Chloe looked at the hand offered to her. Just moments ago, it had been tipped with lethal claws; now, the nails were trimmed and blunt.
"Are all Lycans like this?" she asked, sighing as she rested her wrist in his palm.
At the touch of her skin, Silas's fingertips gave a microscopic tremor. He hovered his other hand over the scratches, hesitant to touch her. The dim light turned his grey-silver lashes translucent, casting long shadows over his cheeks.
"It's not that bad," Chloe said, trying to lighten the mood. "It won't ruin the image of the perfect husband."
Silas's ears shot straight up. He ducked down to rummage through the car's medical kit with a clumsy, frantic energy.
"Hold still," he commanded, opening a tube of cooling gel. His pinky finger twitched as he applied it.
Chloe flinched at the cold, and Silas immediately tightened his grip—firm, yet incredibly gentle. It was a side of him she hadn't seen.
"Did I hurt you?" he whispered, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of her inner wrist.
Chloe shook her head, her cheeks warming. Silas's touch was impossibly soft, moving over the scratches like sparks—fleeting but leaving behind a trail of heat.
"Lycan saliva... it actually has healing properties," he said suddenly, his focus entirely on her arm.
The temperature in the car seemed to spike. Silas's ears fluffed up, and his tail went rigid against the seat.
"Would you...?" Chloe asked, her voice trailing off.
"No," Silas coughed, his pupils dilating. His thumb absentmindedly grazed her wrist bone. "At least... not now."
His tail puffed out into a bottle-brush of fur. He pulled his hand back quickly, muttering that she was finished. His tail-tip lingered on her pinky finger, and he had to awkwardly jerk it away.
"Let me be clear," Silas gritted out, trying to regain his dominance. "Even if human weddings mean nothing to the Pack, the world sees you as the Lady of the Sterling House. You're human; you follow human laws. Know your place."
Chloe frowned at the sudden change in tone. "And you're a Lycan; I suppose you don't follow any laws?"
"I follow mine," Silas snapped.
Chloe sighed. "Fine. Whatever."
"Now," Silas said, extending his own arm. There was a faint scratch on his forearm. "It's your turn. Give me the medicine."
"Did you..." Chloe started, her voice slowing. "Did you just scratch yourself?" He had seemed perfectly fine in the bakery. Had he really given himself a wound just to get her attention?
"I'm not that childish," Silas snorted. "But as you humans say... it's the hidden arrows you have to watch for."
He was clearly talking about Julian Thorne.
"Julian isn't like that," Chloe defended. "I only got the antidote because of him."
"You think I would have died without that antidote?" Silas's temper flared again at the mention of the other man. "Just give me the medicine."
Chloe didn't want another fight. She took the ointment and gently applied it to his arm. Silas's breathing turned heavy. When she mimicked his earlier movements, rubbing the gel in gentle circles, a low, guttural growl vibrated in his chest.
"Chloe." He used her full name, leaning in until they were inches apart. "I just remembered. There's something I haven't finished."
Chloe looked up into his glowing eyes. His tail lashed around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The scent of pine and iron swirled around her as his heat surged.
"My mate," he rasped, his breath hot against her face. "She needs my mark."
Chloe gritted her teeth. "Wait, Silas... isn't this enough?"
*************
Chloe held the diamond band up to the morning light, watching the precision-cut facets catch and scatter the sun. During the chaos at the end of the wedding, Silas had forced this ring onto her finger. While Tiffany had been screaming in the background and her father had been trying to interfere, Silas had seen only her. At that moment, she had almost believed the fit of the ring was a promise.
But Chloe remembered the truth: when he slipped it on her finger, he was thinking of a ghost—his Fated Mate.
"This wasn't meant for me, was it?" she asked, her heart sinking. Whether it was his sudden bursts of protection or his animalistic impulses, everything felt hollow in the face of this ring. She needed to wake up; a Lycan only has one fated mate, and she wasn't it. If they could at least be allies, that was enough. To push for more would break the rules they both lived by.
Silas's breath hitched. He sat up, staring at the ring as he pulled away from her. He smoothed down the ruffled fur on his tail and gave a dry laugh. "Little hunter, you really know how to kill a mood".
The tension snapped. Chloe looked at the faint scars on her wrist and then at Silas's rigid profile. "Silas, you're a Lycan. I don't want human rules to force you into a cage you never asked for".
His tail froze mid-air. This wasn't how a Vance was supposed to act. The Vances were hunters; they didn't show mercy or empathy to "beasts". If they had, the Great Purge would never have happened.
But Chloe's mother had been different. Despite being a top-tier hunter, she had searched for a third way—a world where Lycans had their own space. That philosophy had bled into Chloe.
"A human wedding shouldn't chain a wolf," she said, gently placing the ring back into his palm. "Your kind is meant to be free, to love and hate without reservation. You shouldn't have to give up your fated mate just to be tied to me by human laws".
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Silas's tail was still wrapped around her ankle beneath the hem of her dress, stroking her skin as if he were trying to hold on to her while his mind fought the urge.
"You're too naive," he finally said. He took the ring and slid it back onto her finger. "If it were that simple, the Purge would never have started". He paused, his tone softening as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "But... you're right".
It was the first time he had truly acknowledged her since they met. Chloe didn't feel as happy as she expected. She offered him her hand. "Then let's be partners. For the sake of a better future for both our kinds".
Silas didn't take her hand. He stared into her eyes and spoke almost instinctively. "Partners sounds too distant. You're Mrs. Sterling now. You're a Sterling".
He froze as soon as the words left his mouth. He clenched his fist, the ring on his own finger biting into his palm. Why had he said that?. For a moment, his control had slipped entirely.
"Really?" Chloe's eyes brightened with a hope that made his heart ache.
Silas turned away. "Don't overanalyze it. I have my reasons, and explaining them is a waste of time". He stood up, his voice returning to its cold, corporate edge. "Stay at the estate. My PR team is handling the scandal, and you just need to follow my lead".
"By the way," he added, "there's a gala in three days. You're coming with me".
***********************
For the first time since her father dragged her back to Holloway City, Chloe slept through the night. No nightmares, no sudden jolts of terror, no sounds of Tiffany's shrill laughter. The scent of cedar in the room, which once felt cold, was now strangely grounding.
When she woke, the room was flooded with warm sunlight. On the nightstand sat a new outfit—perfectly tailored and expensive—with a note from Silas underneath. His handwriting was sharp and disciplined, the mark of a man who had spent his life mastering human decorum to survive.
It was his private number, followed by a brief instruction: My personal line. Call me if you need anything.
Chloe found herself smiling as she saved the number. For the first time, she felt like she had a sanctuary in this city. She decided to head downstairs and actually enjoy a high-society breakfast.
Silas was already at the end of the long mahogany table, reviewing documents while his assistant briefed him on the day's schedule. When he heard her footsteps, he looked up, the morning light making his dark eyes seem almost warm.
"Little hunt—Wife," he corrected himself, his voice a low rasp. "Sit here". He gestured to the chair directly beside him.
His assistant faltered, looking stunned. Silas Sterling was a man of strict boundaries; he never let anyone into his personal space, especially during work.
"Is the sun rising in the west today?" the assistant muttered under his breath.
"Good morning, ma'am," he added quickly as Chloe sat down.
As she settled in, Silas rested his hand on the back of her chair. His fingers were inches from her skin, the faint scent of cedar clinging to his cuffs.
"I thought you'd sleep longer," he said, reaching out to brush a stray hair from her shoulder. His fingertips grazed the side of her neck, sending a jolt through her.
The assistant's eyes were practically bulging. He stared at Silas's hand until the Alpha shot him a warning look. "Sir, your meeting in ten minutes...".
"I have to go," Silas said to Chloe, his tone brooking no argument. "Wait for me at home". Then, he leaned in and pressed a brief, light kiss to the corner of her mouth.
It was gone in a second, but it left everyone in the room frozen.
Chloe touched her lip as he walked away. Is this what it feels like to have someone to rely on? she wondered, looking at the breakfast in front of her. Maybe this marriage could be more than just a substitute.
Outside, the assistant was even more shaken. He opened the car door for Silas, his own wolf ears nearly popping out from the stress.
"Sir...".
"You look surprised," Silas said, sitting back in the leather seat.
"No, sir," the assistant stammered. "It's just... you and the missus seem... well...".
"It's impossible," Silas interrupted coldly. "Don't make a scene. How is the production coming along?".
"The deal is signed, but..." the assistant hesitated. "Are we really inviting her?".
"Yes. The plan doesn't change".
"But the Mrs.—I mean, Chloe—you were just...".
Silas's gaze darkened, silencing him. He looked out the window, his heart racing. That kiss... it shouldn't have happened. He couldn't help himself.
"Sir," the assistant whispered.
"What?" Silas snapped.
"Your tail is out".