Freya's POV I froze. Silas was standing right in front of me-nothing like the cold, untouchable Alpha who'd dominated the gala earlier tonight. The man before me now was raw, conflicted, and burning with an anger he was trying-and failing-to cage. His fox-shaped eyes, usually unreadable, were blazing at me with something fierce, wounded, and barely controlled. "Say it," he demanded, his voice rising sharply, dangerously. "Why do you keep showing up in front of me?" He wasn't just angry. He was jealous. I felt it pouring off him in waves-feral, unrestrained, and wild in a way only an Alpha on the edge could be. He had seen me earlier, laughing with another man. Too close. Too at ease. It had tipped his control over the edge. "I… I was only accompanying Lana to the gala," I managed, trying to steady my voice. But even as I said it, a quiet truth stirred inside me-one I didn't want to look at too closely. I had also come because… I wanted to see him. Because I needed to know what remained of my feelings for Silas, the Alpha who once shattered my trust so deeply I still wasn't sure I could ever rebuild it. Could I really trust him again? And he… how much feeling did he have left for me? "Only accompanying Lana?" Silas let out a bitter, humorless laugh. Of course. He thought he was imagining things. That he'd been foolish enough to hope.My heart jolted when I noticed the bandages wrapped tightly around his right hand-something I hadn't seen earlier at the gala. "What happened to your hand?" I blurted, stepping closer despite myself. "Silas-when did you get hurt? How bad is it?" Under the bright lounge lighting, the faint red seeping through the gauze looked far worse than I expected. I gingerly lifted his injured hand, my fingers brushing the edges of the bandage. "Silas… this looks serious." His jaw clenched. "I told you," he said, voice low with frustration, "if you aren't going to stay by my side, then stop caring about me. Stop pitying me." Because caring gave him hope. And hope… made the fall into despair that much deeper. "Silas, I-" I lifted my head, but before I could finish, his left hand snapped up, locking around my jaw. His mouth crashed onto mine. The kiss was hard, desperate, almost punishing-as if he'd been starving for it, for me, for far too long. As if he wanted to devour every part of me he had ever been forced to let go. For a heartbeat, I froze. My hands pushed instinctively against his chest. I could break the kiss. I could end this-easily. But the moment I felt his desperation, something inside me twisted painfully. He wasn't kissing me out of dominance. He was kissing me out of heartbreak. His emotions-jealousy, anger, longing, despair-flooded through the bondless space between us, raw and overwhelming. My resistance faltered.Slowly, almost helplessly, my arms rose around his neck. I pressed closer. I kissed him back. His entire body jolted, as if shocked by my response. And then he kissed me harder-hungry, frantic, almost violent with the fear that I'd change my mind and slip away again. He held me against him like I was the last solid thing in a world crumbling beneath his feet. It felt like forever before he finally tore his mouth from mine. I was breathing hard, lips throbbing from the force of his kiss. "This," he whispered hoarsely against my ear, "is this your pity too?" "What?" My breath hitched. "Why didn't you push me away?" Silas asked, the anguish in his voice cutting sharper than any blade. "Do you know what that does to me? You give me despair… and then you give me hope. Freya, if you've already chosen to break me, then stop throwing me lifelines I can't afford." "Silas, that's not what I-" "What?" he snapped back. "You felt sorry for me? You think I'm pathetic? Or did you need something from me-some favor, some help-so you let me kiss you even if you didn't want it?" "No!" I protested instantly. "It's not that!" "Then what?" His voice broke, anger and agony tangling in his eyes. "Do you love me? Is that why you let me kiss you?" I faltered. My throat closed. I had no answer. The flicker of hope in his expression extinguished instantly. Of course. Why would I love him? I'd said before I hated lies, hated being kept in the dark.And Silas had lied once-one single betrayal-and I had walked away without hesitation. I had never given him a second chance. So why would I love him now? In our whole relationship… He had always been the one ruled by his emotions. The one who loved too much. The one who begged for crumbs. Not me. "Freya…" His voice was cold now. Empty. "If you don't love me… then you shouldn't have accepted that kiss. You should've struck me so hard I couldn't stand. You should've beaten me until I didn't dare touch you again. That's what would've been right." He turned away from me, shoulders rigid. "Next time," he said, voice low and hollow, "don't appear in front of me so easily-unless you really want to see me lose control." He opened the lounge door. Didn't look back. And walked out. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the room too still, too quiet. I stood there alone, fingers lifting unconsciously to touch my lips. His warmth still lingered there. His desperation. His pain. His longing. And for the first time… regret coiled inside me. I should have answered him.Because the truth-terrifying and fragile-was that I still loved him. But trust, once shattered, was hard to rebuild. Could I truly believe him again? Believe us again? I didn't know. But for the first time… I wanted to try.