Two damn weeks go by.
Fourteen f*****g days filled with frenzied arrangements and heightened emotions and slow, agonizing burn.
Every corner of the pack territory seemed to buzz with excitement for the upcoming nuptials. Everyone, from the young pups to the elder wolves, all pitched in to ensure the grand event is unforgettable.
Everyone except me.
Because amidst the sparkling decorations and the anticipation, there is a void that is becoming more difficult for me to ignore with each passing day.
Ethan.
Does that make me a hypocrite?
Probably. Definitely.
Our interactions are now purely professional. Brief nods, monosyllabic exchanges about training schedules, but never a smile, never a lingering gaze.
Did I ask for it? Yes. Do I hate it? Also yes.
And f**k me if I don't
