Her words were ice picks, shattering the fragile peace I'd found. My cheek burned; my heart froze with humiliation. I opened my mouth to retort, but my throat was sealed shut, rendering me mute and powerless before her towering fury.

Just then, a black blur shot from the trees, accompanied by a deep, threatening snarl that vibrated through the night air! He was back! His golden pupils contracted to predatory slits in the moonlight, locked on Tabitha. His massive form planted itself squarely in front of me, bared fangs glinting, his posture radiating pure, undiluted protection and a clear command to leave.

Tabitha stumbled back a step, her face bleaching of all color. "I—"

"Get. Out.!"

The words were a low, guttural roar, more beast than man, dripping with the absolute authority of an Alpha. Tabitha flinched, all her bravado evaporating before his raw power. She shot me a look of pure hatred, but didn't dare challenge a furious Luke. She turned and fled, stumbling into the darkness.

Silence returned to the clearing, broken only by my ragged breaths and the fading rumble in his throat. He turned, his large head nudging my still-stinging cheek, his golden eyes filled with a painful mix of regret and concern.

Strangely, my hurt began to ease under his silent apology. I reached out, my fingers gently stroking the smooth fur on his head, feeling the immense power coiled in his muscles and the gentleness he reserved for me.

"I'm okay… big guy," I whispered, wrapping my arms around his warm neck, burying my face in the thick, rain-damp fur. "Thank you… for protecting me."

Safety returned within his embrace. The pain on my face faded, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. Leaning against him, lulled by his strong heartbeat, I fell asleep again. This time, my dreams were peaceful.

I woke to the sound of birdsong. The clearing was empty except for me. The space beside me held only a lingering warmth. The black wolf was gone. A faint thread of disappointment pulled tight in my chest, but it was quickly overshadowed by the memory of how he'd defended me, a sensation still faintly imprinted on my skin. I gathered my things and rode my motorcycle away from the refuge that held such complicated emotions.

The school atmosphere was still tense. I kept my head down, heading for my locker. First period was History. Luke was usually punctual, but today, even after the bell rang, his seat remained empty.

A vague unease began to curl in my gut.

About ten minutes into the lesson, the classroom door opened. Luke walked in, offering the teacher a brief apology, his voice carrying a subtle, unfamiliar hoarseness. My eyes were drawn to him against my will.

Then my heart skipped a beat, seized by an invisible, icy hand, and stopped.

He was covered… in a familiar, cloying, and unmistakable perfume. Tabitha Amota's signature scent—loud, sweet, reeking of possession. It was so strong, it overpowered his usual clean scent of sea air. The two smells were intimately tangled, screaming a truth I couldn't bear.

He was late… and he smelled like Tabitha…

The evidence, thick in the air around him, felt like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head, freezing my heart solid in my chest. Had they… gotten back together?

A crushing wave of disappointment and sharp, stabbing heartache washed over me. So, the special connection and protection I thought I'd felt were so easily overturned after all. I truly, deeply, was not worthy of any warmth.

The history class project required group discussion. When Luke came over and sat beside me, I could barely breathe. The overpowering perfume was everywhere, a thousand tiny needles pricking my skin, piercing my heart.

"For the section on medieval lords' rights," he began, his voice normal, seemingly oblivious to my turmoil, "we could focus on—"

"Whatever," I cut him off, my voice as hard and cold as stone, my eyes glued to the textbook in front of me. I didn't dare look at him. I was afraid if I did, the tears welling in my eyes would betray me and fall.

He seemed taken aback. After a moment of silence, he continued in that same businesslike tone. For the rest of the discussion, I responded like an automaton, using only the shortest possible words, locking all my churning emotions away beneath a shell of ice.

During lunch, I escaped to the empty, windswept rooftop. The cold wind whipped my face, but it was nothing compared to the freezing desolation inside. Looking down at the ant-like people below, a profound wave of self-loathing swallowed me whole. I was such a fool, to have dared to hope, even for a moment, because of his fleeting kindness. Someone like me deserved to be abandoned. Deserved to face all this alone.

My hands trembling, I pulled the sharpened paintbrush handle from my pencil case. The sharp, familiar pain bloomed on my arm, bringing a twisted, fleeting sense of release. It was as if only through this physical punishment could I slightly alleviate the acidic, tearing agony of despair churning inside me, with nowhere else to go. One line, then another… until the familiar marks of "clarity" and "punishment" were etched into my skin once more.

The afternoon art class was dedicated to free creation. I spread out a sheet of drawing paper and picked up a charcoal pencil. The tip moved across the page almost of its own volition, sketching a strong brow, a straight nose bridge, and lips set in a line that suggested both resolve and detachment… It was Luke. I was drawing him. The Luke who had kissed my forehead under the moonlight last night, yet appeared this morning carrying the scent of another woman.

When I finished, I stared at the eyes on the page, into which I had poured far too much complicated emotion, and jolted back to reality. I couldn't keep this. But before I could destroy it, the art teacher walked over and saw the portrait.

"A very powerful piece, Amelia," the teacher admired. "You've captured the expression in the eyes perfectly."

"Sir," I looked up abruptly, a note of pleading in my voice, "this drawing… could you please keep it for me? Don't show it to anyone. Especially… not the subject." I couldn't let him see it. Couldn't let him know my ridiculous, pathetic feelings.

Though puzzled, the teacher nodded and carefully stored the drawing away.

When the final bell rang, I felt a wave of reprieve and just wanted to escape. But as I reached the school gates, a figure blocked my path. Luke. The heartbreaking scent on him had faded slightly, but it was still there.