The next morning, I arrived at the pack’s office, feeling drained but functional. I handed my resignation to my manager. When she learned I was getting married, she smiled wistfully.
“You’re going to be missed, Lois. You’ve been one of the best members on the team.”
I smiled back, unsure what to say. “Thank you. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
The office buzzed with talk about my upcoming wedding, and my colleagues insisted on throwing me a farewell lunch. I couldn’t say no, so I agreed and made a reservation at the small Italian restaurant Asher and I had always gone to.
It was one of the few places I could count on, and the food was good.
About halfway through the meal, I excused myself to go to the restroom. But as I turned the corner, I nearly ran into Celeste.
She looked surprised but greeted me with a friendly smile. “Lois! Didn’t expect to see you here.”
I gave her a polite smile, but I didn’t want to stick around. We weren’t close enough for small talk.
But she didn’t seem to feel the same way.
“Actually,” she said, stopping me before I could leave, “I noticed something last time we were here. Does Asher always scrape the cheese off your pizza before giving you a slice. Do you not eat dairy?”
The word ‘always’ made me pause. I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “I... I actually like cheese,” I admitted, feeling sick to my stomach.
Celeste smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “I know. He’s always said you didn’t like it because I’m lactose intolerant. It’s a habit he has... for ME.”
It was like a punch to the gut.
I had always thought Asher did it because he was looking out for me. I didn’t mind it—it was his little habit. But now, I realized the truth. He never did it for me. He did it for *her.*
Celeste tilted her head, a sly smile curving her lips as she watched me from across the table. The warm glow of the Italian restaurant didn’t soften the sharpness in her eyes.
"You know…" her voice light and airy, "I’ve always thought we looked alike. Almost like sisters, don’t you think?"
Celeste’s grin widened, a little too smug, like she was already two steps ahead in some game I didn’t know we were playing. It wasn’t just a smile—it was the kind of look that made my wolf growl low in the back of my mind. She was plotting something. I could feel it.
Still, I didn’t flinch. I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction.