Chapter 125: The Weight of His Words
Josie
I didn’t even realize I was staring until his words sank in, sharp and cold enough to sting like frost against my skin. Thorne’s tone cut through , every syllable deliberate, unforgiving, as if he had been waiting for the mont to carve open. I blinked, disbelieving, my throat thickening around the air I couldn’t swallow.
He turned as if to leave, robe brushing against his fra, towel dangling carelessly in his hand like none of this mattered. That casual dismissal burned worse than his words, and before I could stop myself, I found my voice.
"You always have a problem with , Thorne," I said, too quickly, the words rushing out before fear could silence . "But right now—what you’re doing—it’s not right. You ought to understand , at least this once. You should know how I’m feeling."
He froze mid-step, his shoulders stiffening, and then he pivoted back toward . His eyes, so dark and unyielding, pinned where I stood. In three strides he was before , towering, and then his finger jabbed hard against my chest.
The pressure wasn’t enough to hurt, not physically, but it sent a jolt through all the sa.
"You always want people to understand you," he said, his voice low, rough, vibrating with restrained anger, "but do you ever try to understand anyone else?"
The question left hollow, silenced in an instant.
His finger pressed again, sharper this ti, accusing. "Since you stepped into this pack, Kiel and Varen have been obsessed with keeping you happy. Obsessed, Josie. They even fought ——just to defend you. And what did you do? You embarrassed in front of everyone. Like I never tried. Like I never showed you even a single mont of love." His voice cracked, just barely, but he forced it back under control. "Who does that?"
Sha hit like a storm surge, fierce and rciless. My lips parted but no sound erged. Every excuse I thought of shriveled before it reached my tongue. Because he was right.
He was right.
The realization burned from the inside out. I hated it, hated him for saying it aloud, but the truth seared hotter than any lie I could hide behind.
His expression softened, but not with forgiveness. It was sothing worse—sadness. A smile ghosted across his lips, faint and broken. "On a normal day, you’d fight , Josie. You’d spit fire and claw your way through just to prove your point, no matter how foolish it was. But now? Look at you. Silent." His eyes darkened further, as if the shadows inside him had grown deeper. "You’re not saying a thing because you know I’m right."
I couldn’t hold his gaze. The weight of it bent inward, pressing my chest until it hurt to breathe.
"You need to do better," he said firmly, each word like the striking of a gavel. "Being our mate doesn’t give you the right to break our hearts whenever you please. We’re not unbreakable. Rember that."
His hand brushed against my shoulder—not a caress, but a sharp shove that knocked off balance. I staggered sideways, my hand shooting out to steady myself against the nearest chair. The jolt rattled through , leaving trembling, not from the push but from the truth I couldn’t fight.
By the ti I steadied myself, he was gone, his robe trailing around the corner, his footsteps fading into silence that rang louder than any shout could have.
The dining hall felt cavernous, empty in his absence yet echoing with the force of his words. I pressed a hand against my chest where his finger had jabbed , as if I could rub away the lingering sting, but it wasn’t physical. It was deeper.
My eyes burned, red and swollen from unshed tears. I tried to blink them away, but the ache in my throat betrayed . I stood there in the center of the dining room, staring at nothing, feeling the press of loneliness and sha so heavy it nearly buckled my knees.
None of my mates were happy with . Not one. And it was my fault.
I thought I’d been trying. Every step I took, I told myself it was the right thing, the necessary thing. But all I ever seed to do was hurt them more.
I sank into a chair, my fingers gripping the edge of the table until my knuckles whitened. The wood didn’t give comfort; it only anchored while the storm inside raged. My chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, breaths sharp and shallow, as if even air had decided to abandon .
I whispered into the silence, a confession ant for no one but myself. "I don’t know how to fix this."
The walls didn’t answer.
Morning ca cruelly, with too much light and too little relief. I hadn’t slept. My body felt like stone, heavy and unwilling, but I forced myself up anyway. The air outside my room carried the scent of roasted bread and brewed coffee—warmth, normalcy, a reminder that life carried on whether or not I was ready to face it.
When I stepped into the main hall, I froze.
There they were.
Varen. Kiel. Thorne.
Sitting together at the long table, breakfast spread out before them. Plates of eggs, toast, smoked at, steaming mugs. They were eating together—actually together. I couldn’t even rember the last ti I’d seen them do that.
It should have been a comforting sight, but instead, my chest tightened painfully. Had I been the reason their peace had shattered? Had my presence carved wedges between them that only now were being patched, in my absence?
I stood at the edge of the room, fingers twisting in the hem of my dress, caught between hope and dread.
"Can I..." My voice cracked, so I cleared my throat and tried again. "Can I join you for breakfast?"
No response.
Not a glance. Not a flicker. They just kept eating, the clink of cutlery against porcelain louder than any silence I’d ever endured. My heart squeezed, sharp and relentless, like a fist tightening around it.
I tried again, forcing steadiness I didn’t feel. "Please. Can I sit with you?"
This ti, Thorne looked up. His gaze was flat, unyielding, and when he spoke, it was like steel wrapped in frost. "Just sit on the vacant chair, Josie. And let us have our peace. At least that much."
The words punched the air out of .
I twisted the fabric of my dress tighter, nails biting into the weave, but I obeyed. My legs carried stiffly to the chair, each step heavier than the last. I sat down quietly, back straight, hands clasped in my lap, as if any sudden movent might set them further against .
The maid approached, laying a plate before with a polite nod before vanishing quickly, like even she didn’t want to linger in this tension. I stared down at the food but couldn’t bring myself to lift a fork. My throat was raw, my eyes red and burning, though I refused to let the tears fall here, not in front of them.
I told myself to eat, to at least pretend, but the weight of their silence pressed too heavily.
And then the door swung open.
"Really?" Liam’s voice carried into the hall, rich with exasperation. He stepped inside, his grin careless but edged with sothing sharper. "You can’t just leave in the cottage all the damn ti."
My head snapped toward him, heart thudding. His timing was always infuriating, as if he had so cruel instinct for appearing when I least wanted him.
"We don’t have any class today," I muttered quickly, hoping to shut him down before he could stir trouble. My words were low, defensive, half a plea.
He tilted his head, smirk widening. "Who said so?" His eyes slid deliberately toward the table, landing on each of them in turn. "What was it, Kiel? Or was it Varen this ti?"
The air snapped tight, like the mont before a storm breaks. I felt it in my skin, in my bones—the sudden, dangerous rise of tension.
The Alphas stiffened. Chairs scraped against the floor as the weight of their anger filled the room, palpable and suffocating.
"No," I whispered, too late.
I shoved back my own chair and stood quickly, heart hamring. "Stop. Please, just stop." My hands lifted in a desperate motion of peace, but the edge of my sleeve caught the coffee mug near .
It toppled.
Scalding liquid splashed across my lap, burning through the thin fabric of my dress before I could react. I gasped, stumbling back, hands flailing as pain seared through .
In an instant, the three of them were on their feet.
"Josie!" Kiel’s voice thundered, sharp with alarm.
Varen rounded the table, already reaching for . Thorne’s chair clattered against the floor as he surged forward too.
Their unity was sudden, instinctive, and overwhelming. Hands reached toward —steadying, protective, guiding. For the first ti in days, they moved together, all three of them, not against one another but for .
The sting of the burn blurred into sothing else entirely, sothing heavier and far more dangerous: the reminder that despite everything—anger, disappointnt, silence—they still ca to . They still couldn’t stop themselves.
And I didn’t know if that made more relieved... or more guilty.
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