Lyra’s POV
We walked in silence to my apartment. Tiny, quiet, tucked above a bookstore, nothing special, but it had become mine. My safe zone. I opened the door and stepped in first, he followed.
Still no words, still no rush. He stood awkwardly by the table, not touching anything.
I motioned to the couch. “Sit.”
He obeyed without hesitation—that alone nearly undid me. I stayed standing, needed the height, the space for what is coming. The illusion of control.
“Talk,” I said finally.
Pierce didn’t look at me right away.
His elbows rested on his knees, hands twisted together like he was trying to keep them from shaking. When he finally met my eyes, they were bloodshot, sunken, jaw tight like every word he was about to say would cost him a piece of his soul.
“I met with Pierre about a month ago,” he started, voice low, almost distant. “It was supposed to be business. Territory negotiations. Routine. But… he brought you up. Smiling like it was a joke… gloating and… told me what he did. Like hurting you was some… prize he won.”
I stayed silent, arms crossed, chin up. Fake interface while my heart was hammering behind my ribs. and I couldn’t take a single breath.
“He was so fucking proud of himself, said that I deserved it,” Pierce said, a bitter smile twitching the corner of his mouth, more broken than amused. “Because of Kaia. His mate.”
I blinked slowly and still said nothing.
“She came to me one night,” he said. “Years ago. She kissed me first, touched and clinched to me like I was her. I never ask for it, yet I let it happen.” He paused. “Of course, afterwards I told her it meant nothing. That I could never love her, that she’s belong to my brother and the next day… she told him I raped her.”
The silence between us thickened. “And then she killed herself.”
I could see it now. The way his shoulders curled inward, like he’d been carrying that weight every day since.
“She lied,” he said, voice cracking. “But the damage stuck. Pierre believed her. Everyone in our pack did. So I let it harden me.”
His eyes finally lifted, and this time, there was no armor behind them.
“I let that moment twist me,” he said. “I never trusted again. I buried it under everything, violence, control, power. And then you came in like fire, lit up everything I’d kept buried and I… ”
His gaze held mine. Solid. Shaking. “I repeated history. Only this time, I wasn’t the one being lied about. I was the one refusing to believe the truth.”
The ache in my chest sharpened. Still, I said nothing.
He shook his head slowly, like the truth was choking him on its way out. Pierce stared at me for a moment longer, then asked quietly, “How’ve you been?”
I laughed. It was an ugly sound—cut raw, cracked at the edges. “You really want to know?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I do.”
That was all it took, everything cracked, and I exploded.
“You left me bleeding!” I screamed. “I came back to you, after being drugged, assaulted, violated, and you looked at me like I was filth!”
He stood then, but didn’t come closer.
“You didn’t ask, didn’t wait. You fucking hit me, Pierce!” His expression shattered, but I didn’t stop. “Slammed my head into a wall and called me disgusting. You didn’t give me one second—one breath—to explain!”
“I know,” he whispered, barely audible.
“No, you don’t!” I lunged forward and shoved him, hard. “You don’t know. You weren’t the one who had to put herself back together in silence! You weren’t the one waking up gasping for air because the man she loved tore her apart with his own hands! I was in pieces and you burned the rest of me down!”
I hit his chest again, again and again. My fists curled, teeth clenched, and my tears streamed hot and angry down my cheeks. But he didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.
“For months, I hated myself,” I sobbed. “I stopped eating. I stopped breathing. I convinced myself I was nothing. All because you couldn’t stop long enough to see the truth!”
He stood there and took every blow. No defense. No excuses. His chest rose beneath my fists, his jaw tight. His silence said more than words ever could.
“I loved you,” I choked, feeling broken. “And you…”
His jaw trembled. “Lyra…”
I looked at him and suddenly, the fury twisted into something else. His face wasn’t hard anymore. It wasn’t cold. It was… wrecked.
Like he hadn’t slept in months, like he hadn’t forgiven himself either.
I stepped forward and shoved him once more, but this time, when he reached for me, I didn’t pull back. He kissed me, roughly yet I could feel him shaking. Like he didn’t deserve it but couldn’t stop himself.
I pushed him hard against the wall, but then I grabbed him. Pulled him in and kissed him back hungrily, a mix of desperation and anger.
I kissed him like I hated him and needed him all at once. My hands curled into his shirt, dragging him closer, and he let me—let me burn through him like wildfire with no intention of stopping the flames.
But when my knees buckled, the sob caught in my throat and cracked my chest open when I collapsed into him. All the rage, all the grief, all the betrayal—it melted under the weight of my body pressing into his.
I didn’t have strength left to fight anymore. Only to feel.
Pierce caught me before I hit the floor, arms locking around me like he’d never let go again. We sank together, slowly, knees hitting the hardwood, and he pulled me onto his lap without a word.
His arms wrapped around me tight, one hand bracing my back, the other cupping the back of my head like I was something fragile—like I was something sacred.
I sobbed into his neck. He didn’t flinch and just held me, rocked me. Breathed like the sound of me breaking was ripping through him, too.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered excuses. Over and over again. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
He kissed the side of my head, then lower, trailing soft, broken kisses down to my temple, my cheek, my jaw. Then my hands—he lifted them, one by one, and kissed every finger, every knuckle like they were bruises he needed to heal with his mouth.
“I’ll never hurt you again,” he murmured between each kiss. “Never again, Lyra. I swear.”
I trembled in his arms, overwhelmed by how gentle he was being. It wasn’t like him. Not the Alpha. Not the man who’d torn himself open in front of me right now.
“I love you too,” he whispered against my skin. “I didn’t say it then, but it’s been true every second. Even when I didn’t deserve to say it.”
He kissed the trail of a tear down my jaw.
“If you’ll let me… I’ll spend my life repaying what I did to you. I’ll give you everything. Every second. Every breath. No more power games. No more pride. Just me. Just us.” He paused, breathing me in. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever truly wanted. Let me be good for you. Let me try. Again.”
I pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were swollen, rimmed red, filled with something I’d never seen before.
Hope. Fear. Love.
“Why now?” I whispered, voice hoarse. “Why say it now?”
“Because I couldn’t live another day knowing I might never get the chance.”
He didn’t wait for permission. This kiss was different—slow, reverent, like a promise sealed between breaths. His mouth moved over mine slowly, lips parting like he was trying to relearn me.
I gasped when his teeth grazed my bottom lip, and he swallowed the sound like it meant something. Right then his hand slipped beneath the hem of my shirt, warm palm splaying over my bare back, fingers spreading like he needed to feel every inch to believe I was real.
And I let him. Not out of desperation—but because I wanted it. Wanted him.
With the kind of ache that lived deeper than my skin. It was heat that pulsed from the center of me, blooming under every soft kiss he dragged across my jaw, my throat, the curve of my shoulder.
“I missed this,” he murmured against my collarbone, voice low and wrecked. “You. The way you feel under my hands.”
My breath hitched when his lips returned to my neck, slower now, open and lingering.
“You make me crazy,” I whispered, fingers tightening in his shirt before I pushed it down his arms. “You ruin me.”
He smiled against my skin. “Then let me be the one to rebuild you.”
Pierce lifted my shirt and I arched, helping him pull it over my head, baring myself without hesitation for the first time in what felt like forever.
His hands roamed—soft at first, then firmer. Worshipping. Relearning.
We kissed again, deeper, more urgent. His body pinned me gently to the floor, his weight a comfort, his heat sinking into mine. He hovered over me, eyes dark with need, but something gentler, too—something raw and reverent.
“I’m going to love you,” he whispered, voice low and aching, “until your scars forget who gave them to you.”
