~Catherine's POV~
He'd showered me with a tenderness that somehow morphed into something desperate - his hands turning me against the bathroom wall, taking me under the scalding spray until my knees buckled.
Now I lay sprawled across the bed, limbs heavy with exhaustion yet thrumming with an energy I'd never known.
Maybe sex was important after all. Important enough to make me forget my wedding vows, important enough to leave me tangled in the sheets with my husband's son, who was currently kneeling to slide socks onto my still-damp feet.
The absurd domesticity of it made my chest ache. Evander had never helped me after sex - he'd always left me bruised and hollow, forcing me to crawl back to my room alone while he returned to his other wives. Pleasure had been a one-way street with him, his satisfaction the only thing that mattered.
My gaze traced over the man before me - his hair dark with moisture, the towel slung low around his hips. Water droplets still glistened on his collarbone. Handsome didn't begin to cover it. The sight of him made something primal twist in my gut.
"I need to get something to eat," I murmured, testing my voice.
"I'll go."
I shook my head. "Your hair's still wet." My fingers twitched with the urge to touch it. "I don't want them getting ideas. I'll be back soon - just stay here. And don't touch anything."
His quiet nod followed me out the door. The palace halls were dark now, the usual dinner hour long past. I bypassed the dining room entirely, collecting a tray from the kitchen staff with practiced indifference. The return walk felt endless, my grip tightening with each step until my knuckles ached.
Then I pushed open the door - and froze.
Soren sat cross-legged on the rumpled sheets, dressed only in his sweatpants, my unfinished manuscript spread across his lap. The food tray nearly slipped from my fingers when I saw which page he was reading - the very scene I'd worked on last night. He scanned the words with an unreadable expression.
I shut the door harder than necessary, making him glance up. After setting the tray on the bed, I reached for the papers, but he lifted them just out of reach.
"Hey, I haven't finished reading this yet," he protested.
"I told you not to touch my things," I hissed. "How did you even find it?"
He shrugged, the movement making his bare shoulders flex. "Found it under the sheets. Catherine, this is amazing—"
"No, it's garbage you shouldn't be reading." My face burned as I raked a hand through my tangled hair.
"You don't need to put yourself down like that." His voice softened. "You're talented. Seriously talented."
Defeated, I sank onto the mattress beside him. Part of me wanted to keep this purely physical, but that night on the balcony had cracked something open between us. Could we be friends? Real friends - the kind you confide in, not just sleep with?
Friends with benefits seemed too crude a label for whatever this was becoming. Maybe I could just enjoy whatever time we had left before he left. After three suffocating years, didn't I deserve this small rebellion?
"I've never let anyone read my work before," I admitted, picking at the quilt. "It's...embarrassing." My stomach chose that moment to growl, prompting me to reach for the shepherd's pie.
"I only got through a few pages since your organization is terrible," he teased. "But let me get this straight - it's about a serial killer?"
"You should try this," I said quickly, offering him a spoonful.
His eyes narrowed playfully. "You're not trying to change the subject, are you?"
"No," I giggled as he accepted the bite.
He chewed thoughtfully before turning to me with raised brows. "This is actually good. Though not as good as you."
Heat flooded my cheeks. "You shouldn't say things like that."
"I'll keep flirting until you tell me about your book." He leaned closer. "What inspired Paul?"
"I don't know, really." I shifted uncomfortably. "I just have nightmares about it and write what I remember, blending in other random themes."
"Nightmares?" His playful tone turned serious.
"Yes. Of him killing a new lover after...you know." I dropped my gaze. "I'm sorry, that sounds creepy. I know I'm weird."
"That would make me weird too."
"No, you shouldn't—"
"It's called mirroring. That's how you talk about yourself." His warm hands enveloped mine, then lifted them to his lips. The kiss he pressed to my knuckles sent goosebumps racing up my arms. "And you shouldn't tell yourself lies, okay?"
I could only nod, my mouth full of pie. His presence was so...calming. Which was ridiculous considering how thoroughly he'd unraveled me hours ago. Twice. Yet here we were, having what felt like an actual conversation.
"I want to read the other chapters. Can you send me the file?"
"File?" I nearly choked. "What file?"
"You don't write on a laptop or phone? Or do you just prefer the typewriter?"
"I...don't have any of those."
He froze momentarily before smiling and threading his fingers through mine. "We'll fix that."
***
I woke late the next morning, still pleasantly sore, with an unfamiliar lightness in my chest as a smile curled in my lips. He had stayed the night, holding me as he slept before he slipped away that morning after pressing a kiss on my forehead.
Sunlight streamed through the windows - it had to be near noon. When I rolled over, I found a sleek package on the pillow beside me with a handwritten note:
"Just because your words deserve backup. — S.B.A"
Heart pounding, I tore open the box to reveal a brand new MacBook Pro and iPhone. My breath caught.
"He didn't. He actually didn't." I whispered to myself in disbelief as I tore open the boxes, to see if they real. The sight made my heart leap for joy as I squealed hysterically, kicking my feet.
Soren had kissed me when I thanked him later that evening in the gym, just seconds before one of Regina's daughters walked in.
During his remaining days at the castle, I found myself clinging to him more desperately - making love, laughing, flirting, watching him train in the gym, even writing beside him as he worked. Every moment felt stolen and precious.
On his final morning, he woke at 5am in my room to prepare for his run. I insisted on joining him, needing every possible second before his departure that evening.
"You know I'm coming back, right?" he said, kneeling to tie my sneakers on a garden bench. The first hints of dawn colored the sky behind him.
"When?" The word came out sharper than I intended.
"Soon. You can text or call anytime. Or I'll call you first." He rose, towering over me. I could only nod. Evander had barely acknowledged me since the incident at the breakfast table, nor had his wives. I wondered if their silence was just temporary deference to Soren's presence.
As we began running, he adjusted his pace to match my sluggish movements. "If Evander tries anything, call me immediately, Catherine."
I stopped abruptly, my stomach churning. I'd felt nauseous since yesterday, blaming it on last night's new intimacy. "So you'll just keep visting and leaving?" The words escaped before I could stop them.
What was I saying? My marriage contract bound me to Evander until death unless he chose to release me. Even if I wanted Soren permanently, that could never be more than fantasy.
His expression softened as he tucked a loose strand behind my ear. "I'll come back and—"
I suddenly sprinted to a nearby tree, retching violently. He followed, rubbing gentle circles on my back. "We should head back," he said when I finished. The sun now peeked fully over the horizon, gilding the treetops.
"You should get checked too."
"I know." I wiped my mouth. "I'll summon the pack doctor. What were you saying?"
He took both my hands in his. "I was saying that I would—"
"Your Majesty!" A young guard sprinted toward us, gasping for breath. "Urgent word from Silvermane! The Queen demands your presence this morning."
My heart sank. Our time was being cut even shorter.
"Shit." Soren's jaw tightened. "Tell them I'll—"
"Her envoy already awaits. She insists it's critical."
Soren turned to me. "It's my mother."
"You should go." I forced the words through numb lips.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes. I'll call you. I promise."
His fingers lingered against mine as we reluctantly parted. "I love you, Catherine."
The declaration struck like a physical blow. Before I could respond, he was already striding away with the messenger. I collapsed onto the bench, hot tears spilling down my cheeks. No one had ever said those words to me before - and now they came from the one man I couldn't have and shouldn't love.
I kept my promise. We spoke daily for weeks - calls, texts, occasional video chats. Then two weeks later, when my nausea worsened, the pack doctor finally examined me.
After multiple tests, the woman beamed. "Congratulations, Your Grace. You're pregnant."
The world tilted. No. This couldn't be happening. Before I could process carrying Soren's child, the doctor continued giddily, "How wonderful for the Alpha! His youngest wife pregnant just as his adoptive son becomes engaged!"
"What?" My shout echoed off the walls.
"You hadn't heard? Soren Ashford is marrying Marie Beckham!" Her excited squeals drowned in the roaring of my pulse.
I was pregnant by my stepson. And he was marrying someone else.