Heather's POV
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The silence in this room had become a second skin—tight, suffocating, familiar. Days had passed, or maybe just hours. Time didn't feel real anymore. I had eaten once. Bathed once. Slept restlessly in between.
Darrian hadn't come.
No apology. No explanation. Not even a knock.
And I hadn't left this room.
Until now.
Something inside me cracked this morning. I stared into the mirror above the dresser, my reflection pale and thin and haunted, and I didn't recognize the girl looking back at me. Her eyes looked hollow. Her shoulders sagged.
But deeper in her gaze was something else—something I hadn't seen in a long time.
Anger.
I pulled on a sweater—one of the ones he'd picked out for me, soft and ivory—and leggings that hugged my legs like a second skin. My body still ached in places Marcus's fists had touched, but I stood tall. My wolf stirred beneath my skin, stretching, cautious but alert.
I opened the door.
And walked straight into Mikaela.
She stood in the hall like she'd been waiting.
Her expression sharpened the moment she saw me. Pale gold hair fell in waves over her shoulders, perfectly styled. Her lips curled into a smile that was anything but kind.
"Well," she said, voice dripping honey. "Look who finally crawled out of her hole."
I froze. My heart picked up speed.
"Mikaela," I managed, swallowing the fear that instinctively tried to rise.
She stepped closer, arms crossed over her chest. "I was starting to think you'd waste away in there, sulking like a spoiled pup."
I didn't answer.
She looked me up and down. "You know, I really tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. Darrian has a type, and you're definitely not it. But I figured maybe he was just entertaining some pity bond. Playing the savior."
I stiffened. "I didn't ask for saving."
"No," she said with a tilt of her head. "You just begged the Goddess for a mate and hoped she'd send someone to fix all your broken pieces."
I took a slow step back, but she followed, her heels clicking softly on the floor.
"You don't belong here," Mikaela said sharply. "You never did. The pack doesn't respect weakness. And Darrian?" Her laugh was cold. "He doesn't want a Luna who hides in her room after one little heartbreak. He wants strength. Power. Someone who can run beside him, not cling to his shadow."
"I didn't—"
"You think he's going to mark you?" she snapped, eyes flashing. "After what he saw last night? After I reminded him what a real woman feels like?"
The breath left my lungs like a punch.
I didn't want to cry. Not in front of her.
But her words cut with precision.
"He needs a Luna who's his equal. Not some broken little girl who doesn't know how to fight."
My hands curled into fists at my sides.
I hated that she was right. Or maybe—I hated that she almost was.
"I never claimed to be perfect," I said softly. My voice trembled, but I held her gaze. "I never wanted this bond. I never wanted him."
Mikaela raised a brow. "Could've fooled me."
"But I'm not broken," I said, louder this time. "And I'm not weak."
Her expression faltered.
I stepped forward now, heart thudding like thunder in my chest. "I survived more pain than you can imagine. I crawled through hell just to get here. I was beaten, caged, humiliated, and I'm still standing. That may not look like strength to you—but it is."
Mikaela's lips thinned.
"I don't need your approval," I said. "And I don't want Darrian if he only values me when I'm easy to understand. I won't fight for a place that's not mine."
I moved past her.
But her next words stopped me cold.
"He will choose me."
I turned slowly.
"Maybe," I said. "But if he does, that's not a reflection of my worth. It's a reflection of his."
For the first time, Mikaela didn't have a response.
I made it outside without another word. The air was crisp, cool against my skin. It felt like breathing for the first time in days.
I didn't know where I was going.
But it didn't matter.
I was done hiding.
And for the first time since entering Darrian's world, I didn't feel like prey.
I felt like a storm beginning to gather.