Chapter 28
Lyra’s POV
When I left my apartment, I didn’t pack a suitcase, didn’t even look back. Just grabbed my bag, the clothes on my back, the last sliver of self-worth I had left, and disappeared.
The city? Too loud, too sharp for me now. Every corner looked like him, every scent reminded me of blood. My blood.
So I picked a town I’d never heard of. Somewhere coastal, quiet, forgettable. A place no one would look for me and even changed my name to Maya.
Rented a shitty one-bedroom above a liquor store. Took the first desk job I could find at a real estate office where no one asked questions and no one cared why I flinched when someone moved too fast.
Survival mode kicked in hard. Wake. Shower. Work. Therapy. Sleep. Repeat. Repeat, repeat and fucking repeat.
There were no grand healing arcs. No movie moments where I suddenly “took back my power”, no sobbing-on-the-bathroom-floor-to-victory montages. Just getting through the days, clawing my way out of the numbness one breath at a time.
It was months of learning how to eat again without throwing up after. Months of pretending the mirror wasn’t a battlefield. Of convincing myself that I was strong, that I’d survive, even when it felt like every piece of me had been carved out and left on his floor.
By the time three months passed, I convinced myself I was better. I could walk outside, I could sleep through the night… well, most of the time. At least I didn’t wake up sweating with his voice in my head anymore.
I could function, walk into rooms and not flinch. I stopped crying at the scent of smoke and leather. I even laughed once, for real, at something someone said. My therapist told me that was progress.
My appetite came back, I smiled at strangers, I could even wear the color red again. But something was still off. I told myself the bond was gone, that it snapped the night he looked me in the eye and called me a whore.
Yet every time I closed my eyes, I still saw his face when he rejected me. I felt it—the bond snapping like a tendon stretched too far, the brutal way he let go. And still, I hated myself for it.
For still wanting him. For still loving him, even when all he’d given me in return was rage, rejection, and a memory I couldn’t scrub out no matter how many showers I took.
I hated that a part of me still reached for him in the dark. I told myself it didn’t matter anymore. And then… I felt it again.
That night, I was walking home, the ocean wind tugging at my sleeves while my tote bag slapped against my hip. It had been a normal day, boring even. My coworkers were talking about weekend brunch plans and I’d almost said yes. And then this pull.
Not a sound, not a scent. Just presence, a shift in the air. My feet slowed, and my heart stuttered. I turned and there he was.
Pierce. No guards, no black SUV, no weapons or wolves flanking him. Just him.
Same broad shoulders, same sharp jaw, same icy-blue eyes that once drove me mad. But at the same time… different.
His gaze looked hollow, clothes wrinkled, like he hadn’t slept in days. Maybe weeks. He didn’t move at first and just stood there. Watching me like I was something sacred and dangerous all at once.
My breath caught and I could feel how my fingers went cold, clutching at my bag’s strings.
“The fuck are you doing here?” My voice came out smaller than I wanted. Sharper.
He stepped closer, slow. Careful. Like approaching a wild animal that could bolt. “Lyra—”
“No,” I snapped. “Don’t you dare to say my name like you have the right.”
He flinched and I hated with all my gut that it still did something to me, that just seeing him lit up parts of me I thought I buried. He kept walking until he was in front of me. Then… he dropped.
Knees on the sidewalk, right in front of me like it was nothing, like his pride was already gone.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, like he already knew how hard my heart is slamming against my ribs right now. “I’m sorry for everything. For not listening. For not protecting you. For not seeing you.”
Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back. I refused to give him that.
“You looked at me like I was filth,” I said, voice tight. “Like I wanted it. Like I asked for it to happen!”
Pierce flinched—barely—but I saw it. The crack in that cold exterior he used to wear like armor.
“I know,” he rasped. “And I’ve hated myself for it. Every hour. Every breath. You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve me.”
I didn’t move, simply couldn’t. My body was frozen in the storm between fury and grief.
He took a breath, like it physically hurt to speak. “I believed the worst of you. Just like everyone else always believed the worst of me.”
My throat tightened. “Do you even know what it cost me to survive those months after you walked away?” I whispered. “Do you know what it’s like to try and heal from someone who’s still alive?”
He looked up at me then. Fully. And I wished he hadn’t, because I could see it now clearly—his guilt. His shame, the ruin of a man who finally understood what he’d done.
Something flickered in them too. Not anger or grief. Resolve. “He’s not.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Pierre.” His voice was quiet but heavy. “He’s not… alive anymore.”
I stared at him, heart slamming against my ribs.
“I made sure of it,” he said, no pride in his tone—just the truth. Silence dropped between us like a hammer before he spoke again, “I did it because I couldn’t fucking breathe knowing he was still existing while you were somewhere trying to rebuild with nothing.”
He stepped forward, slowly, cautiously—like I might bolt if he got too close.
“I’m here not for your forgiveness, Lyra,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “I did not deserve it, I know that. I just… had to see you, had to say it. And if you tell me to leave… I will. I promise.”
Silence stretched between us. Cars passed in the background, waves crashed somewhere nearby. My bag felt too heavy and my hands too empty. I looked at him then—really looked.
He was thinner. Rough around the edges in a way I’d never seen before. Not savage. Just exhausted and human in the worst, most vulnerable way.
“You shattered me,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“You left me bleeding… and then blamed me for the stain.”
His jaw clenched. “I did.”
I stared down at him. The pull toward him still stirred weakly, like it knew this was the part where we choose. Run… or face it.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at you the same,” I said.
“I don’t expect you to,” he said. “I just… I couldn’t let you carry this alone.” His voice broke at the last words. “Not anymore.”
I didn’t move, not yet. But I didn’t walk away either. And maybe, for tonight, that was enough.
Pierce was still on his knees right there on the sidewalk. Hands open on his lap, shoulders stiff like he was bracing for a bullet I didn’t speak either.
My mind was racing, my heart felt like it was stuck between a scream and a breakdown and still, he waited. Not begging. Not explaining. Just… there.
“I live upstairs,” I said quietly, not sure why. He looked up fast, like he wasn’t sure he heard me right. “Come inside,” I added before I could change my mind.
