Majori's POV:
"Don't bother trying to sound noble."
Vincent suddenly gripped my chin and pulled me toward him, forcing me to look straight into his eyes. I frowned to show how uncomfortable I was but Vincent ignored the expression entirely.
"You're a guest. Someone from my household laid a hand on you of course I'll deal with it. I'm giving you a privilege here. If you want something, anything, I'll back you."
His tone was mocking, almost amused. The fragile warmth from earlier was gone, shattered. I knew he was provoking me, testing me, pulling me into his orbit in the cruelest way possible.
I yanked my chin out of his hand.
"I don't want anything. I want to rest."
Vincent let out a short, cold laugh.
And for the rest of the drive back to the estate, the car fell into suffocating silence.
Dane had taken me frighteningly far. It took nearly thirty minutes to get back, perhaps even longer because of the weather.
When we finally arrived, I hadn't even reached for the door handle before someone outside pulled it open. Vincent was standing there, shielding me from the blizzard and the merciless wind.
"You planning to walk on that swollen ankle?" he said with a mocking lilt.
The word "ankle" jolted my memory my twisted foot. I hadn't felt pain; I'd completely forgotten. Only when I looked down did I see how red and swollen it had become.
But before I could even register the shock, an arm slid behind my back, another beneath my knees and I was lifted effortlessly into the air.
"Vincent…" I gasped.
He carried me inside, down the lit hallways of the manor, holding me as if letting go even for a second would make me vanish.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, feeling his strong heartbeat beneath the cold fabric.
At that moment, I didn't know whether to feel safe… or ashamed.
Because when Vincent held me tighter, I understood no matter what he said, no matter how cold he acted, as long as I was breathing, he would protect me.
Even from those he once trusted.
And in that fleeting instant, as he carried me into the golden-lit grand hall with the snowstorm raging behind us, I realized something with terrible clarity:
The storm wasn't over.
It had just begun.
…
Dane's POV:
I paced beside the silver car, my high heels striking the frozen ground with sharp, ticking beats like a countdown.
Above me, snow fell steadily, meticulously, cold to the bone.
The headlights cast a pale glow over my reflection in the window washed-out, exhausted, warped beneath the light.
Every time I stopped, the same question clawed at me:
Would Vincent believe it?
That Majori ran away.
That she was still the same weak, unreliable, a traitor.
I had written this script in my head hundreds of times, every detail refined to a sickening perfection:
Majori vanishes in the night.
Vincent loses his mind.
The entire Silverfang pack panics and scatters to search.
And I, the gentle, loyal woman would be by his side, soothing him, calming him, healing his anger.
I imagined him looking at me, eyes still red from rage but softening when he saw me.
I imagined him exhaling and saying,
"Thank you, Dane."
Just that.
Just one sentence would have been enough to keep me alive.
But reality...
"Miss! Miss Dane!"
Vichy's voice cut through the wind, shaky and frantic. She ran toward me, snow plastered across her hair and clothes.
I spun around, dread tightening in my chest like a fist.
"What is it?"
"It's… it's bad." She gasped for breath, words tumbling out in panic. "Miss Majori… something happened to her. A pack of rogue wolves attacked… but Master Vincent, he got there in time!"
The words hit me like a hammer.
I froze, lips parting soundlessly.
"He… went there?" I whispered, my voice trembling. I didn't believe it. I couldn't.
"Yes. A message came from the royal patrol. They said he saved her. He's bringing her back right now."
I staggered backward, nearly slipping on the ice. My fingernails scraped the paint of the car as I tried to steady myself.
A different kind of cold crept into my heart not the cold of snow, but the cold of collapse.
No.
No, this couldn't be happening.
I only wanted Vincent to be angry.
I never intended for her to die!
I wasn't insane enough to kill Majori.
She was his scar, a place I could never replace, no matter how much I tried.
If she died, Vincent would hate me.
If she was hurt, he would ache.
If she fell, he would carry her.
I knew that.
And yet I was the fool who touched the wound.
"Miss, are you all right?" Vichy whispered when she saw my face drain of color.
I swallowed hard, trying to breathe, but my chest felt crushed.
"Does he… does he know? Does he know that I…"
"No. Not yet. But, Miss, you have to return. If you run now, Master Vincent will only grow more suspicious. At least if you admit your mistake…"
I cut her off with a broken laugh.
A laugh that sounded like crying.
"Admit it? You think he'll listen to me?"
I tilted my head back, staring at the sky smothered in snow.
"You've never seen him truly angry, Vichy. I have… on the day he fought with Majori. That look…"
I stopped, pressing a shaking hand over my chest.
"I still see it in my dreams. Whenever he's silent, that look comes back to me. He doesn't need to shout. He doesn't need to hit. He just has to look and I'm terrified."
Vichy lowered her head, silent.
I exhaled shakily, my vision blurring.
"I can't go back. Not now."
"But if you run, miss, he'll…"
"He'll think I'm a victim too," I said, soft but firm, almost murmuring to myself.
"Ryder will look for me. He always does. He'll believe I'm innocent… and he'll tell Vincent so. When I return, I'll be weak, hurt, pitiful and Vincent won't be able to punish me."
Vichy opened her mouth, but I lifted a hand to silence her.
My gaze drifted to the snowy road glowing under the lantern light. My reflection stared back at me smudged, desperate, still beautiful.
A face that knew it was falling but refused to stop.
"Tell the driver to start the car. We're going to the Southridge hotel.
I need… to disappear."
"M-Miss, please…"
"Do it." My voice cracked through the wind. "If you're loyal to me, then do it."
Vichy bit her lip hard and bowed.
"…Yes, miss."
The engine roared to life, warm, unfamiliar.
I opened the rear door and climbed in. Cold air rushed past me, tugging at my tangled hair.
In the rearview mirror, my face was ghostly pale, my eyes hollow like someone already lost.
Majori had been saved.
Vincent had gone to her.
And I… was running from the very sin I created.
But as the car began to move, I heard a whisper in my mind—cold as a blade:
It's all right, Dane.
When they find you, you'll be the injured one.
The betrayed one.
The pitiful one.
I leaned my head against the window, closing my eyes.
Outside, the snow kept falling so blindingly white that no one could tell what was real and what was a lie.
And I knew, from tonight onward, I was no longer the puppeteer of this play. I was the puppet strangled by my own strings.
The car sped down the snow-covered road, silent and tense like my own breath. The wind howled, battering the doors with icy fists. The headlights carved narrow paths through the storm, scattering white shadows across the windshield. Everything was too quiet, unnaturally, suffocatingly quiet.
I sat stiff in the backseat, hands locked together until my knuckles turned white. Each time the wheels hit a patch of uneven ice, my heart lurched as if someone were yanking it out of my chest.
I felt watched.
As if each snowflake falling outside carried Vincent's unseen gaze.
Vichy sat beside me, her face pale, clutching her bag tightly.
She stared out the window and whispered, voice trembling,
"Miss… we're almost past the patrol zone. Once we reach the outskirts, everything will be fine. No one knows we're here."