Selene's POV

"Why should I believe you?" I asked, frowning. "You might want to kill me."

On the other end, I heard him exhale sharply—the sound of a man fighting for patience. "Stop it," he said tightly. "You know I will never kill you. I like you, Selene."

"Like me?" I gave a bitter laugh. "Or do you mean you like my body?"

"Selene," his tone dropped—low, rough, strained. "Don't do that."

I smirked even though he couldn't see it. "Do what? Say the truth to your face?"

"Don't make this hard." His voice hardened. "You think I like this? You think I enjoy chasing after the woman who's been trained to put a blade in my chest?"

Something twisted in my stomach—not fear. Something else. "Then why are you calling?"

"Because I want to prove my innocence," he snapped. "Not to anyone. I don't care what anyone thinks. But you… I care what you think about me, and you're still the only person who deserves to know what really happened to her."

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched, heavy and sharp, until I realized how ridiculous it was that his anger almost made me smile. God, I was supposed to hate this man. But look at me—listening to the sound of his voice like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.

He must've sensed the shift because his tone softened again. "Please," he said, quieter this time. "Come, Selene. Just come. Let me explain everything."

"I can't," I said under my breath.

"Why not?"

"I'm grounded," I admitted, hating how small my voice sounded when I said it.

There was a pause—then his voice rose, rough and furious. "He what?"

I winced. I could feel the heat of his anger even through the phone, a wild energy pushing through the connection. "Selene, if he laid a hand on you—"

"Frederick, don't—"

"I'm coming there," he cut in, his voice sharp and angry. "Right now."

My heart skipped. "No! You can't."

"You think I'll just sit back while that bastard locks you up?"

"You'll make it worse!" I hissed, glancing at the door like he could somehow appear there. "If you show up here, it'll be war. My father and brother won't hesitate to attack you."

"I don't care."

"Well, I do!" I snapped, desperate now. "Please, Frederick. Don't come. I'll… I'll sneak out. Just give me an hour."

He went silent for a moment, and then finally, through gritted teeth, "Fine. But if you're not there, I'm coming."

"Understood."

I ended the call before he could say anything else.

For a moment, I just stood there, my heart pounding, my hand trembling slightly around the phone. Then I tossed it on the bed and started moving.

I changed quickly into something dark—jeans, a loose shirt, and my old leather boots. Clothes that wouldn't make noise when I ran. I tied my hair back and opened the wardrobe, pulling out the dagger hidden beneath my mother's old shawl.

"I don't trust Frederick," I muttered, sliding it into the sheath strapped to my thigh. "You're insane," I added under my breath.

I cracked the door and listened. Silence. The guards had likely been told I was confined to my room, which meant they wouldn't expect me to move. That was their first mistake.

The hallway beyond was dim. I stepped out, quiet as breath, and moved toward the servants' passage—the one that led straight to the back staircase. My father didn't know I still remembered every creaking board in this house.

At the landing, I paused. Two guards were posted at the main entrance below, chatting softly. The back door was closer. I veered left, slipping behind the heavy curtains near the storage hall. My pulse hammered. I waited until one of them turned his head away, then moved.

The cold night air hit me as soon as I stepped outside.

Freedom.

For the first time since I'd arrived, I let myself breathe properly. I ran across the courtyard, keeping to the shadows, my boots silent on the gravel path. The southern gardens stretched ahead.

I didn't stop running until I reached the hedge. My breathing was fast, and my heart was pounding hard in my chest. I looked back at the house. The lights in the windows were shining, and the guards were walking near the gate, and no one was coming for me.

I resumed running, the night air cold against my face. My legs burned, but I didn't stop until the tall glass building came into view—the old conservatory at the edge of the grounds.

I slowed down, my breath coming out fast and shaky. My eyes searched the shadows. "Frederick?" I whispered. No answer. The place was quiet—too quiet.

Panic started creeping in. What if he tricked me? What if someone else was here instead? I looked around again, hugging my arms close. The air felt heavy, my heartbeat loud in my ears. My wolf was alert and ready to shift.

Then I smelled it—that deep, smoky scent that always made my wolf stir. My chest tightened. I turned quickly, and there he was.

Frederick stepped out from behind one of the tall vines. His black shirt clung to his chest, and his silver hair looked messy, like he'd been running too. He looked tired, exhausted — like he hadn't rested in days — and still impossibly handsome.

My wolf purred inside me, happy to see him. I hated that. I lifted my chin, trying to sound calm even though my heart was racing. "So?" I said coldly. "What is it you wanted to tell me?"

He didn't answer. He just walked closer—slow, steady steps that made the space between us smaller and smaller. My breath hitched. I stepped back, but my back hit the cold glass wall.

"Frederick," I warned softly.

He didn't stop. His hand reached out and caught me by the waist, pulling me gently toward him. His touch was firm and warm—it made my wolf shiver with pleasure.

My eyes met his, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. The anger, the fear, everything disappeared, leaving only the sound of our hearts beating too close together.

"Frederick…" I whispered.

He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing my ear. "I miss you."