Chapter 3 — The Breaking Point

POV: Selene

"Did I hear that's right?" Amelia asked, her big eyes looking between Kieran and Jessica.

My motherly instincts kicked in immediately. Despite everything Kieran had just said, despite the absolute shattering of my own heart, I couldn't let my daughter witness our family falling apart. I couldn't let her carry that trauma.

I quickly stepped forward, wiping my eyes and forcing a painful, trembling smile. "Amelia, baby, listen to me. Mommy is back. Don't worry about what they are saying, we can just..."

But Amelia completely ignored my outstretched hands. She brushed right past me as if I were invisible and ran straight toward the couch, her face lighting up with pure, uncontained joy.

"Dad, are you actually taking Mum Jessica as your mate?!" She squealed excitedly, grabbing Kieran's hand.

The words hit me like a blow to the chest.

Mum Jessica.

My lungs completely stopped working. I stood frozen in the center of the lavish living room, the world spinning out of control.

"Yes, princess, I am," Kieran smiled. He picked Amelia up, spinning her around before setting her down right next to Jessica on the leather cushions. "We are going to make it official in a few days."

Jessica leaned down and kissed Amelia’s cheek. "I promised I would always be here for you, didn't I, sweetheart?"

"I knew it! I can't wait to start planning the wedding." Amelia cheered, hugging Jessica tightly around the waist.

"Amelia," I whispered, my voice cracking so badly it barely sounded human. I took a shaky step toward them. "Amelia, look at me. It's me. Mum."

Amelia finally stopped hugging Jessica. She turned around and looked at me. There was no warmth in her eyes, no tears of relief that her mother had woken up from a coma. She looked at me with the exact same cold, annoyed expression Kieran always wore.

"Why are you suddenly back?" She asked, her small voice dripping with genuine frustration. "You were gone for a long time. Mum Jessica takes care of me now. She plays with me and takes me to the park. You never played with me. You were always just sad and crying in your room."

The knife twisted so deep inside my chest I thought I was going to bleed out right on the floor.

I looked at Kieran, begging him silently to correct her. To tell our daughter that I didn't play because I was high-risk and bedridden trying to protect the brother she just lost. To defend me just this once.

But Kieran just smirked, wrapping his arm securely around Jessica’s waist. He looked completely satisfied.

I had lost everything. My son was dead. My husband belonged to my sister. And now, my own daughter had been fully turned against me. The family I spent six years sacrificing my own happiness to save was completely gone.

This couldn't be happening, it just couldn't.

I turned on my heel and ran out of the living room.

I kept running, out the front doors, down steps, and straight to where Nora’s car was still idling in the driveway. I opened the passenger door and slid inside.

Nora was taking a smoke but quickly put it aside when she saw me, staring at my pale, dead expression.

"Drive," I whispered, staring blankly out the windshield. "Just drive, Nora. Get me out of here."

***

We ended up at The Red Room, a high-end, exclusive pack club downtown.

The music was deafening, the heavy bass vibrating through the floorboards. Flashing neon lights cut through the dark, smoky room packed with grinding bodies and the heavy scents of aroused wolves. Normally, the sheer noise and chaotic energy would have sent me running for the door. I was the quiet, proper First Wife of the Draven pack.

But I wasn't that woman anymore. That woman died on Kieran's living room floor.

I sat at the bar, knocking back my fourth shot of silver tequila. The alcohol burned a fiery path down my throat, but it still wasn't enough to numb the agonizing ache in my chest.

"Selene, maybe you should slow down," Nora warned gently, resting her hand on my arm.

"You literally just woke up from a coma today. Your body can't handle this."

"My body is fine," I slurred slightly, slamming the small glass down on the counter and signaling the bartender for another. "My body is useless. It couldn't hold onto my son. It couldn't hold onto my husband. So what does it matter?"

"Don't say that. Kieran is a piece of trash. He doesn't deserve you."

"Nobody wants me, Nora," I laughed bitterly, the tequila fully invading my bloodstream, making the edges of my vision blur and warp. "Kieran said it himself. I'm pathetic."

I grabbed my fifth shot. The room began to spin in a slow, nauseating circle. The flashing strobe lights were playing tricks on my eyes.

I suddenly felt eyes on me and through the heavy haze, looked up toward the raised VIP section overlooking the bar.

I blinked hard, trying to focus. Sitting in the shadows of a leather booth and staring down at me were three men.

Caius, Ronan, and Killian Ashbourne.

Kieran’s absolute best friends. The men who had treated me like a ghost for six years. My alcohol-soaked brain struggled to process it. 

Why were they looking at me? Usually, they looked right through me. But now, their golden Alpha eyes seemed to glow brightly in the dim lighting, tracking my every movement with a dark, heavy intensity.

I must be hallucinating, I finally thought, rubbing my eyes. The tequila is really making me see things.

Before I could look away, a slurred voice breathed right against my ear.

"Hey there, gorgeous."

I gasped, recoiling as a large, drunken rogue wolf pressed himself roughly against my back. He smelled like cheap beer and sweat. His dirty hand reached out, grabbing my waist tightly.

"Get off me!" I snapped, trying to push him away, but my limbs felt like jelly.

"Come on, don't be a bitch," he growled, his grip tightening painfully.

Nora opened her mouth to scream, but the world suddenly exploded into a frantic blur.

It happened too fast for my drunken brain to comprehend. One second the rogue was holding me, and the next, there was a sickening crack. The rogue shrieked, flying backward into a glass table.

I stumbled back, my vision spinning violently.

Through the dizzying strobe lights, I thought I saw Killian Ashbourne’s face, his ice-blue eyes burning with unhinged murder. Then, the floor dropped out from under me.

Before I hit the ground, a strong, muscular arm wrapped tightly around my waist, pulling me against a scorching hot chest. The heavy scent of rain and cedar flooded my lungs.

"Got you," a deep voice murmured. It sounded like Ronan. But that was impossible. Ronan hated me. He was the one who despised me most out of the three.

Another figure stepped in front of me, his silver eyes locking onto mine. Caius. He took the tequila glass out of my trembling hand. 

"You've had enough, Selene. We're taking you out of here."

None of it made sense. My mind was completely shattered. The alcohol finally overwhelmed my system, dragging me down into a heavy, suffocating darkness before I could take another breath.

***

When I finally opened my eyes again, the headache was splitting.

I groaned, rolling over on my side. The sheets beneath me weren't the cheap cotton of the hospital. They were thick, cool, and expensive.

I forced my heavy eyelids open, squinting against the bright morning sunlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I was in a massive, luxurious hotel room.

Panic spiked in my chest and I sat up quickly, clutching my pounding head.

I looked down. My hospital clothes were gone, instead, I was wearing a massive white button-down men's dress shirt. The faint smell of cedar and rain clung to the fabric.

I squeezed my eyes shut, letting out a harsh, self-deprecating laugh.

"God, you're pathetic, Selene."

Nora must have rented this room, stripped off my vomit-smelling club clothes, and found one of the hotel's complimentary robes or a leftover shirt.

I couldn't even take care of myself.

But my mind kept flashing back to the club. The violent crack of the rogue's wrist. The heavy arms catching me. Caius’s silver eyes.

I shook my head violently, burying my face in my hands. It was just a fever dream. A desperate, tequila-fueled hallucination cooked up by a broken woman who just wanted someone, anyone, to protect her. The Ashbourne triplets despised me. They wouldn't touch me if I were on fire.