Chapter 2

I scrubbed at my face hard.

I wiped away every last tear and scrap of weakness, then pointed at the door and yelled: "Get out! I don't want to see either of you!"

"Ivy... just listen to me—"

"Both of you, get out!"

Dead silence. Only the sound of my own ragged breathing.

Cain looked at me for a long moment, then took Serena's hand — her face twisted into a wronged expression — and slammed out the door.

As the door closed, I caught the smile that flickered at the corner of Serena's lips.

I collapsed back onto the bed.

Something itched at my throat.

The craving for a cigarette — the one I'd given up six years ago for Cain — hit me hard.

As the nicotine hit my lungs, the door opened again.

Cain walked in with his forehead bandaged, carrying takeout.

He opened containers, poured soup, blew on the hot steam — every move perfect, the picture of a devoted mate.

Once, that would have moved me to tears.

Now all I could think was: he'd probably gotten good at this from taking care of Serena through three pregnancies.

The cigarette was snatched from my hand and brought to Cain's lips.

He looked at me with something soft in his expression, his voice quieter.

"Don't smoke. Your body can't take it..."

"Why her?"

"When your Pack collapsed and Serena had people hold you down in the dirt, had you tied to a car and dragged through the street — you remember all of that?"

Cain didn't answer for a moment, then shook his head slowly.

"She was young back then. Just playing around."

"She wasn't the only one involved. And she did save me, later."

In his version of events.

When I introduced Serena to him, he had already recognized her.

At first he'd wanted revenge — wanted to hurt her back.

But when he saw her selling drinks in a bar after her family lost everything, getting grabbed and groped by older men.

He said something in him shifted. He felt sorry for her.

He couldn't stand seeing her take that kind of abuse while she held herself together.

The two of them worked things out in private and ended up in bed.

Which made me, the one who'd quietly protected his pride all those years, look like a fool putting on a show.

"She's that good to you in bed? Good enough to keep you this hooked?"

I looked down, ashamed.

My own voice echoed in the room, hoarse and quiet.

Cain was silent for a long time. Then he exhaled a slow breath of smoke and said:

"I have her name tattooed on me. When things get going, the letters get bigger. It's something else."

"A mate who built everything with you from nothing is good. But after years... it gets old. You understand, Ivy."

I closed my eyes. It was like being cut with a dull blade.

The pain had gone so deep I felt numb.

Back then, rescuing that man who looked like my first love had sparked something in me.

When we met again later, that small feeling had grown into something that consumed me.

When he couldn't get investors and got thrown out of office buildings like a dog, I used my parents' retirement savings and their home to fund him and guarantee his deals.

When someone threatened him on the street and demanded his business proposal, I put myself in the way of those people at risk of my own life, and let him go ahead and win the bid.

Six years. I gave that man everything I had.

And all I got back was: it got old.

Smoke drifted around us as Cain's voice turned almost nostalgic.

"At first I had no intention of staying involved with her. But then I found out... she was the she-wolf who saved my life. After that, I made up my mind to take care of her — pay off her debts, get her a place to live, give her whatever I could."

"At first she held back because of you. She refused for a long time. I'm the one who pushed until she gave in."

He finished that sentence with a low laugh, satisfied with the memory.

I smiled, cold.

I had never told him the truth — that it was me who saved him, not wanting him to carry that weight. And in doing so, I'd handed Serena every advantage she needed.

Some people plant the tree. Others enjoy the shade.

I took a slow breath, and passed him the document I'd been holding.

He was texting Serena. He didn't look up.

"What's this?"

"Transfer of care paperwork."

He glanced up, took one look at my face, saw nothing out of the ordinary.

He bit down on his cigarette, pulled out a pen, and signed it in one clean stroke.

Then added, as an afterthought:

"Ivy, you're not young anymore, and you've lost your pup. I don't think you're stupid enough to want to end the Bond.