Chapter 180
Chapter 180
Third Person’s POV
wailish LOVE
Finishe
Cassian stepped into her space, looming over her. “As your mate, I have a responsibility to look out for you. I’m telling you one last time–Isaiah is a loose cannon. He’s unstable and unpredictable. Keep your distance p>
Right on cue, Trista’s comm–stone flickered to life.
She glanced down at the screen, then looked up at Cassian, her voice as flat as a clinical report. “Alpha Isaiah might be a ‘loose cannon, but he’s also my patient. And more importantly, he’s the one currently paying my bills p>
With that, she turned her back on him to take the call.
Cassian stood frozen, forced to listen to her professional, poised voice as she coordinated a time and place to meet Isaiah. Every word felt like she was intentionally widening the canyon between them.
When she hung up, she grabbed her bag, ready to head out.
“Are you forgetting something?” Cassian’s voice was low, strained.
Trista stopped. She turned around, walked back to him, and stood on her tiptoes to press a feather–light kiss against the corner of his mouth.
It was a textbook move–standard, polite, and completely devoid of warmth. It was social etiquette, nothing more.
Cassian’s face darkened even further. “Trista, you didn’t change my bandages last night p>
Trista tapped her forehead as if she’d just realized she’d missed a minor chore.
She’d actually forgotten he was even injured.
The wounds were near his shoulder blade; every time his aura flared, the underlying muscle would pull tight, like tiny hooks raking through his flesh.
She set her bag down and led him into the bedroom without a word of apology or comfort.
She pulled the medical kit from the cabinet–antiseptics, dressings, and pain suppressants. She began unbuttoning his white shirt, her movements quick and clinical.
As the shirt fell away, the whip marks were exposed under the harsh light.
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Trista leaned in to work.
Cassian sat on the edge of the bed, his spine rigid, his face a mask of cold fury.
He didn’t say a word. He could feel her close to him–the scent of her, the heat of her–but the familiar pull of the bond was nowhere to be found.
Once the new dressing was secure, she draped his shirt back over his shoulders.
She smoothed the collar to make sure it wouldn’t chafe the wounds, but she didn’t bother with the buttons.
She just grabbed her bag and walked out. No backward glance. No “goodbye p>
Cassian remained on the edge of the bed, staring at his open shirt–an unfinished task left hanging.
He spent a few minutes meticulously packing the medical kit, lining up the bottles and jars in perfect order before clicking the latches shut. His movements were precise, a desperate attempt to regain some sense of order.
His comm–stone buzzed nearby.
It was his father, telling him to bring Trista to their villa for lunch.
Cassian agreed, hung up, and went to the dressing room to change.
He showed up there alone.
The old hardwood floors had been polished to a dark sheen over decades, the air thick with the scent of antique furniture and the cold, lingering aroma of the family territory.
Alaina looked up as he entered. “Cassian? Where’s Trista p>
“She had work,” he replied shortly. “She couldn’t get away p>
Wilmot had seen the footage from the press conference and, for once, offered a rare bit of praise. “She handled the room well. Sharp instincts. You can tell she’s seen the world p>
He set his glass down, his eyes boring into his son. “Let this be a lesson to you. From now on, learn how to prioritize p>
Cassian didn’t argue. He just nodded.
Howard spoke up next. “The Shadowfang pack is having a gathering in a couple of days. Their
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Chapter 180
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old Luna specifically asked for Trista last time, and she didn’t show. Don’t let them think you’re snubbing them again. Bring her p>
By 2:00 PM, Cassian left there.
He swung by the school to pick up Algernon.
The boy hopped into the car, clearly used to these “impromptu” pick–ups.
When he finally got back home that evening, Trista still wasn’t home.
The house felt cavernous.
Usually, someone was always there waiting for him, but tonight, even the lights felt like they were missing a focal point.
Frustrated, Cassian grabbed a bottle of scotch and went upstairs to pound on Fred’s door.
Fred was sprawled on his sofa, looking lazy as usual. He took one look at Cassian’s face and smirked. “Relax, man. You’ve got her cornered with that agreement. She isn’t going anywhere p>
“She’s my mate,” Cassian grumbled, his voice thick with unease. “She didn’t get home until the middle of the night yesterday. I’m worried about her p>
Fred let out a sharp bark of a laugh. “Worried? I didn’t see you worrying about her when she was falling apart over you and your little ‘side family p>
Cassian went silent.
He knew he owed her for the mess with Samantha and Algernon.
He’d brought her back to make amends, to stitch the bond back together.
But Trista wasn’t giving him an opening. She’d retracted her trust, leaving him with nothing but politeness and a title.
Seeing his silence, Fred twisted the knife. “Stop using your ‘bad judgment‘ as a shield, Cassian p>
Cassian handed him a glass, shooting him a warning look.
Just then, his comm–stone buzzed again.
Cassian cut the connection immediately.
Fred sat up, his tone turning biting. “Hanging up on her? Aren’t you afraid she’ll have another ‘episode p>
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Cassian frowned. “It was Samantha. Algernon lost his backpack; she was just asking about it p>
Fred shot back instantly, “And what the hell does a kid losing his backpack have to do with you?” Cassian rubbed his temples. “I was the one who picked him up. I told her I’d handle it p>
Fred stared at him for a long ten seconds before giving him a slow, mocking thumbs–up. “The great Alpha of Ironthorn. You don’t have time for your parents, you don’t have time for your mate… but you’re a hell of a chauffeur for your mistress. Truly impressive, Cassian. Truly impressive p>
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Ruby Walker
Ruby Walker is a rising voice in the world of romance and spicy fiction. With a gift for weaving deep emotions, sizzling chemistry, and unexpected twists, her stories are a blend of passion and drama that captivate readers from start to finish. Ruby’s writing style is bold and irresistible—perfect for those who crave intense, addictive love stories.