Chapter 4
Gabriel's Perspective
I stood rooted to the spot, watching the white taxi pull away until nothing remained in my line of sight but a haze of settling dust.
The morning sunlight filtering through the mist was more blinding than a full moon.
Yes—it had to be the sunlight. That was the only explanation I could find for the persistent, throbbing ache behind my eyes.
"Aren't you going to give me a proper welcome kiss?"
A waft of sweet perfume drifted from behind me. Isabella pressed her entire body against my back, her breasts flush against my spine. I instinctively shifted half a step forward.
I could still sense it—that pheromone signature unique to a Fated Mate.
Even three years after the bond had been severed, it still tugged faintly at something primal inside me.
But that primal pull was no longer the irresistible force it had once been.
Isabella noticed my withdrawal, though she didn't seem to mind. She had the air of a predator certain that a kill already belonged to her—whether she claimed it today or tomorrow made no difference.
"Aren't you tired? That was a long flight."
"A little."
She turned sideways, stifled an elegant yawn, and leaned against the mailbox at the entrance to the yard.
It was a small thing, shaped like a dovecote, with rough hand-carved wood that didn't look entirely sturdy. The coat of pinkish-white paint had been applied just last month.
The image surfaced unbidden: Ivy's face, streaked with paint. She had knelt right there on this patch of lawn, carefully brushing new life into the little mailbox with a small roller, insisting that I press my handprint onto it alongside hers.
In everyone else's eyes, she was just a country-bred omega who'd never even attended a proper university—utterly unqualified for the corporate role that a luna would be expected to fill within a pack's organization.
But over these three years, she had genuinely built something in this house. Warmth. A sense of home.
Now Isabella's long fingernails were idly scratching at that small handprint. Each scrape felt like it was raking across my restless heart.
"If you're tired, let's go inside. No need to stand out here talking."
I guided Isabella toward the living room, carefully steering her off the newly planted grass.
I knew. Ivy never had the heart to let sharp stilettos trample it.
The living room was oppressively quiet, with nothing but the faint hum of the central air conditioning.
Isabella surveyed the space, her gaze eventually settling back on me.
"You seem quite reluctant to let that girl go. Honestly, she looked a bit stubborn, but she has gentle eyes. If she's heartbroken because of me, I could explain things to her—that what we have is really more of a mutually beneficial arrangement. She could absolutely stay by your side."
"That won't be necessary, Isabella."
I walked to the liquor cabinet, poured two glasses of whiskey, and handed her one.
"I can respect your decision to break a destined bond and choose your career over love and family."
I paused, my voice dropping lower. "But you also have to allow another woman to make her own choice—to walk away from a sheltered, comfortable life in pursuit of what she believes is real love. Ivy has every right to choose the life she thinks is right for her."
Isabella arched an eyebrow, seemingly caught off guard.
She moved to the sofa and sat down, crossing her long legs with languid elegance.
"I don't care who her so-called real love is. All I know is that when she left just now, she looked like a wreck."
She smiled at me, her gaze slightly hazy. "Enough, Gabriel. Let's stop talking about depressing things. Right now, I need you to give me some comfort."
She rose and walked toward me, step by step, her fingers finding the zipper of her black pencil skirt.
"I've missed your body. And I've missed the way we were so perfectly matched in bed."
The zipper slid down with a soft hiss, revealing an expanse of porcelain skin.
She shed the outer layer right in front of me until she stood in nothing but fitted lace lingerie, her eyes carrying an undisguised invitation.
"I'd like a shower. Care to join me? Let me inspect whether that cock of yours still stands at attention for me with the same eager devotion it used to."
Looking at her face—bearing a passing resemblance to Ivy's, yet far more striking and brazen—I felt not a single ripple of desire in my chest.
If anything, a flicker of revulsion.
I reached out—not to embrace her, but to pull the fallen strap back onto her shoulder.
The gesture was blunt, almost rough.
Isabella froze, a flash of bewilderment crossing her eyes.
I withdrew my hand, my tone flat. "I've already booked you a hotel room, Isabella. Until Ivy and I have formally signed the divorce agreement, I won't let any woman waltz in and use her bathroom as if it's nothing. That would make me no different from a bastard."
Isabella stared at me for several seconds, then burst out laughing.
"Are you punishing me with this coldness for the way I left you back then?"
"Of course not."
I picked up the key card from the table and held it out to her.
"That was your choice. But I'm equally entitled to carry the PTSD from the agonizing recoil of a severed bond. So don't expect me to develop any feelings for you beyond our mutually beneficial partnership. Being fated mates simply means our arranged union comes with a bit more natural chemistry. Nothing more."
Isabella took the key card. The smile on her face dimmed slightly.
After a long pause, she shrugged. "Alright. Seeing you this clearheaded actually puts me at ease. To be honest, I was a little worried you'd be as emotionally vulnerable as before. I really don't want to hurt you again, Gabriel."
After Isabella left, I was alone in a suffocating void of silence.
I slumped back onto the sofa, my body sinking into the soft leather, yet feeling no warmth from it.
My gaze drifted to the coffee table, where I'd tossed my cigar cutter the night before.
Under the cold metallic sheen, the blade's edge still bore a smear of dried, dark-red blood.
The scent was Ivy's. She must have cut herself fumbling with it—clumsy as always.
My mind wandered through the past three years, piece by piece.
She was born an omega, but that didn't mean she was born knowing how to cook, mow the lawn, or paint a mailbox.
"Heh."
A low, derisive laugh echoed inside my skull.
Darius. My wolf.
He was pacing back and forth in my mindscape, golden beast-eyes brimming with mockery.
"Why didn't you dare ask about the man named Gale?"
His voice dripped with aggression.
"Three years. She's been calling that name in her sleep. Quite the source of jealousy and irritation, wouldn't you say? Who is he? Her first love? The man she truly loved?"
"Shut up," I growled under my breath.
"You didn't ask because you're afraid of the answer, aren't you?"
Darius pressed harder. "You're terrified she'll tell you to your face that the one she loves is this Gale—and that you were nothing but a tyrant who used alpha dominance, power, and sex to cage her by your side."
I snapped my eyes open and spoke coldly into the empty room. "It's over now. I chose to set her free."
"Oh, is that so? Love is noble and selfless, while possession is contemptible? How laughable."
Darius let out a furious snarl, his massive wolf-shadow slamming against the barriers of my mindscape.
"It's a disgrace to you as a Wolf King! Gabriel! Your mate carries another man in her heart, and instead of tearing him to shreds, you hand her over on a silver platter?"
"Shut your mouth, you insufferable beast."
I cursed viciously, then severed the mental link.
Of course I wasn't afraid to challenge any male in this world. But I couldn't rip out another man's throat only to watch Ivy look at me with hatred in her eyes.
