Chapter 1

I stared at the ceiling of the hotel room all night.

At 6:11 in the morning, my phone buzzed. Cain.

"Wren, what the hell? You threw the slippers into the hallway and left a note that read like a goodbye letter!"

I leaned against the headboard, my voice rough.

"Whose slippers are those?"

"I told you, I bought them for you."

"Cain."

I cut him off.

"Your phone screen lit up last night. The contact was saved as a strawberry emoji. She said the slippers were on the second shelf of the shoe cabinet, in case she needed them next time she came to your place."

Eight seconds of silence on the other end.

I counted.

Then he let out a breath, and his voice went soft.

"Fine. It's Serena. New content strategist at the Pack office. She came by last week to pick up some files, left her slippers behind, I forgot to toss them. Just once. You really have to make this into a whole thing?"

Just once.

Wearing slippers to a colleague's place to pick up files.

The excuse was so bad he didn't even realize it.

"I'm not making anything into anything. I'm leaving. Let whoever you want wear slippers there."

"As many pairs as you like."

"Wren!"

He raised his voice. "Can you stop escalating every little thing into a full walkout? Nothing is going on between me and her. Come back, we'll talk this through face to face!"

I gripped the phone and looked out the hotel window at the grey morning sky.

Five years.

I had followed this man from my hometown to this city for five years.

The year my family's restaurant collapsed, my parents left for the Southern Territory to start over. I didn't go with them.

Because Cain had just bought a new place — a Pack House with a south-facing bedroom that got morning sun, and he said he wanted me to wake up in it every day.

Back then I thought: if someone is willing to give you a south-facing room, that's probably the best promise there is.

So I stayed.

I gave up my writing job back home and took a Pack content editor position near his territory at half the pay.

My mom sighed on the phone: "Don't make yourself someone else's afterthought."

I told her I wouldn't.

But sitting now in this generic chain hotel room, I suddenly thought she was right.

I checked out at noon.

When I got back to the Pack House, Cain had already left for work.

The living room looked normal.

I bent down to change my shoes and noticed the bottom shelf of the shoe cabinet — a pair of men's running shoes, and next to them, a crushed coffee cup sleeve.

Medium size.

Cain never drank coffee from chain cafes. He only drank black coffee, brewed himself.

I tossed the sleeve and opened the refrigerator.

There was a row of yogurt on the second shelf.

Peach. Low sugar.

I'm intolerant to dairy. I never touch the stuff.

Cain didn't drink it either — he said sweet things made him feel sick.

I took the yogurt out one by one and set them on the counter.

Six cups.

Best before date still twenty days out.

Not the kind of amount someone drinks in a single visit.

My phone buzzed.

An unknown number. A friend request. Serena Voss.

I accepted. Her message came through immediately.

【Hey Wren! I'm Serena, from Cain's Pack office. He asked me to apologize — the slipper thing was a misunderstanding, I'm so sorry! I really did just forget them, it won't happen again!】

【Oh, and the peach yogurt in the fridge is mine — could you keep it for me? I'll grab it next time I'm over for a Pack meeting. Thanks so much, I'm sure you're super understanding!】

I read the message, all emoji and exclamation points, and my back teeth ground together.

She was apologizing.

And at the same time telling me she'd be back.

And Cain had given her my contact without once asking if that was okay with me.

I poured the yogurt down the drain.

All six cups. Not one left for her.

At seven that evening, Cain came through the door with a bunch of white roses.

This was the second time in five years he'd bought flowers without being asked.

The first time was my birthday, three years ago.

He put them in the ceramic vase I'd bought last week and tied a ribbon around the neck of it.

"I'll cook tonight. You rest."

I sat at the dining table and watched him fumble around in the open kitchen.

Cain was wearing an apron, all six-foot-two of him crammed in front of the stovetop, clumsy in a way that should have been funny.

Before yesterday, I probably would have taken a photo and sent it to Ivy, with the caption: "The Alpha who can't cook is finally trying."

But now I just wanted to ask one question.

"How many times has Serena been here?"

The spatula paused.

"I told you. Once. She came to pick up files. How long are you going to dwell on this?"

I set down my fork.

"Six yogurts in the fridge, best before date twenty days from now. A coffee cup sleeve in the shoe cabinet — medium, from the chain cafe you never go to. Last week when you sent me to the supermarket, I spent five minutes adjusting the rearview mirror because the seat had been moved down a notch."

A few seconds of quiet in the kitchen.

The hum of the exhaust fan seemed to get louder.

Cain turned off the stove and turned around.

He didn't look at me.

He looked at the photo on the wall — the one we'd taken at the beach last year.