Chapter 29

ELENA

I kept my expression serene, my shoulders squared, my chin high. The room erupted into applause, but the sound barely registered. Inside, I was frozen, my mind racing to process what had just happened.

Logan had just announced our engagement.

He had done it without asking me. Without a proposal. Without so much as a damn conversation.

I had known that Logan was playing the role of a dutiful Alpha, ensuring the world saw him as strong, connected, untouchable. I had even suspected he would use our alliance to further that image. But I had not expected this.

He probably thought that he was doing me a favor. Protecting Aiden, protecting my secret.

But I didn’t feel any kind of relief.

Instead, I felt trapped.

The room was watching, and I was already too well-trained in the art of composure to let them see me falter. If I so much as hesitated, if I didn’t meet the moment with the same calculated poise that had been ingrained in me since birth, they would sense it. They would question me, question my position, question my place among them.

So, I did what I had been trained to do.

I smiled.

I turned to Logan, allowing him to take my hand, knowing that every single person in the room was watching. He squeezed my fingers, his grip just a little too tight.

I leaned in, just slightly, and whispered through gritted teeth, "That was quite the announcement."

Logan grinned for the crowd, looking for all the world like a man in love. "You’ll thank me later."

For now, I had to endure the endless stream of congratulations, the smiling faces, the murmured words of approval as I played my part to perfection.

And then, from the crowd, a familiar presence emerged.

Derek’s mother.

My stomach tightened. My breath caught for just a moment before I forced myself to exhale. She approached me with the grace and presence of a woman who had once been a Luna—who had raised an Alpha. I braced myself, unsure of what to expect.

I could feel Logan stiffen beside me, the hard eyes of both my mother and father watching for any sign of distress.

She stopped in front of me, her dark eyes searching my face. Then, softly, she said, "My son didn’t know what he had. But I suspected... I wish you every happiness."

The words hit harder than I expected.

She had always been kind to me, but that was when I was a member of her pack, when I was the intended bride of her only son.

Now, I stood there, prepared for anger, for disapproval, for some thinly veiled insult meant to remind me of my place. Instead, I heard something almost like regret in her voice.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and nodded. "Thank you."

She gave me a small, knowing smile before turning and disappearing back into the crowd.

The past felt closer than ever in that moment. The past I had worked so hard to lock away, to keep buried beneath layers of control and necessity. But the weight of Derek’s mother’s words cracked something inside me, and before I could stop it, a memory pulled me under.

It had been late at night, the fire in Derek’s office burning low. I remembered the scent of the leather couch, the rich wood of his desk, the faint lingering aroma of the whiskey he had been drinking.

"I don’t care about politics, Derek," I had told him, my voice firmer than I had expected. "I care about you. About what we could be together."

Derek had stared at me from across the room, his jaw clenched, his hands braced against the edge of the desk as if he were grounding himself. "This isn’t just about us, Elena. You know that."

"Then let them talk. Let them speculate. None of it changes the fact that I am yours. That you are mine."

The tension in him broke all at once. In two steps, he closed the distance between us, his hands cupping my face, his breath warm against my lips. "Say it again."

I had smiled, slow and certain. "I am yours."

He kissed me then, hard and desperate, as if he could claim me with the press of his lips alone. And maybe, for a while, he had.

That night had been the first time I had truly believed in the possibility of a future with Derek. We had talked about marriage, about a life together.

But the next morning, I had woken up, still just a rogue.

I blinked, forcing myself back to the present, to the glimmering lanterns, the pomp and circumstance of the evening, to the feel of my mother’s hand in mine, leading me away across the dais.

Derek was watching me. I felt his gaze like a physical thing, heavy and intense from across the room.

And then he called my name.

I glanced over my shoulder as my mother drew me away, saw Mason and Logan both standing in front of him. I didn’t know whether to be worried or relieved.

Derek wasn’t going to let this go. That much was clear.

Even as Logan and Mason stood in his way, even as my mother guided me toward a group of high-ranking Alphas eager to offer their congratulations, I could still feel him. His presence wrapped around me like a thread pulled too tight, stretched thin across the space between us.

I turned forward, lifting my chin, and tried to focus on the voices around me. I smiled when I was supposed to, nodded when necessary, but my mind was spinning.

Logan had always been pragmatic, always thought five steps ahead.

And it wasn’t as though I had ever told him no.

I needed to talk to him. Alone.

When the moment finally presented itself, I slipped away from the growing revelry and found Logan near the edge of the amphitheater, speaking with my brother. Mason gave me a brief glance, as if searching for something in my expression, then clapped Logan on the shoulder and walked away.

Logan turned to me, smiling, but something in his eyes was watchful. “Are you enjoying your big night?”

I hesitated, then shook my head. “I need to talk to you.”

His expression didn’t change, but I saw the understanding settle behind his eyes, as well as something I didn’t want to think was calculation. He gestured for me to walk with him, and I let him lead me toward a quieter corner near the entrance to the playhouse where the masquerade ball would be held in two nights time. The noise of the crowd faded behind us, but I still felt like I was being watched.

I took a breath, steadying myself. “Logan, I—” I exhaled, trying to find the right words. “I can’t marry you.”

His lips twitched, almost like he had expected it. “I know.”

I blinked, thrown off by the quiet acceptance in his voice.

He turned toward me fully, his eyes warm, kind. “Elena, I never expected you to marry me. I did it to protect you.”

I swallowed, my throat tight. “To protect me… or to protect Aiden?”

His jaw shifted slightly, but his expression never wavered. “Both.”

I searched his face, but there was no anger there, no hurt. Just something knowing, something almost resigned.

“You’re my best friend, Logan,” I said quietly. “The best kind of friend. You’ve always been there for me, and I don’t want to ruin that.”

He smiled, something softer this time. “You won’t.”

Relief coursed through me.

But then I noticed something.

Logan wasn’t arguing. He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t even surprised.

Yet he also wasn’t making any move to call off the engagement—not publicly, not even privately.

I felt a weight settle in my stomach.

“You understand,” I said carefully, watching him.

“Of course,” he said easily.

But even as he spoke, even as he reassured me, he glanced past me—toward the heart of the celebration, where our families stood. Where the whispers of our upcoming wedding were growing louder by the moment.

And he didn’t move to stop them.