<b>Chapter </b><b>110 </b>
Reba’s POV
The sound of the front door closing echoed through the suddenly empty vi. I stood frozen in the kitchen, an ufortable feeling settling in my stomach. Something was wrong. I could feel it in the way Dominic’s posture had changed when he’d checked his phone, in the tightness around his eyes despite his casual tone.
The perfect morning bubble we’d been in had burst, reality intruding with those text messages.
A wave of emotion crashed over me without warning. I grabbed the frying pan from the sink and hurled it into the water, causing a ssh that soaked the front of my–his–shirt. Hot tears sprang to my eyes as I gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white.
What was I doing? ying house with a werewolf Alpha when I was nothing but a human girl who’d stumbled into his world? The domesticity of this morning felt like a cruel joke in light of everything–the contract, Elizabeth, the constant reminders that I didn’t belong in his world.
Through the window, I watched his sleek ck Maybach pull away from the vi. His expression through the tinted window had been grim, focused. Something was happening, something connected to that confrontation with Elizabeth at Golden Sands Bay.
And here I was, the humanplication in his life, probably making everything worse.
The realization hit me with stunning rity: I was in love with Dominic Sterling. Completely, hopelessly in love with him. When had that happened? How had I let myself fall so fast after William’s betrayal?
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I muttered, wiping angrily at the tears on my cheeks.
I couldn’t stay here, couldn’t keep pretending this was normal or sustainable. I needed air, space to think away from his overwhelming presence and the scent of him that permeated every inch of this ce.
Moving quickly, I returned to the bedroom and changed into my own clothes–jeans and a simple top,fortable shoes. I grabbed my purse, phone, and keys, then headed for the door without a backward nce.
Outside, the morning sun was bright, the air already warm with the promise of a hot day, I had no destination in mind, just the desperate need to be somewhere, anywhere else. Checking my phone, I found the nearest bus stop and started walking.
How had I ended up here? Five months ago, I was nning my wedding to William, blissfully unaware of werewolves and pack politics. Now I was hiding from my feelings for another werewolf, one far more powerful and dangerous than William had ever been.
“From one wolf right to another,” I muttered under my breath, earning a curious nce from an elderly woman across the aisle. “Real smart, Reba.”
…
<b>42 </b>
The bus arrived just as I reached the stop. I boarded without checking the route, not caring where it was headed as long as it was away from the vi and the confusing emotions it represented. Finding an empty seat near the back, I sank down, staring unseeingly out the window as the bus pulled away.
My mind kept circling back to Dominic–his face when he’d kissed me goodbye, the worry in his eyes that he’d tried to hide, the way his body had tensed when he checked his messages.
Something was happening in his world<i>, </i>something he hadn’t wanted to share with me. And why would he? I was just his temporary humanpanion, a distraction until his real responsibilities called.
The bus continued its route through the city, stopping asionally to let passengers on and off. I remained in my seat, letting the monotonous movement lull me into a detached state. When we reached what appeared to be the campus of City Arts Academy, I decided to get off<b>, </b>drawn by the sight of colorful tents and disys set up across the
Some kind of festival or event was underway, with students and faculty manning booths showcasing various art forms. The creative energy was palpable, a wee distraction from my troubled thoughts. I wandered among the disys, admiring paintings, sculptures, and mixed media pieces.
A pottery demonstration caught my eye–a young woman was shaping y on a wheel, her hands steady and sure as the formless lump transformed into a delicate vase. I stopped to watch, fascinated by the process.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice said beside me.
I turned to find a man in histe twenties observing the demonstration with appreciative eyes. He was dressed casually in jeans and a button–down shirt with rolled sleeves, revealing forearms spattered with dried y. His sandy hair was slightly disheveled, as if he’d been running his hands through it.
“The transformation,” he continued when I didn’t immediately respond. “From nothing to something meaningful. It’s why I love teaching ceramics.”
“Professor Lane?” I asked, suddenly recognizing him as the professor I’d spilled water on during my first day.
He nodded, offering a friendly smile. “And you’re in my design fundamentals ss. Reba, right?”
I was surprised he remembered. ‘Yes. I didn’t know you taught ceramics too.”
“Jack of all trades, master of a few,‘ he said with a self–deprecating shrug. “Today’s our department showcase. We’re trying to recruit more students for the summer sessions.”
I nodded, watching as the student finished her demonstration to polite apuse from the small gathered crowd.
Professor Lane–Adrian–studied me for a moment, his head tilted slightly. You look like you could use a distraction,‘ he observed, “Want to try your hand at the wheel? It’s surprisingly therapeutic.”
20:38 Wed, Sep <b>24 </b>
I hesitated, caught off guard by the offer. My first instinct was to decline, to continue my aimless wandering, but something in his expression–open, guileless–made me reconsider. Maybe I did need a distraction, something to upy my hands and mind.
“I’ve never done anything like this before,” I admitted.
<b>42 </b>
He smiled. “Perfect. Beginners often create the most interesting pieces because they’re not bound by technique. They just feel their way through.”
The thought of creating something, of channeling my confused emotions into a physical form, was suddenly appealing. I nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll try.”
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