He'd never once made me soup. Never checked on me throughout that awful week. Never shown an ounce of concern beyond irritation that I wasn't functioning at full capacity.
I'd ordered my own meals from a local diner, eating alone in our empty pack house bedroom, wondering if this was what mated life was supposed to feel like.
Yet here Damon was now, willing to wake early and spend time preparing healing broth for Serena. Posting about it proudly through his sister's account, creating the image of a devoted, caring mate.
The difference between being cherished and being tolerated was so painfully, brutally clear.
"What are you staring at?" Celia asked, leaning over to peek at my screen.
After seeing the photo, she froze for a second before understanding dawned across her face.
"Is that
