my teeth and shoved the door open. I avoided the shower area and went straight to the sink.
I turned on the tap and splashed cold water on my face.
When I lifted my head, a pathetic young woman stared back at . Pale skin, cracked lips, and a small scratch marking my chin.
I despised the woman in the mirror. I despised myself. If I could, I’d strike her. I’d tear at myself. I loathed everything about her.
It lasted only a split second—a mont of lost control—but I suddenly drove my fist into the mirror as hard as I could.
The glass didn’t shatter, but it spider-webbed with cracks, and I’d destroyed my hand.
Blood poured into the sink. The red was almost beautiful, and for a mont I felt disconnected from reality, not even registering what I’d done until pain cut through the adrenaline rush.
I stared at my mangled hand and winced. I hadn’t ant to do this—I didn’t want to hurt myself—and now I was in serious trouble.
Without healing abilities, my only option was finding the healer.
I rembered the route to the infirmary, but blood kept streaming from the wound.
"Damn..." I pressed my uninjured hand against the cuts, cradling the damaged one against my stomach, then bolted from the bedroom.
Blood dripped behind as I ran. The few people I passed looked shocked and tried asking questions, but I didn’t slow down.
I worried about the ss I was leaving behind. Deep down, I knew this would get in trouble.
When I reached the infirmary, thank God Helen was there. She gasped when she saw .
"What happened?! What’s wrong?" Helen imdiately guided to sit down.
"I’ll clean up the blood trail later," I said, extending my hand for her to examine.
"Don’t worry about that! That’s not your concern. What did you do to your hand?"
I flinched when Helen’s voice rose—she wasn’t trying to yell, but the healer didn’t notice my reaction as she focused on stopping the bleeding and cleaning the wound.
"What happened?"
"I accidentally punched a mirror."
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