Chapter 50

Agnes

The wall was cold against my back, but Elijah’s hand was firm and warm as he pressed it over my mouth. My heart pounded, the closeness of him doing nothing to steady my breathing. His eyes, sharp and serious, held mine as he leaned in, his body shielding me completely.

“Shh,” he murmured.

For a second, I thought he was about to kiss me. I didn’t know whether to lean closer or slap him.

But then I caught the faint sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway, followed by the unmistakable click of a camera shutter. My stomach dropped as I recognized that sound in an instant.

Photographers.

Of course. The brief argument earlier at the pool must have gotten more attention than I had realized, and now we just happened to be having a heated discussion at a fancy restaurant. The tabloids were obviously circling like vultures, waiting to snap a moment of tension between us.

The story practically wrote itself—Elijah and Agnes on the rocks, Olivia swooping in as the destined mate. The thought of seeing my face plastered alongside some fabricated love triangle made my blood boil.

Elijah’s jaw tightened, his attention fixed on the sound of the photographer’s movement. “They’re trying to bait us,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. “Looking for cracks.”

I swallowed hard, torn between frustration and panic. This wasn’t just about me or Elijah; anything they published would eventually reach Thea. And she didn’t deserve that kind of scrutiny.

The photographer’s shadow stretched across the floor, and I acted before I could overthink it.

I grabbed Elijah by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down toward me, pressing my lips firmly to his.

For a second, he froze, his entire body going rigid against mine. I thought he might shove me away.

But then, like a switch flipping, he softened, his hand moving from my mouth to cup my face. The kiss deepened, his lips warm and demanding against mine, and I lost track of why we were doing this in the first place.

His hand slid to my waist, digging in through the thin fabric of my dress and pulling me closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between us. My fingers curled in his shirt, holding on as if letting go would mean falling apart.

Within an instant, the world outside our kiss had blurred into nothingness, and all I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears and the faint whisper of my wolf’s voice.

“Ours… Ours…”

Just like the last time we had kissed. He was supposed to be ours.

I knew, then, that I hadn’t just been imagining things before.

Elijah was supposed to be my mate. He was supposed to be mine before whatever magic had taken hold and sealed my wolf away, pushing out any chance of me finding my true happiness.

The heat between us grew, his hand moving to the small of my back as his lips trailed down to my jaw, then back to meet mine again. I could barely breathe, and yet I didn’t want it to stop. My heart hammered against my ribs, my wolf growling its approval as sparks ignited in places I hadn’t felt alive in years.

But then, as quickly as it started, Elijah pulled back. His breathing was ragged, his eyes dark and searching as they darted past me, scanning the hallway.

“They’re gone,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

I blinked up at him, dazed and a little lightheaded. “Gone?” I repeated dumbly.

He stepped back, putting more space between us as he adjusted his shirt. “The photographer,” he clarified, not meeting my gaze.

Reality hit like a bucket of cold water. Of course. The kiss wasn’t real. It was just a tactic to get the paparazzi to leave us alone. Nothing more. And it had been my idea.

My fingers flexed against the fabric of my dress, my wolf’s earlier whisper fading into silence. She was gone again, like she had never been there at all. And with her also went the certainty that Elijah was ever supposed to be mine.

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat. “Right,” I said tersely, smoothing down the front of my skirt. “I guess it worked, then.”

Elijah finally looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice just a little softer now.

I let out a shaky breath and forced a small smile. “I’m fine. It’s just…” I trailed off, searching for the right words. “This whole situation is confusing, you know?”

He nodded slowly, his gaze steady. “I know. And I’m sorry for that. I’m not going to sit here and pretend that I haven’t contributed to your pain.”

I hesitated, studying him in the dim light of the hallway. Even now, with only the flickering candlelight to illuminate his face, I could make out every line, every contour as if I had known him for a thousand lifetimes over.

“I just want to do what’s best for Thea,” I finally said after a moment of consideration. “She’s what matters most to me. And I’m not mad at you anymore. I just... I need clarity, that’s all.”

His face softened a bit, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something more. But instead, he just nodded. “You’re a good mother to her, Agnes,” he said quietly. “Better than I could have hoped for.”

The words warmed me, but they also stung, a reminder of what this arrangement really was. What it had been from the beginning: a contract for Thea’s sake. A promise to a little girl. A little girl who still might be my stolen daughter.

And if Thea was my daughter… Then what did Olivia have to do with it?

My gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, down to the mating mark on his neck. That scar—so small and yet so significant—felt like a wall between us.

Elijah noticed. He always noticed.

“I’m working on it,” he said, as if reading my mind.

The words caught me off guard, and I looked back at him, searching his expression for some sort of meaning. There was something there—something raw and unspoken—but I didn’t press him. I couldn’t.

Instead, I nodded, letting the smallest flicker of hope settle in my chest, although I silently vowed to protect my heart.

The walk back to the hotel room was quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts. When we arrived, we went to bed without a word, still a bit tense but a little less so by now.

Friends. Partners.

I could live with that, I thought. Maybe. Hopefully. At least long enough for me to find out what had happened to my daughter.

Still, I lay awake for a while that night, staring at the ceiling and replaying the kiss in my mind. The way his hands had felt on me, the way his lips had claimed mine. It had felt so real in the moment, but now… now it was just another reminder of how complicated everything between us had become.

Eventually, sleep claimed me, pulling me into restless dreams.

The next morning, I was woken by the sound of muffled sobbing. Groggy, I sat up, rubbing my eyes until my vision cleared. Across the room, Thea stood by the window, her little shoulders shaking as she cried.

“Thea?” I called out gently, sliding out of bed and crossing the room to her. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

She turned to me, her face red and tear-streaked. “I don’t wanna go home yet!” she wailed, her voice breaking. “I’m having too much fun here!”