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Louis's POV
My life couldn't have become more complicated — but maybe that was for the best. For both of us. For Charles and me.
Charles had always been at the center of my world. Since the day I met him at the orphanage. He was four. I was seven. I still remember how loud the place was — children laughing, crying, running barefoot across cold tiles — and yet, somehow, I only saw him.
He was sitting alone, playing with this broken wooden toy, humming to himself like the world didn't exist. And something in me… shifted. I didn't understand it then, but I felt it. Like a string had tied itself between us.
My parents and I had gone there for donations, as all rich families do when they want to feel charitable for an afternoon. I was supposed to smile politely, hand over the gifts, and leave. But I couldn't.
I remember crawling on the floor, tugging at my mother's skirt, begging her to let Charles come home with us. She looked at me like I'd lost my mind. But then she saw him — really saw him — and she smiled. For once, they actually agreed.
That was the day everything started. The day I thought I'd found something pure — someone I could protect.
Maybe… maybe I was wrong.
I found myself addicted to his presence. Charles. He was supposed to be just a child — innocent, wild, untamed — but he became something else entirely. An enigma. The kind you can't solve, only orbit.
He laughed too loudly, dreamed too boldly, lived too freely. And the rest of the family — the Hartsfords — never let him forget he didn't belong. They whispered it behind porcelain smiles, compared his rough edges to my clean lines. But I was always there. Always standing between him and their eyes, shielding him from the quiet cruelty that came wrapped in politeness.
I didn't want anyone to prey on him. Not them. Not the world.
But the worst part? It was me.
It was always me.
Every time our parents compared us — their perfect son and their charity case — I saw it in his eyes. That hurt. That silent question of why am I never enough? And I hated it. Hated that I was the reason his shoulders slumped, the reason his laughter dimmed.
I wanted him to be free. I wanted him to be happy.
I wanted… too much.
And maybe that's where everything went wrong.
Maybe that's why I remember that day so vividly.
One of the rare afternoons when things between us still felt simple.
"Louis," Charles had said, his voice breaking my focus from the book I was pretending to read. "Do you remember that girl, Cynthia—the one I was dating a while back?"
I looked up, already sensing trouble. "Yeah. What about her?"
"She cheated on me," he said bluntly, "with that guy—Blimley."
"It's Brian," I corrected automatically.
He frowned. "Right. Brian. That guy. Your classmate."
I closed my book with a sigh. "He's also our cousin."
Charles made a face. "Yeah, I know. His mom's awful. She told me I was adopted before I even knew what the word meant."
That stung—more than I wanted to admit.
I'd forgotten how casually he could drop words that cut deep, even when he didn't mean to.
"Even if Aunt is unpleasant," I said, trying to sound steady, "you shouldn't treat her son badly."
Charles crossed his arms. "But her son stole my girlfriend."
I almost laughed. "You're fourteen. You shouldn't even be having girlfriends."
He rolled his eyes. "Why are you always babying me?"
"Because I care."
And it was true. I cared too much.
He was chaos and I was control—two halves of a life that never fit right.
Charles's tone softened. "I know. It's good that you care."
I looked at him, saw that fragile spark of trust in his eyes.
"I just don't want you getting into any trouble or mess," I told him quietly. "That's why I try to protect and guide you."
He smiled, mischievous again. "I understand. And when you become successful, I'll be sure to freeload off you."
I remember laughing.
Back then, it was easier to believe that our bond could survive anything.
If only I'd known what was coming.
My feelings for Charles became… blurry.
I didn't know if I loved him as a brother or something else entirely. Every day, the bond between us deepened, tangled into something I couldn't name. The way he looked at me — it wasn't innocent. It mirrored the same confusion twisting in me.
But I was scared.
Scared of what our family would say.
Scared of what I had become.
Maybe that's why I gave him both red and green lights — pulling him close, then pushing him away. I didn't want to be judged by the world, but at some point… I stopped caring.
We crossed the line. Stolen kisses. Quiet moments. Fingers brushing where they shouldn't. For a while, it felt like the only thing that made sense in my life was him — Charles.
Then he turned eighteen. I was twenty-one. The heir of the Vale family — young, successful, and already drowning in expectations. The comparisons never stopped. Brian and his mother, the rest of the family — always whispering, always trying to remind Charles of his place. Their cruelty was poison, and I could never protect him enough.
I loved him. I still loved him.
And I knew he loved me back — in his own reckless, unfiltered way.
But fate had its own cruel sense of humor. When he came of age, I realized something that shattered me — Charles was my fated mate. An alpha, like me. In a family where alpha–alpha bonds were unthinkable.
My parents had my whole life planned out — marriage to an omega, an heir, a future worthy of the Veil name. Even my grandfather — that cold, rigid man — would appear just to remind us how we didn't measure up.
I'll never forget the day he humiliated Charles.
He made him scrub the floors, lift heavy boxes until his hands bled. And when Charles faltered, he struck him with a whip — right there, in front of everyone. In front of me.
Brian laughed. His mother watched. I stood there, frozen, my chest burning with shame.
Charles didn't cry. He never did. He just looked up at me — that look — as if to ask why I didn't stop it.
Maybe that was the moment I knew how broken I'd become.
I could say Charles' coming-of-age ceremony was both the best and worst day of my life.
The best—because it was the day I found my fated mate. Mine. The one meant for me and me alone.
But it was also the worst—because I knew I couldn't be with him. Not when my family despised him so deeply.
Except for my parents and me, no one wanted Charles to be there. Still, to maintain appearances, they held the ceremony anyway. After all, he was already part of our family… even if no one wished to admit it.
The hall was decorated in his favorite colors—black and red. Black, because it was his armor. Red, because it reminded him of vampires. He'd once told me he admired them: powerful, immortal, untamed. He said he wanted to be like me. I always thought that was cute.
When he entered the hall, dressed in black and adorned with silver jewelry, he owned the room. His eyes weren't pure—they were full of mischief, daring anyone to challenge him. Especially me.
I couldn't stop staring. The moment our gazes met, something inside me shifted. I felt a pull—an electric, undeniable current—that told me this was it. He was my mate. My other half.
But I couldn't show it. Not with Grandfather watching, his gaze sharp enough to slice through any illusion of innocence. I could almost feel his hatred burn holes into Charles' skin.
So I walked away. Pretending I didn't feel anything. Pretending I didn't hear my heart screaming his name.
He looked hurt—I knew he was—but I had to protect him. Even if it meant breaking both our hearts.