Lucy's pov:
The morning light filtered through the lace curtains of my room in the Kingsley mansion, casting delicate patterns on the wooden floor like whispers from a forgotten dream.
I lay sprawled on my bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind wandering far from the stack of unread textbooks on my desk. Ronan. Gods, why couldn't I stop thinking about him? His silver hair catching the gallery lights during our art date last night, that dimpled grin when he spun me under the holographic wolves, his hand warm and steady in mine.
It had been perfect, easy, fun, no pack pressures weighing us down. But as the memories replayed, a sharp pang of regret sliced through the warmth, twisting my stomach like a knot I couldn't untie.
The engagement. That stupid, arranged mess from last mont
