I sigh, too tired to deal with my mom’s paranoia. “Look, just go back upstairs. I’ll handle dinner.”

“No, you’re tired,” she says, already shifting toward the fridge, ready to pull out the things we need for dinner.

I catch her by the shoulder. “I’m serious, mamá. Please go upstairs. Where are Lia and Elvira?” I glance out through the kitchen doorway. They should’ve been back from school by now.

“They’re upstairs. I’ll check on them,” she says grudgingly. Then leans in, lowering her voice. “Be vigilant. Don’t let yourself be kicked out, Cici.”

“Hm.” I force a tight smile, exhausted with it all. “Just make sure they’re up there.”

She nods, eyes darting around the room like she expects danger to jump out of the walls, then finally leaves.

My shoulders sag in relief. I press my fingers to my temple, feeling frayed down to the bone. Where the hell did she even get that idea? Usually her fears were about devils, demons, unseen things stalking us in the dark. Dante cheating? That’s ridiculous.

Still, I look out the window.

Dante wasn’t there.

Maybe he’s gone back to the shop. He usually comes home late anyway, it is a miracle he was here before me at all.

I step back outside and find the boot still open, the wedding supplies sitting exactly where I left them.

I sigh and start hauling them out myself. He’d said he’d help. Gave me that look like he meant it. Then vanished.

I should’ve known better. Lately, he hasn't been fully present. He’ll offer to do things, promise he would handle something, and I’d come back to find it untouched. I know we are both exhausted, long hours, constant pressure, but it still stings to feel like I am carrying this wedding alone.

“Cici.”

Elvira is standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. No help offered. Just that judgy look on her face.

She is seventeen now. Lia is sixteen. Both of them have developed opinions sharper than knives, and I don't have the time, or energy, to smooth them out.

“A little help would be nice,” I grunt, dragging another load inside.

Elvira’s eyes moves over the bags, counting them with a sneer on her lips. “Why do you even bother buying these things when you know you’re never marrying Dante Accadi?”

I shove past her and drop the bags on the dining table before heading back out for more.

“It’s ridiculous, Cici,” she continues, like a broken radio stuck on the same damn station. “This is the tenth time already. They’re going to cancel it again. That’s what that meeting tonight was about.”

“No, it wasn’t,” I snap, shooting her a glare. “Dante said it wasn’t, so it wasn’t.” I exhale slowly. “I can’t keep wasting my life guessing. I’ll wait until someone looks me in the eye and actually says they don’t want us married.”

“No,” Elvira says, following me inside and slamming the door shut behind her, “you want them to scream it into your thick skull.”

“Elvira!” Lia shouts from the stairs. “Stop pouring gasoline on the fire, will you?”

My sisters took after our mom, small, slim-boned, but Lia, like me, leaned towards the curvy side. And she is the sweetest sister I have. Always has been. She took a bag from my hands and set it with the others.

“We don’t know what’s going on,” she says calmly. “And Dante promised nothing would stop the wedding. He loves Cici just as much as she loves him.”

“Thank you,” I say, lifting a hand in gratitude.

She steps closer and wraps me in a warm hug.

“Don’t worry,” I told her quietly, breathing in the faint floral scent clinging to her clothes. Perfume. My brow creased. Where had she gotten money for perfume? The question itched at me, but not tonight. “This will be our pack someday too.”

We pull apart. “This time,” I say, turning back to Elvira, “the wedding is only four days away. I don’t think they’ll call it off now.”

“Where is dinner!” Celeste screeches from her bedroom.

“Okay, let’s get dinner ready. You’ll help me, right, Lia?” I say as I move toward the kitchen. She follows without hesitation. Elvira rolls her eyes and heads back up the stairs.

By the time Lia and I finish cooking, Dante still isn't back. I try not to dwell on it, especially after my mom planted that thought in my head, and set the table for Celeste and Andre, Dante’s parents, then climb the stairs to shower.

I am afraid I’ll fall asleep in the bath, so once again I skip the soak and settle for a quick shower.

The water comes out lukewarm. They used up all the hot water again. I don’t care. I wash up fast, nearly dozing off on my feet, then step out and wrap a towel around myself.

The room is empty.

It is a small bedroom near the attic, the one my mom and sisters share. The whole house is cramped, his parents have the master bedroom downstairs, Dante and I share the one upstairs. There is nowhere for him to hide. Just a bed, no wardrobe, only a peeling white dresser. The doorway is narrow enough that Dante always has to duck when he comes in.

“Where is he?” I mutter, drying water from my ear as I glance at the clock.

Almost eleven.

What? He has never been this late before.

He is cheating.

My mom’s words flashed like burning letters in the air. Damn her for giving me something new to worry about.

Cheating is the one thing I will not tolerate. I have endured his parents’ hatred, their constant disrespect, even though I bring in half the money for this house and do most of the chores, but cheating? That is the line.

And Dante knows it. We talked about it early on. Agreed on it without hesitation. No cheating. Ever.

I finish drying off, slip into a nightdress, and climb onto the bed, hoping the door would open and Dante would walk in, bringing the night air with him.

No luck.

I grab one of the books I’d been reading, the promise, and settle against the headboard. We don't have a phone. I won’t even know how to use one. I have only seen them in passing. If we have one, I will check on him.

Maybe another alpha attacked him. Maybe he is injured somewhere right now. This isn't like him.

I can’t focus on the page, too tired to stay awake and worry. Not long after my back hit the mattress, I drift off.

Only to startle awake at three in the morning. Dante is in bed beside me, his face turned away.

I almost reach out to wake him, demand where he was, but I have to be up in an hour and my body still feels wrecked. I let sleep take me again.

When I wake at four thirty, Dante is gone. His side of the bed was cold.

I groan, sit up and stare at the clock for several seconds. Did I imagine him coming back? Did he even come home at all?

That is worse. I need to find Salvatore. Check if Dante has gone to the shop. See if something happened.

I grab some clothes in a rush, pull them on backwards, and hurry out of the room.

The house is still dark. I nearly trip on the stairs as I fly down them, cross the floor, and shove the front door open, screen and all.

Someone is smoking on the porch.

I nearly scream.

But no one else has that tall, broad frame except Dante. He looks menacing in the dark like that.

“What are you doing out here?” I gasp, my heart racing one step out of my chest.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, flicking the cigarette away after blowing it out. I thought he’d quit smoking. “Is it four already?” he asks.

“Four thirty. God.” I step closer. “I was about to wake Salvatore looking for you.”

“Don’t do that,” he says gruffly, his voice oddly deeper. The smoke maybe. Or something else. “He and I aren’t close like that.”

“He’s your best friend,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“My best friend who has the hots for you,” he adds.

I laugh despite myself. “You’re ridiculous. Salvatore’s still mourning his mate. He doesn’t have the heart for anyone else.”

“Yeah,” he relents. “Are you getting ready for work already?” He drapes an arm over my shoulders and pulls me into his side. “You look exhausted. You should sleep some more.”

“Sleep, and where would we get the money for the wedding?” I feel his body stiffen. “I’ll sleep the second we’re married.”

“Cici,” he says, then goes quiet.

“What?” I frown up at his shadowed face.

“The wedding,” he continues slowly. “If it’s becoming too much… maybe we should postpone it.”

My heart nearly drops straight out of my chest. “What?” I shrug out of his hold.

“It was just a suggestion,” he says, lifting his hands in surrender.

But it isn't a suggestion he has ever made before. Not once in all ten times we’d planned this wedding has Dante been the one to call it off.

The shock hits me so hard I forget how to breathe.

“Why would you say that?” I ask. “You know how important this is to me, to my family.”

“Yes, I know.” He takes my hand. “But, Cici, I would hate to marry you with your own money.”

“You didn’t hate it before,” I snap, yanking my hand free. “What changed?”

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “I just want us to start this at the right time.”

“No.” I shake my head, so confused I almost can’t speak. “What do you mean start this? What are you keeping from me? Yesterday everyone gathered in front of the house because of something. What was it?”

I grab the front of his shirt, forcing him to look at me, like I could dig the truth out of his eyes.

“Is there another woman?” I blurt out.

I wait for denial.

But Dante looks away. He doesn't say a word.

He can be stubborn like that, once he decides something, no amount of pleading can move him.

“There is another woman,” I nearly raised my voice despite trying everything to control it. I force it back down. If Celeste and Andre come outside now, they’ll turn this into a spectacle, and I wouldn't survive that. “Isn’t there?”

“It’s…” Dante hesitates. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh God.” I turn away, but he catches my shoulder and spins me back around.

“It’s not like that,” he says firmly, stepping closer.

“Then what is it?”

He exhales hard, drags a hand through his hair, and steps back. “I thought it would never happen. They always said it would, that I’d eventually meet them, but I didn’t know it would…”

“What happened?” I feel this strange, cold air circling my heart and almost can't breathe, like my body already knows before my mind does.

“I met her,” he says quietly. “Luciana.”

“So there is another woman.” The words leave my mouth without weight, like I haven't caught up to them yet.

“Not another woman,” he corrects. “Just… the woman.” He finally meets my eyes. “My mate, Cici. My fated mate. Her name is Luciana.”

And suddenly, everything makes sense:

Why we failed ten times. Why his parents kept canceling. Why the wedding was always just out of reach.

They knew. I was just a temporary situation.