Chapter 131

DEREK

The cemetery was quiet.

The kind of quiet that settled into your bones, that made your thoughts louder, your memories sharper.

I stood alone, one hand tucked into my coat pocket, the other wrapped around the slim stem of a white chrysanthemum. It was early—too early for mourners or caretakers. The dew hadn’t yet burned off the grass. The sun filtered through the pines at an angle, gilding the headstones in soft gold.

My father’s grave was near the back of the Silverclaw grounds, in the family section. The stone was simple. Elegant. His name carved in clean serif letters. The date. The title of Alpha. And beneath that, the phrase he used to say in almost every lesson he taught me:

“Lead with strength, protect with honor.”

I knelt and placed the flower at the base of the headstone, brushing away a few stray pine needles with my fingertips.

It never felt like enough.

There were so many things I wished I’d said to him. Things I wished I’d asked. Warnings I wished he’d given me.

Not about ruling, not about the Council or the rogues or the Summit—but about people. About what to do when someone betrayed you and smiled through it.

About what to do when the people closest to you couldn’t be trusted.

I stood and folded my arms, staring down at the grave, letting the quiet sink in.

And then I heard it.

The soft purr of a luxury engine pulling into the gravel lot.

I didn’t need to turn around to know whose car it was. That distinctive red convertible coupe was as subtle as Cassandra herself.

She parked just off the path, slammed the door shut, and walked across the grass in four-inch heels like it wasn’t a ridiculous choice. Her perfume preceded her—rose and spice, too heavy for morning.

“You’re a hard man to find,” she said lightly, brushing wind-tossed hair from her cheek.

“I wasn’t trying to be found.”

She stopped beside me. “Joe and Caroline said you were here.”

I didn’t look at her. “Remind me to have a talk with Joe and Caroline about just who’s Beta they are.”

She smiled, tight-lipped. “Don’t be mad at them. I insisted.”

“I’m not mad,” I said coldly. “I’m disappointed. Which is worse.”

She glanced at the headstone. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You came to a cemetery. You parked your red sports car beside my father’s grave.” I finally turned my head slightly, just enough to look at her from the corner of my eye. “Did you think that by coming here, you might avoid my making a scene?”

“A scene?” she echoed, feigning confusion.

I faced the grave again. “Have you been reading the Wolf Whistle lately?”

Cassandra gave a breathy laugh. “That gossip rag? Please.”

“The same one you and Caroline can’t seem to put down,” I said flatly.

She didn’t answer.

“I went to La Scala last week,” I said. “Had a lovely conversation with a waitress who looked remarkably like the ultrasound technician you brought to my estate.”

The silence stretched.

Then, without missing a beat, Cassandra said, “Did you enjoy your meal?”

I turned to look at her fully for the first time that morning. “No. I lost my appetite.”

Her mouth opened just slightly, like she might try for another deflection, another disarming quip.

I didn’t give her the chance.

I knelt down and touched the headstone again, fingers pressing against the cold granite as I bowed my head.

“Moon Goddess,” I murmured quietly, “grant me strength. Not for her sake—but for mine.”

I stood slowly.

Then I looked her dead in the eyes.

“You made me believe I had a child,” I said, my voice low, sharp. “And then you made me grieve for that child. You watched me unravel. And you let it happen.”

Cassandra’s face twitched. “I—”

“No,” I snapped, stepping closer. “You faked a pregnancy. You hired someone to lie to my face. You orchestrated an entire fantasy.”

I grew angrier the more I talked.

“You gave me a heartbeat on a monitor and a false sense of fatherhood. And then, when you knew the walls were closing in, you faked a miscarriage to seal the story. You didn't just lie—you tried to break me.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but I kept going.

“I mourned a child that didn’t exist. I buried hope. I carried guilt for not being there for someone who was never real.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she whispered, her voice trembling now. “I was desperate, Derek. You were slipping away. And I—I knew if I didn’t do something—”

“You said nothing,” I cut in, my voice rising. “You said nothing while I bled for something you invented.”

Cassandra began to cry.

Real tears this time.

“You said you would only ever mark me!” she shouted. “That we would be together forever!”

I shook my head. “We were children.”

“We were meant to be—”

“No,” I said. “We weren’t. I may have believed that once, but you have proven over and over again that the only thing you care about is control. You don’t want love—you want possession. You want a title. A spotlight.”

“I loved you—”

“No, Cassandra,” I said, my voice low. “You wanted me. But not this me. Not the man standing in front of you now. You wanted the version you built in your head—the fantasy. The boy who once promised to mark you because he didn’t know better. You’ve been clinging to a memory, not a person.”

Her fists clenched at her sides, shaking with fury. Her breathing hitched, uneven now, like she was struggling to decide whether to scream or sob.

And still, I forced myself to breathe. To keep my voice level. To stay still.

“Tell me the truth,” I said, watching her carefully. “Did we even sleep together? Or did you orchestrate that too?”

For the first time, she faltered.

Her eyes widened—just slightly—but enough. Enough for me to see it.

That flicker of panic.

That split-second where the mask cracked.

That was all I needed.

I stared at her, at the way her composure collapsed in real time, her face crumpling like paper soaked through. The truth was written there now—undeniable, exposed. Her silence said everything.

“That’s what I thought.”

I stepped back. One slow pace. The distance between us never felt more final.

And something inside me—something taut and cold and knotted for months—finally began to unwind.

“I will never marry you,” I said clearly, each word like a stone laid at the grave of whatever this had once been.

Cassandra’s lower lip trembled. Her tears came in earnest now, spilling down in messy streaks, mascara bleeding under her eyes. She didn’t try to hide it. Didn’t try to wipe it away.

She looked… stunned.

Like somewhere deep down, she’d truly believed I might forgive this. That I might bend to the guilt, to the history. That I might still choose her.

“I don’t care how many lies you tell,” I continued. “Or how many friends you manipulate. Or how many stories you plant in the press. This is done.”

She stood frozen, rooted to the grass, her heels sinking into the earth like it might hold her here a little longer.

But it wouldn’t.

It couldn’t.

Finally, she turned on her heel and stalked back toward her car, her movements stiff and mechanical. Her heels stabbed little crescent wounds in the soft ground, the sound of her steps sharp and angry.

I didn’t watch her drive away.

I stayed still beside my father’s grave, my pulse finally starting to slow. I closed my eyes and tilted my head to the sky.

The morning air was crisp, and the light had shifted.

And for the first time in weeks—maybe longer—I felt something like clarity break through the fog. A sliver of stillness in the wreckage.

It wasn’t peace.

Not yet.

But it was close enough to start.