He Rejected The Wrong Wolf

Chapter 12

Brielle’s POV

The moment didn’t end when she looked away from him.

It stayed with her, quiet but steady, threading through everything else as the music swelled again and the crowd shifted back into place around her. Someone brushed past her shoulder, laughing too loudly at something she didn’t hear, and Wren said something beside her that didn’t quite register, but none of it settled the way it should have. The room hadn’t changed, but it didn’t feel the same anymore, like she was standing inside something familiar that no longer quite fit.

Brielle drew in a slow breath, grounding herself in small things—the weight of her heels hanging loosely from her fingers, the cool air brushing her shoulders, the steady rhythm of her own heartbeat—but even that felt different now, sharper somehow, more present. Her attention drifted without meaning to, catching on details she usually wouldn’t have noticed: the way conversations dipped and rose, the shift of bodies through the crowd, the subtle tension in people’s expressions before they even spoke.

“Okay,” Wren said, leaning in just enough for her voice to cut through the noise without carrying. “You’re doing it again.”

Brielle blinked, dragging her focus back to her. “Doing what?”

“That thing where you’re here but not actually here,” Wren replied, her gaze narrowing slightly as she studied her face. “It’s starting to get weird.”

Brielle huffed a faint breath, shaking her head. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve said that like five times.”

“I mean it this time.”

Wren didn’t look convinced, but she shifted closer anyway, her shoulder brushing Brielle’s in a quiet, grounding way. “If you pass out, I’m not catching you.”

“I’d pay to see you try,” Brielle muttered, the corner of her mouth lifting just slightly.

“Rude,” Wren said, though there was a hint of relief in her voice now, like she’d been waiting for something normal to come back.

Brielle let the moment settle, letting the familiar rhythm of their conversation ease some of the tension sitting under her skin. It helped—just enough that she almost believed she could ignore everything else.

Almost.

Because something shifted.

Not in the room.

In her.

It was subtle at first, just a flicker of awareness that didn’t match anything around her, as something had brushed against her senses and lingered just long enough to be noticed. Her attention drifted again, slower this time, more deliberate, until it caught on a cluster of people near the far side of the room.

Nothing obvious was happening.

Not yet.

But something about the way they stood—too still, too close—set something off in her chest, a quiet tension that didn’t belong to her but that she could feel anyway.

“Did you feel that?” she asked under her breath.

Wren followed her line of sight, her brows pulling together slightly. “Feel what?”

Brielle didn’t answer.

Because she already knew Wren wouldn’t.

Her focus narrowed, the rest of the room fading just enough to make the shift clearer. One of the guys in the group said something low, his posture tightening, and the other reacted a split second later, shoulders squaring, the air between them sharpening before anything had actually happened.

Brielle knew—

Before it did.

She moved without fully deciding to, her steps slow but deliberate as she crossed the space between them, her attention fixed on that tightening moment as it built. The noise of the room dulled around her, not disappearing but falling into the background, like it no longer mattered as much as what was about to happen right in front of her.

“Brielle,” Wren said behind her, catching her arm lightly. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” Brielle admitted, her voice quieter now, more focused. “But something’s off.”

Wren hesitated, then let her go, muttering something under her breath as she followed a step behind.

By the time Brielle reached the edge of the group, the tension had already peaked. The shove came fast, sudden enough that a few people nearby flinched back, drinks tipping and voices cutting off mid-sentence as the space shifted.

But Brielle had already stepped forward.

Not rushed.

Not dramatic.

Just enough.

“Stop,” she said.

Her voice didn’t rise.

It didn’t need to.

Both of them froze—not completely, not like they didn’t understand what they were doing—but just enough for the moment to break, their attention snapping toward her instead of each other.

The first guy blinked, thrown off, his focus shifting like he’d lost track of what had pushed him there in the first place. The second let out a breath, his shoulders loosening slightly as the edge drained out of him.

“Not here,” Brielle added, her tone steady, grounded in a way that didn’t leave space for the tension to rebuild.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then the second guy stepped back, dragging a hand through his hair with a mutter, the fight already slipping out of him.

“Yeah… whatever,” he said.

The other followed a beat later, the space between them widening, the moment dissolving as quickly as it had formed. Around them, the crowd adjusted almost immediately, conversation picking back up in uneven waves, as everyone had already decided to pretend nothing had happened.

But Brielle didn’t move right away.

She stood there for a second longer, her breath steady, her pulse calm in a way that didn’t match what had just happened. The awareness inside her shifted again, not sharp now, not overwhelming—just… present.

Settled.

“Okay,” Wren said beside her, her voice lower now, edged with something that wasn’t quite joking anymore. “That was not normal.”

Brielle exhaled slowly, her attention drifting for a second as the feeling inside her quieted. “I didn’t do anything.”

Wren gave her a look. “You walked straight into that and stopped it without even raising your voice.”

“They stopped,” Brielle said, though the words sounded thinner now, less certain than they should have.

“Because of you.”

Brielle didn’t answer.

Because she didn’t know if that was true.

Or if it was something else entirely.

Her gaze lifted again without thinking, drawn across the room by something she couldn’t quite name—

And landed on him.

Thaddeus wasn’t half-paying attention this time. He wasn’t distracted or dismissive or looking past her like she wasn’t worth noticing.

He was watching her.

Fully.

Something in his expression had changed, sharpened in a way that made it clear he had seen what just happened—and hadn’t expected it.

Brielle held his gaze for a second, steady, unreadable, the quiet shift inside her settling deeper as she stood there.

Then she looked away.

Not because she had to.

Because she chose to