Chapter 79

Kayla

The TV flickered in the corner of the room, but I wasn’t really watching it anymore. I hadn’t been paying attention for some time.

I was too busy staring down at the chipped edge of my coffee mug, running my thumb absently over the rim. My mind was whirling, caught somewhere between hopelessness and bitter hatred.

Liam, of course, was like a vulture circling roadkill. He’d swooped in right in the midst of the media frenzy, and I knew he was enjoying every little second of it.

And to make matters worse, he had cried on live television.

Cried.

I could still see it in my head—those fake tears, the slight tremble in his voice, the way he had wrung his hands together as if the weight of my supposed betrayal was just too much for him to bear. Vanessa, of course, sat right next to him, her hand on his knee like some beacon of comfort, while Isabella—smug as ever—filled in whatever sob story Liam was too ‘choked up’ to finish.

She’d added her own twist on things too, digging the invisible knife deeper into the wounds at any chance she got.

And I hadn’t even gotten to the worst part yet.

“Kayla cheated on me throughout our entire relationship,” Liam had said, his voice cracking right on cue. “I didn’t know what to do… Vanessa was there for me when I had no one else. I never wanted to hurt Kayla, but she pushed me into Vanessa’s arms. She’s not who you think she is.”

I wanted to smash the mug against the wall.

Instead, I gripped it tighter, my teeth digging into my lower lip until I could taste copper.

It was laughable, really.

Liam had cheated on me on our wedding day, for Goddess’ sake. With my best friend, no less. But somehow, he had managed to spin the entire thing to make himself the victim. And of course the media ate it up. Everyone loves a redemption arc, even if it’s a complete fabrication.

The couch dipped beside me, and I felt Nicholas’s warmth before I saw him. His arm brushed against mine, just briefly, and I glanced over to see him watching the screen. His eyes were dark and stormy as he watched the rerun of the interview with Liam and the others.

And then, with a heavy sigh, he reached forward and shut off the TV.

“You know it’s all bullshit,” he said quietly as he set the remote down. “And there’s no point in you watching this crap. It’s just making you feel worse.”

I let out a slow breath, placing the mug carefully on the coffee table before leaning back into the couch.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s bullshit or not,” I muttered. “People believe what they want to believe. And Liam is a whole hell of a lot better at pretending to be heartbroken than I thought.”

Nicholas scoffed under his breath. “Oh, please. If he cried any harder, he would have won an acting award by now. Give it a couple of days, and everyone will realize that.”

That earned him a small, reluctant smile. But it didn’t last.

Because the truth was… I felt trapped.

I couldn’t shake the stifling feeling in my chest, or the gnawing ache in my belly. I used to be able to go to Beta Henry for advice, or sit with Ava in the kitchen and just talk until things didn’t feel so heavy. I missed them.

And most of all, I missed my father.

He would know what to do.

Hell, if he had been here, none of this would have ever happened to begin with.

“I hate this,” I admitted softly, my voice hardly more than a whisper. “I feel like I can’t even breathe without it being twisted into something ugly. I just… I wish I could talk to Henry. Or Ava. Or my dad. They always know what to say.”

Nicholas was quiet for a long moment. I looked away, figuring he would clam up at the first sign of vulnerability and rush off to handle the new issue with Liam, Isabella, and Vanessa, just as he had handled the photographer earlier.

Speaking of which, the matter with the photographer who had taken pictures of us on the couch had been handled just as swiftly as I expected. She’d had her photography license revoked and was charged with invasion of privacy. Nicholas and his legal team worked as fast as the speed of light.

But, just as Emma had warned us, the damage was already done. Half of this side of the territories had seen the picture, and combined with everything else going on, it had turned into a feeding frenzy.

To my surprise, though, Nicholas shifted closer, resting his arm along the back of the couch just behind my shoulders.

“Then let’s go,” he said, so matter-of-factly that I almost laughed.

I blinked up at him. “What?”

“To Bluemoon. Let’s go see them today.”

I stared at him, searching his expression for any hint of sarcasm, but there wasn’t any. He was serious.

“But… the reporters—”

“Will follow us anyway,” he cut in. “We can’t avoid them, Kayla. And besides, it might actually be good for you to be seen with me, considering the state of the media right now. If we’re seen together, going about our usual lives looking unbothered, then maybe it’ll cool off some of the rumors. Not all of them, but some.”

I hesitated, chewing on the inside of my cheek.

Technically, he wasn’t wrong. And I hadn’t been back to Bluemoon in weeks.

I wanted to go. More than anything.

Finally, I swallowed, nodding quietly. “Okay. Let’s go.”

…

Bluemoon hadn’t changed much since I last visited.

The packhouse still stood tall and proud at the edge of the clearing, the windows glowing softly in the early afternoon sun. The moment we stepped inside, the familiar scent of Ava’s famous cinnamon rolls made me smile.

Ava was the first to greet us, her arms wrapping tightly around me before I even made it through the doorway.

“Oh, Kayla,” she whispered, cupping my face between her hands. “Look at you. You’ve lost weight.”

“I’m fine,” I reassured her, even though I wasn’t entirely sure that was true.

Henry stepped in next, his hand clasping Nicholas’s shoulder firmly before he turned and pulled me into another hug. “It’s good to see you, Kayla. And you too, Alpha Nicholas. The pack’s been asking about you.”

Nicholas and I exchanged glances, but said nothing. Not that we had time to, anyway; Henry and Ava were already ushering us inside, distracting us with stories about things we had missed and pack gossip.

And then I was distracting myself by showing Nicholas my old bedroom. He teased me lightly about some of the more childish decorations—the frilly floral duvet, the tattered band posters on one wall, the stack of old diaries that read “KEEP OUT!” on the covers—but mostly, he was quiet. Thoughtful. And kind.

I needed that. Just a sense of peace, of gentle comfort. To pretend, for a little while, that we were just visiting my childhood home for a weekend getaway.

Dinner that night felt almost normal, too. Ava cooked too much, like she always did, and Henry told stories to fill the silence. But as the conversation turned back to Noah, and the guild’s potential involvement, that dread settled back in my chest.

“We’ll help you investigate as much as we can,” Henry said around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

“And we’ll do our best to help handle the media troubles,” Ava added. “Whatever you two need, we’re here.”

Of course, Nicholas and I assured them that they didn’t need to help—that they were already doing enough by keeping the pack running in my absence. Multiple attempted coups were more than their fair share to handle. But their insistence on helping was oddly comforting, and by the time dinner was over, I felt just a touch more hopeful about the situation than before.

It wasn’t until much later, when Nicholas and I were standing outside my bedroom and saying goodnight, that I felt that strange pull again.

The bond.

It was faint—barely even a whisper—but it was there, lingering just beneath the surface of my skin. Just like that night in the kitchen, as if a small, invisible force was panicking at the sight of his retreating form.

“Make him stay,” a small voice almost seemed to whisper in the back of my mind.

And I had no choice but to obey.

Nicholas was turning to head to his room across the hall when I felt it, and before I could stop myself, I lunged forward and grabbed his wrist.

He stopped, slowly turning to glance at me over his shoulder. I blurted out the words before I could think better of them.

“Could you… stay with me tonight?”