As I walked home, the chilly evening air did nothing to soothe my growing unease. Nova paced restlessly in my mind, her sharp eyes always watching, always judging.
*I never liked him, you know,* she said, her voice bitter. *He was always too perfect, too controlled. No real wolf acts like that.*
“I know,” I muttered under my breath. “But you liked him enough to stick around.”
She let out a low growl. *I didn’t stick around for him. I stuck around because you did. You were blind, Calla. Still are.*
Her words stung, but I couldn’t deny the truth in them. I had been blind. I had let myself believe that Braxton was something he wasn’t. But now, the cracks were showing, and it was only a matter of time before everything fell apart.
Later that night, Braxton came home, reeking of alcohol. I could smell it the moment he stepped through the door. His clothes were rumpled, his eyes unfocused, and he was holding a small gift box in his hand.
“Here,” he slurred, tossing the box onto the coffee table. “Got you something... a bag. Thought you’d like it.”
I stared at the box, then back at him as he stumbled toward me, arms outstretched, trying to pull me into a clumsy hug. I slipped out of his grasp, my patience running thin.
“You’re drunk,” I said flatly. “Go take a shower.”
Braxton blinked at me, surprised, but I didn’t give him a chance to argue. My tone was sharp as I added, “I mean it, Braxton. Go clean up. I don’t want to deal with you like this.”
He grumbled something under his breath but stumbled off toward the bathroom. As soon as he was gone, I opened the box, revealing a light green handbag inside. It was cute, delicate... and utterly meaningless now.
Nova snorted. *He thinks he can fix everything with a stupid bag? Pathetic.*
I placed the box aside, shaking my head. “He thinks I’m a fool.”
*He’s not just fooling you,* Nova growled. *There’s someone else. Lila.* Her voice was harsh, but I knew she was right. Deep down, I had always known.
As I scrolled through my phone, my heart skipped a beat when I came across Lila’s social media account. Her latest posts were casual, just random clips of her day, but something about them gnawed at me.
I clicked on one of the videos, watching closely as she showed off her outfit of the day. Then I saw it—the room behind her, the bed, the window. It was all too familiar.