14
1645 Words
The workers left the room with soft smiles, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind our silence. As the door closed, the petals on the bed seemed to glow brighter under the warm lights, spilling across the sheets like a wedding fantasy. It should have been beautiful. It should have felt like a dream. Instead, it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff with nowhere to climb.
One room. One bed.
I could not move for a moment. The sight made my stomach twist painfully, and I had to press my palm over my ribs just to steady my breathing. Chase stood a few steps ahead of me, staring at the bed with a face carved from polished stone. His expression was unreadable, eyes narrowed slightly, jaw tense. If he felt anything at all, he was hiding it with skill I could never match.
The sound of waves filtered through the open balcony doors, soft and steady, like nature itself was mocking the silence between us. I swallowed hard and forced myself to break it.
“We cannot sleep like this.”
The words sounded small in the large room. They fell between us without weight, like a whisper that could be carried away by one soft breeze. Chase did not turn immediately. He let the quiet stretch a little longer before answering.
“No. We cannot.”
His voice was deep, low, composed, but there was something tight beneath the calm. Something tired. Something slightly wounded. I could not tell if it was because of the bed or because of what it represented. Cassandra planned this paradise for them. She imagined this room. This bed. The petals spelled her dream, not mine.
I looked around the room desperately, as if a solution might magically appear. There was a king sized bed. A chaise lounge by the window. Two armchairs beside a small table. The couch in the living area was not big, but it was long enough to lie on if I curled my knees slightly.
My eyes landed on it.
“I will sleep on the sofa,” I said quickly, wanting to end the conversation before it became a weapon.
Chase finally turned. His gaze was sharp, but not cruel. He studied me for a moment, then shook his head once.
“The bed is yours.”
I blinked. “No. It is not.”
“You need proper rest,” he replied. “You have had panic attacks and no sleep for two days. The sofa would hurt your back.”
His voice was not soft, but it was not harsh either. It was practical. Logical. He was behaving like an Alpha trying to solve a problem, not a man trying to claim a bed. I shook my head stubbornly.
“I will not take the bed from you.”
“It is not mine either,” he said calmly.
Something about those words hit deeper than I wanted them to. He meant the bed was meant for Cassandra. For them. Not for him alone. Not for me. The truth hurt more than it should have.
“So what do you suggest,” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
Chase walked toward the balcony, looking at the ocean for a moment before turning back. The moonlight touched the edges of his face, cutting shadows along his jaw and cheekbones. He crossed his arms.
“You take the bed. I will take the sofa.”
I stared at him. “No. I cannot let you sleep on that tiny sofa.”
“You are smaller,” he said simply, as if that solved everything.
“I do not care,” I replied, shaking my head. “I will sleep there. You will not.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “That is not a reasonable choice.”
“It is the right one.”
“What makes it right,” he asked quietly.
My chest tightened. I forced myself to speak.
“Because that bed was meant for someone else. Not me. I cannot take something that belongs to her.”
The words came out before I could stop them, leaving a hollow ache behind. Chase’s expression shifted, the hardness softening just slightly, like my honesty surprised him.
He stepped closer. “Cassandra is not here.”
It sounded final. But it was not. Not really. She was gone, but every petal in the room reminded us both who the bed belonged to. Who the room belonged to. Who he belonged to, at least in the eyes of the world.
I looked away. “Exactly.”
Silence fell again. The room seemed too big for my voice, and too small for our tension.
“We are not having a long argument about sleeping,” Chase said with quiet authority. “Choose the solution that makes sense.”
“I already did,” I said.
He exhaled, a long breath of frustration. It was not angry, just tired. He rubbed a hand across his forehead and looked at the bed again. The petals glowed faintly in the dim lights, shaped into perfect curved letters, mocking us with a celebration we could not claim.
“We could both take the bed,” he said suddenly.
My whole body went rigid.
“What,” I whispered.
“There is enough space. We keep distance. We sleep. It is logical.”
I could not believe what he said. Sharing the bed with him, even without touching, even separated by space, felt impossible. My lungs refused to expand for a second.
“No,” I said too quickly. “Absolutely not.”
One corner of his mouth twitched, not in a smile but in a look that showed how absurd the situation was becoming. “Then you take the bed. I take the sofa.”
“No,” I said again. “I will sleep on the sofa.”
His patience thinned. “Isla.”
“Chase.”
We locked eyes like two stubborn walls colliding without a solution.
For a moment, it felt almost ridiculous. Two grown wolves arguing over a piece of furniture while a bed covered in petals waited behind us like a throne we could not touch.
Finally, he sighed again, the sound heavy, resigned, like he was surrendering to a force he could not fight.
“If you insist on the sofa,” he said quietly, “I will give you pillows and blankets. And you will call me if you get cold.”
“I will not get cold,” I said quickly.
“You are in a beachfront villa with open windows,” he replied. “You will get cold.”
I did not respond. I could not argue without admitting defeat. He turned away, went to the closet, and returned with pillows and a thick blanket. He placed them gently on the sofa, smoothing the edges like he was preparing it for someone fragile.
For me.
My throat tightened.
I sat down on the sofa, curling my knees, pulling the blanket to my chin. It was comfortable enough. Better than I expected. But lying there while Chase was still awake felt wrong. Unfair. He was standing by the balcony, looking out at the ocean like the waves carried answers he lost somewhere along the way.
His shoulders rose slowly with each breath. The moonlight reflected off his hair. His stance was heavy, thoughtful, almost sad. I wondered what he was thinking about. Cassandra. The wedding. The lie. The future. The pressure of the pack. The curse.
Maybe all of it.
I watched him from the corner of my eye. He was alone in his thoughts, but his presence filled the room completely. A strange sensation settled in my chest, like longing mixed with guilt, like comfort wrapped in confusion.
Finally, he spoke without turning.
“You should sleep.”
His voice was deep, low, soft like the waves.
“I will,” I whispered.
He nodded slightly. He did not look back. He kept his gaze on the horizon, arms crossed, jaw tense.
I let my eyes close slowly.
But sleep did not come easily.
Every time I drifted, images returned. The dance. His hands on my waist. The way he had whispered instructions in my ear. The way the crowd had faded when he held me. The way petals covered the ground like a path. The way his gaze softened for only me beneath the veil.
Our dance at the reception replayed behind my eyelids. The music. The weight of his hand. The electricity that had startled me. The way my body had moved without thinking, perfectly matching him. The way my heartbeat had echoed through my chest like drums.
It was a dream I had no right to claim.
I woke several times that night. Each time, I saw Chase standing at the balcony, still staring at the ocean as if he could find Cassandra somewhere in the waves. As if her absence lived in the water.
Just before dawn, exhaustion finally pulled him away from the balcony. He walked past the sofa quietly, thinking I was asleep. His steps toward the bed were slow, heavy, like his body did not want to lie down in a place she had once imagined for them.
He got under the sheets without moving the petals aside, like he could not disturb the fantasy even while living inside the lie.
The room grew silent again.
The waves outside whispered through the windows, soft and endless.
I curled deeper into the sofa.
Sleep found me one last time.
And this time, I dreamed of the dance again. His hands on mine. His voice guiding me. My heart in my throat.
I dreamed of a moment that never belonged to me.
And I held it tight until morning broke.
- Writer
