Aurora’s POV

​Oliver’s scoff was like a physical blow to my chest. He didn’t even look at me, his eyes fixed on the road as if I were nothing more than a hitchhiker he’d picked up out of pity.

​"Everything isn’t about you, Aurora," he said, his voice sounding more annoyed than I have ever heard him. "I am the Alpha King. I have packs to think about, a lineage to secure. I’m not getting any younger, and I need a Luna who understands the weight of a crown. Genevieve fits that role perfectly."

​I swallowed, the lump in my throat feeling like a shard of glass. Every word was a reminder of what I had thrown away. It was my fault. I was the one who had pushed him away, the one who had built walls so high even an Alpha couldn’t climb them. I had broken his heart, but seeing him move on so easily was a different kind of torture.

​Is it that easy to forget me? I wanted to scream. Was I just a temporary distraction before the real queen arrived?

​The rest of the drive was a blur of passing trees and silent tears I refused to let fall in his presence. When we finally pulled into the packhouse driveway, he didn’t even turn off the engine.

​"You can go home, Aurora," he said, his tone dismissing me like a failed employee. "You’ve had a stressful day. Go rest. I’ll have Elias handle the rest of the projections."

​"Oliver—"

​"Go," he commanded, the Alpha weight in his voice leaving no room for argument.

​I scrambled out of the car, my legs feeling heavy. When I reached my apartment, I threw my bag on the floor and collapsed onto the sofa, the image of Oliver kissing Genevieve’s cheek playing repeatedly in my mind. The silence of my home was suffocating. I felt small, discarded, and utterly replaceable.

​Buzz.

​I didn’t even want to look at it. I wanted to throw the phone across the room, but the habit was too strong. I pulled it out.

​"I miss you, little bird."

​A harsh, bitter laugh escaped my throat. I wiped a stray tear with the back of my hand, my chest aching with a fresh wave of resentment.

​"Leave me alone, Raymond," I typed, my thumbs trembling. "Just leave me alone."

​"That’s a loud lie," he replied almost instantly. "What’s wrong? Did the Alpha King finally break that heart of yours?"

​I stared at the screen, my vision blurring. I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t admit that I had stood there like a fool while the man I love picked another woman. I couldn’t tell a killer that the man I loved had officially moved on.

​"I don’t want to talk about it," I sent back.

​"You don’t have to talk. Do you need company? Should I come over?"

​My heart hammered against my ribs. No, I thought. No, it’s dangerous. No, I need to be alone. No, I have a mission. But the thought of sitting in this cold apartment for one more second, drowning in the memory of Oliver’s icy blue eyes, was more than I could take. I needed to feel something else. I needed the fire that only Raymond brought, the kind that burned away the pain until there was nothing left but heat.

​"Yes," I typed, before I could talk myself out of it. "Please."

​I spent the next forty-five minutes pacing the floor, my mind a chaotic mess of guilt and longing. Every time I thought about Oliver, I pushed the thought away, replacing it with the memory of Raymond’s tattooed hands and the way he commanded me.

​In less than an hour, a low, rhythmic knock sounded at my door.

​I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t even look through the peephole. I swung the door open, and there he was. He was leaning against the doorframe, dressed in his signature black leather, the mask hiding everything but those dark, hungry eyes.

​"You look like hell, Aurora," he rasped, his voice a low vibration that settled deep in my stomach.

​I didn’t think. I didn’t care about the mission to kill him. I just threw myself at him, burying my face in his chest as the sobs finally broke free. His arms wrapped around me instantly, pulling me flush against his hard, solid body.

​"Shh," he murmured, his large hand tangling in my hair, pulling my head back so I had to look at him. "Tell me what happened."

​I shut the door with a trembling hand, the click of the lock sounding like a final goodbye to the world outside. I didn’t wait for him to speak. I didn’t wait for him to move. I threw myself at him, my mouth finding his in a kiss that was wrong—clumsy, desperate, and fueled by a desperate need to erase the last three hours of my life.

​The edge of his mask scratched painfully against my cheek, but I didn’t care. I wanted the sting. I wanted anything that wasn’t the memory of Oliver’s cold face.

​Raymond groaned into my mouth, his hands coming up to steady me, but the touch was too soft. He pulled back just an inch, his thumbs brushing away the tears I didn’t even know were still falling.

​"Calm down, love," he murmured.

​His voice—why did it sound so fucking tender? The warmth in it felt like a mockery. I didn’t want him to be kind. I didn’t want a shoulder to cry on. I wanted a distraction so violent it would shatter my thoughts into a thousand pieces.

​"No," I gasped, clutching his leather jacket. "Raymond... I don’t want you to be tender. I want you to be brutal to me. I want you to make me forget him. I want you to make me forget he even exists."

​I looked up at him, my eyes wild and red-rimmed. "Break me. Ruin me. Do whatever you have to do, but don’t be gentle."