CHAPTER 125: THE WEIGHT OF HIS WORDS

Chapter 125: The Weight of His Words

Josie

I didn’t even realize I was staring until his words sank in, sharp and cold enough to sting like frost against my skin. Thorne’s tone cut through me, every syllable deliberate, unforgiving, as if he had been waiting for the moment to carve me open. I blinked, disbelieving, my throat thickening around the air I couldn’t swallow.

He turned as if to leave, robe brushing against his frame, towel dangling carelessly in his hand like none of this mattered. That casual dismissal burned worse than his words, and before I could stop myself, I found my voice.

"You always have a problem with me, Thorne," I said, too quickly, the words rushing out before fear could silence me. "But right now—what you’re doing—it’s not right. You ought to understand me, at least this once. You should know how I’m feeling."

He froze mid-step, his shoulders stiffening, and then he pivoted back toward me. His eyes, so dark and unyielding, pinned me where I stood. In three strides he was before me, towering, and then his finger jabbed hard against my chest.

The pressure wasn’t enough to hurt, not physically, but it sent a jolt through me all the same.

"You always want people to understand you," he said, his voice low, rough, vibrating with restrained anger, "but do you ever try to understand anyone else?"

The question left me hollow, silenced in an instant.

His finger pressed again, sharper this time, accusing. "Since you stepped into this pack, Kiel and Varen have been obsessed with keeping you happy. Obsessed, Josie. They even fought me—me—just to defend you. And what did you do? You embarrassed me in front of everyone. Like I never tried. Like I never showed you even a single moment of love." His voice cracked, just barely, but he forced it back under control. "Who does that?"

Shame hit me like a storm surge, fierce and merciless. My lips parted but no sound emerged. Every excuse I thought of shriveled before it reached my tongue. Because he was right.

He was right.

The realization burned me from the inside out. I hated it, hated him for saying it aloud, but the truth seared hotter than any lie I could hide behind.

His expression softened, but not with forgiveness. It was something worse—sadness. A smile ghosted across his lips, faint and broken. "On a normal day, you’d fight me, Josie. You’d spit fire and claw your way through just to prove your point, no matter how foolish it was. But now? Look at you. Silent." His eyes darkened further, as if the shadows inside him had grown deeper. "You’re not saying a thing because you know I’m right."

I couldn’t hold his gaze. The weight of it bent me inward, pressing my chest until it hurt to breathe.

"You need to do better," he said firmly, each word like the striking of a gavel. "Being our mate doesn’t give you the right to break our hearts whenever you please. We’re not unbreakable. Remember that."

His hand brushed against my shoulder—not a caress, but a sharp shove that knocked me off balance. I staggered sideways, my hand shooting out to steady myself against the nearest chair. The jolt rattled through me, leaving me trembling, not from the push but from the truth I couldn’t fight.

By the time I steadied myself, he was gone, his robe trailing around the corner, his footsteps fading into silence that rang louder than any shout could have.

The dining hall felt cavernous, empty in his absence yet echoing with the force of his words. I pressed a hand against my chest where his finger had jabbed me, as if I could rub away the lingering sting, but it wasn’t physical. It was deeper.

My eyes burned, red and swollen from unshed tears. I tried to blink them away, but the ache in my throat betrayed me. I stood there in the center of the dining room, staring at nothing, feeling the press of loneliness and shame so heavy it nearly buckled my knees.

None of my mates were happy with me. Not one. And it was my fault.

I thought I’d been trying. Every step I took, I told myself it was the right thing, the necessary thing. But all I ever seemed to do was hurt them more.

I sank into a chair, my fingers gripping the edge of the table until my knuckles whitened. The wood didn’t give me comfort; it only anchored me while the storm inside raged. My chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, breaths sharp and shallow, as if even air had decided to abandon me.

I whispered into the silence, a confession meant for no one but myself. "I don’t know how to fix this."

The walls didn’t answer.

Morning came cruelly, with too much light and too little relief. I hadn’t slept. My body felt like stone, heavy and unwilling, but I forced myself up anyway. The air outside my room carried the scent of roasted bread and brewed coffee—warmth, normalcy, a reminder that life carried on whether or not I was ready to face it.

When I stepped into the main hall, I froze.

There they were.

Varen. Kiel. Thorne.

Sitting together at the long table, breakfast spread out before them. Plates of eggs, toast, smoked meat, steaming mugs. They were eating together—actually together. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d seen them do that.

It should have been a comforting sight, but instead, my chest tightened painfully. Had I been the reason their peace had shattered? Had my presence carved wedges between them that only now were being patched, in my absence?

I stood at the edge of the room, fingers twisting in the hem of my dress, caught between hope and dread.

"Can I..." My voice cracked, so I cleared my throat and tried again. "Can I join you for breakfast?"

No response.

Not a glance. Not a flicker. They just kept eating, the clink of cutlery against porcelain louder than any silence I’d ever endured. My heart squeezed, sharp and relentless, like a fist tightening around it.

I tried again, forcing steadiness I didn’t feel. "Please. Can I sit with you?"

This time, Thorne looked up. His gaze was flat, unyielding, and when he spoke, it was like steel wrapped in frost. "Just sit on the vacant chair, Josie. And let us have our peace. At least that much."

The words punched the air out of me.

I twisted the fabric of my dress tighter, nails biting into the weave, but I obeyed. My legs carried me stiffly to the chair, each step heavier than the last. I sat down quietly, back straight, hands clasped in my lap, as if any sudden movement might set them further against me.

The maid approached, laying a plate before me with a polite nod before vanishing quickly, like even she didn’t want to linger in this tension. I stared down at the food but couldn’t bring myself to lift a fork. My throat was raw, my eyes red and burning, though I refused to let the tears fall here, not in front of them.

I told myself to eat, to at least pretend, but the weight of their silence pressed too heavily.

And then the door swung open.

"Really?" Liam’s voice carried into the hall, rich with exasperation. He stepped inside, his grin careless but edged with something sharper. "You can’t just leave me in the cottage all the damn time."

My head snapped toward him, heart thudding. His timing was always infuriating, as if he had some cruel instinct for appearing when I least wanted him.

"We don’t have any class today," I muttered quickly, hoping to shut him down before he could stir trouble. My words were low, defensive, half a plea.

He tilted his head, smirk widening. "Who said so?" His eyes slid deliberately toward the table, landing on each of them in turn. "What was it, Kiel? Or was it Varen this time?"

The air snapped tight, like the moment before a storm breaks. I felt it in my skin, in my bones—the sudden, dangerous rise of tension.

The Alphas stiffened. Chairs scraped against the floor as the weight of their anger filled the room, palpable and suffocating.

"No," I whispered, too late.

I shoved back my own chair and stood quickly, heart hammering. "Stop. Please, just stop." My hands lifted in a desperate motion of peace, but the edge of my sleeve caught the coffee mug near me.

It toppled.

Scalding liquid splashed across my lap, burning through the thin fabric of my dress before I could react. I gasped, stumbling back, hands flailing as pain seared through me.

In an instant, the three of them were on their feet.

"Josie!" Kiel’s voice thundered, sharp with alarm.

Varen rounded the table, already reaching for me. Thorne’s chair clattered against the floor as he surged forward too.

Their unity was sudden, instinctive, and overwhelming. Hands reached toward me—steadying, protective, guiding. For the first time in days, they moved together, all three of them, not against one another but for me.

The sting of the burn blurred into something else entirely, something heavier and far more dangerous: the reminder that despite everything—anger, disappointment, silence—they still came to me. They still couldn’t stop themselves.

And I didn’t know if that made me more relieved... or more guilty.