The pack house felt colder in the wake of Roland’s storming return. Even though the doors had slammed shut behind him, his presence lingered like smoke that clung to every corner of the halls. Conversations hushed when Bella walked by, eyes flicked toward her with unease, and whispers followed her steps like shadows.
She tried to ignore it. She tried to breathe. But every glance reminded her: Roland had spoken to her, about her, as though she were a prize in some game she never agreed to play.
Bella retreated to the garden courtyard that evening, hoping the quiet would soothe her racing thoughts. The moonlight spilled silver across the stone benches and glistened on the dewdrops of the rose bushes. For a moment, she allowed herself to lean back, to close her eyes and pretend she was anyw
