Caden POV
The sky above Paris was the color of bruised steel when I watched her let him go.
From the back seat of my car, shadowed glass shielding me from the world, I saw Fleur Swann step out of the Porsche and embrace Raphael Dumas before he disappeared into the jaws of the airport. Her arms circled him with a familiarity that scraped against my ribs like claws on bone, and when she pulled away, there was no hesitation—only quiet acceptance.
A soundless snarl curled in my chest.
The wolf stirred, pacing beneath my skin, unsettled and furious, driven by instincts that had no patience for reason or restraint. Mate. Mine. The words echoed through my blood like a war drum, ancient and unforgiving.
"Follow her," I ordered softly.
The driver didn't hesitate.
I watched as Fleur returned to the car and drove away, her scent lingering even at this distance—warm, familiar, maddening. We followed her through the city streets until she disappeared into the underground parking of her office building. Only then did I look away.
Work blurred into meaninglessness after that.
Two meetings. Endless voices. Hollow words.
My head pounded, my chest felt tight, and the constant ache beneath my sternum refused to ease. By late afternoon, the walls of my office felt too close, the air too thin.
"Reschedule everything," I told my assistant. "Tomorrow."
I returned to the apartment I was using while my estate was under construction, exhaustion dragging at my limbs like chains.
"I was expecting you earlier," Syrus said, his voice dripping with dry sarcasm as I stepped inside.
I scowled. "Why are you here?"
He studied me in silence, and I knew what he saw—sunken eyes rimmed with darkness, stubble I hadn't bothered to trim, a body running on fumes and fury. The Alpha of the Western Packs reduced to something feral and unraveling.
"I could ask you the same," Syrus replied. "You said two days. It's been over a week."
"My work requires it," I muttered, heading toward my room.
"Bullshit," he snapped. "You look like death walked in and decided to stay."
I glared at him through the mirror as I loosened my tie. He didn't flinch.
"You haven't eaten. You haven't slept. You're punishing yourself," he continued, frustration sharpening his words. "I've seen this before, Caden. Six years ago nearly destroyed you. I won't watch it happen again."
"I don't need saving," I growled.
I changed and walked past the untouched food on the table, straight to the bar. The burn of whiskey did nothing to quiet the emptiness gnawing at me.
Syrus snatched the glass from my hand.
"I won't let you drink yourself into the ground," he said firmly. "Even if you hate me for it."
Something dark flashed in my brain. "Get out."
He hesitated, pain flickering across his face, then slammed the glass down and stormed out.
Silence followed.
I poured another drink. Then another.
It wasn't enough.
The ache didn't fade. The wolf kept howling.
So I grabbed my jacket and left.
Minutes later, I stood across the street from her building, staring up at the darkened window I knew was hers. The night was heavy with clouds, moonlight muted but present—watching, judging.
Then, suddenly, her window glowed.
My breath caught.
Fleur stepped into view, silhouetted by soft light, her hair loose, her shoulders slumped with fatigue. She opened the window and sat on the ledge, staring up at the sky, fingers moving as if sketching invisible designs in the air—dreams she built and erased in the same breath.
A smile tugged at my lips.
It was small. Unconscious.
But it was real.
For the first time in my life, I didn't fight it.
My wolf stilled, reverent, as if recognizing something sacred. My chest loosened, warmth spreading through veins that had known only ice for far too long.
Behind me, I felt my men freeze—felt their shock ripple through the air. An Alpha did not smile. Not like this.
But I couldn't look away from her.
She was alive. Safe. Unbroken.
And I couldn't help smiling.