Chapter 4

　　Raine

　　Three days.

　　That was how long the silence had lasted. One thousand, eight hundred minutes of nothing.

　　Miguel hadn't come home, and he hadn't called. He hadn't even sent a text to say he was alive. I didn't call him, either. I knew better by now.

　　My name on his screen was a nuisance, something he swiped away with a sigh of irritation before going back to whatever was more important than the woman he had claimed three nights ago.

　　I moved through the penthouse like a shadow. I cleaned things that were already clean. I reorganized the books in the library by the color of their spines.

　　I did anything to keep my hands busy so I wouldn't have to think about the way my body still felt different.

　　The soreness between my legs had faded into a dull, phantom hum, but the memory of his weight on top of me was a permanent weight in my mind.

　　Every evening, despite the cold knot of dread in my stomach, I still cooked for two.

　　It was a pathetic habit, a leftover piece of the girl who still hoped for a miracle. Last night, I had spent an hour making his favorite—grilled steak with a spicy peppercorn sauce and roasted root vegetables.

　　I had set the table perfectly, the silver gleaming under the dining room lights. I sat there until the sauce grew a thin skin and the meat turned grey and cold.

　　This morning, I stood over the trash bin in the kitchen. I picked up his plate, the steak looking like a piece of old leather, and tipped it over.

　　The heavy thud it made as it hit the bottom of the bin echoed off the marble walls. It was such a final, ugly sound. It felt like the sound of my own heart hitting the floor. I didn't cry. I was too tired for tears. I just stood there with the empty plate in my hand, wondering at what point "hope" just becomes "stupidity."

　　I turned away from the trash and made myself a simple breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast. I sat at the edge of the long table, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. The penthouse was too big for one person. It was designed for a family, for laughter, for the loud, boisterous life of an Alpha. Without Miguel, it was just a very expensive tomb.

　　I had just lifted a forkful of eggs to my mouth when my phone buzzed against the wood of the table.

　　My heart skipped a beat. For a split second, I thought it might be him. I thought maybe he was calling to say he was sorry, or that he was coming home.

　　It wasn't Miguel. It was my mother.

　　The message was short. The words felt like they were written in ice:

　　"Your sister is awake. She's been asking for you since she woke up. Miguel has been here for days. But you've not, Raine. Don't be selfish. Come see her. She deserves this much from you."

　　The fork froze inches from my lips. I watched a small piece of egg tremble on the tines, then fall back onto the plate with a tiny, wet sound. I couldn't swallow. I couldn't even breathe.

　　So, that was where he had been.

　　The morning he had run out of the hotel, leaving me bleeding and broken in the bed, he hadn't gone to a meeting. He hadn't gone to save the pack. He had gone to her.

　　She had woken up. She was awake, and the world had stopped for her. My mother had called Miguel. My father had probably called him.

　　They had all reached out to my husband, and not a single one of them had thought to tell me.

　　In their eyes, I was still just the extra. The one who only existed to serve Raina's needs.

　　He had spent three nights by her side. Had he held her hand? Had he looked at her with that soft, tender gaze he had accidentally given me in the dark? Did he tell her he loved her while the marks of my nails were still fading from his back?

　　I set the phone down. The screen went dark, but the words were burned into my brain.

　　Don't be selfish.

　　It was a word they loved to use for me. I was selfish if I wanted to keep my kidney. I was selfish if I wanted to marry the man I loved.

　　I pushed the plate of cold eggs away. The smell of the butter suddenly made me want to gag. My wolf was a small, shivering ball inside my chest. She didn't want to fight anymore. She didn't want to howl. She just wanted to disappear.

　　I stood up and walked to the sink, my movements stiff and robotic. I rinsed my mug, watching the water swirl down the drain. I thought about the church.

　　I thought about the moment I rejected Kordell. I had done it for them. I had destroyed the only man who ever truly saw me because they told me it was my duty.

　　And this was my reward. A cold dinner in the trash and a text message telling me to stop being selfish.

　　I looked at my reflection in the window. My eyes looked hollow. I looked like a woman who had been hollowed out, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but a shell.

　　They wanted me to go to the hospital. They wanted me to stand there and play the role of the supporting character in Raina's grand romance.

　　They wanted me to watch Miguel's face light up when she spoke. They wanted me to be the "good sister" one more time.

　　I leaned my hands against the cool marble of the counter and closed my eyes. For years, I had been swallowing the bitterness.

　　I had swallowed the resentment, the loneliness, and the grief. It was a heavy, dark liquid that sat in the pit of my stomach, and today, it finally felt like it was overflowing.

　　I wasn't going to go. Not yet.

　　I wasn't going to run to them just because they snapped their fingers. For three years, I had been the one who fixed everything and asked for nothing.

　　I was the one who ran Miguel's business from the shadows and kept his house and waited for his crumbs.

　　I stayed in the kitchen for a long time, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic below.

　　I reached out and picked up my phone. I didn't reply to my mother.

　　I took a deep breath, the air burning my lungs.

　　I walked to the bedroom to get dressed.