ISAAC #4
“I do understand, Cassie. But what he and I did, it’s different.”
“Different. From where I stand, Isa—Isaac,” she stumbles over my name, “they’re exactly the same. Two men. Best friends, even, who decided that making a decision for me was better than trusting me to make my own.”
She wipes her eyes, and it fucking hurts to see them harden.
I should be grateful she’s no longer crying.
I’m not.
“In your own way, you’ve hurt me worse than he did. Because at least Evander didn’t know me. Not me, anyway. He heard the rumours and just acted.”
She steps away from me, and that hurts more than the tears.
“But you… you worked to get me to trust you, and yet, the entire time, you’ve been playing me for a fool,” she says. “You learnt exactly who I was and realised I’d never be good enough to be yours.”
“Cassie—”
“You knew.” Her voice cracks. “You knew, and you still let me trust you.”
I take a step forward, reaching out for her. She steps back again.
“Please don’t,” I say quietly.
I don’t even know what I’m begging for.
Don’t cry.
Don’t look at me like that.
Don’t confirm every horrible thing I’ve spent months believing about myself.
Just… don’t do it.
“You were on the blanket,” she says, and I glance at it in her nest before I nod. “Did you get it for me?”
I shake my head, and she nods carefully.
“Are they all my scent matches?” she asks, and I grimace, biting the inside of my cheek. She sighs. “Don’t answer that. It’s not fair. Not to them. Not to me. Not even to you.”
She sighs, huddling in on herself. “You’ve seen the real me, Isaac, and you’ve determined I’m not good enough for you. You knew I had a… crush—”
“You did?” I ask eagerly.
The distressed omega sound she lets out fucking kills me, even as a beta.
If I were one of the alphas, I think I’d be crippled where I stand.
Her eyes fill again. “Don’t mock me, not now, Isaac. Not like this. You knew everything, and you let me believe I was safe with you.”
Every sentence feels like she’s signing my death warrant.
I want to talk more. To explain. To let her see my side.
How do I explain that every day I didn’t tell her felt like ripping pieces off myself?
How do I explain that I’ve wanted her from the beginning and wished I was brave enough to let it happen?
That I’ve wanted her every day since scenting her and have taken every single thing I could get just to be close?
How do I explain to the woman I love that wanting her was never the problem?
The problem was me.
“I don’t understand,” she whispers. “Why? Why would you do this?”
I’ve rehearsed a thousand answers for this question, but right now, none of them sound right.
None of them are good enough.
There isn’t a version of this story where I come out looking like anything other than what I am.
A coward.
Cassie’s done what she always does—made herself the villain. In her head, she’s decided that I don’t think she’s good enough for me.
That she hasn’t earned the right to be mine.
And yet, that’s the furthest thing from the truth.
“I thought it would make things harder for you if you had me to deal with as well,” I tell her.
It’s true, even if she doesn’t seem to believe it.
Her laugh is so desolate, so broken.
“You thought finding out one of my scent matches had been lying to me for months would somehow be easier?”
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
“I know.”
The softness in her voice destroys me. Her face crumples with heartbreak.
Pure fucking heartbreak.
She believes I wasn’t trying to hurt her, but I did it anyway.
Cassie wipes at her cheeks.
“I think you should go.”
My heart stops.
“Cassie—”
“Please, Isaac,” she says quietly. She sounds like she’s been through a battle, exhaustion and emptiness dragging through every word.
I stare at the state I’ve put her in. The way I’ll be leaving her when I don’t want to do anything but wrap her up in my arms, carry her into her nest, and apologise until she believes me.
For months, I’ve been terrified of telling her the truth because I thought she’d look at me differently.
Now, she does, and I deserve the disgust I see there.
Evander was right. I should have told her.
I should have trusted her to choose.
Instead, I’ve spent months protecting myself and calling it protection for her.
And now, she’s crying because of me.
“I was trying to do the right thing,” I say again. “I’m sorry, Cass.”
She closes her eyes, and a fresh tear slips down her cheek. Her scent is suffocating in its pain.
Then, she takes a deep breath and looks straight at me. Like she can see every ugly part I’ve been trying to hide.
She asks the question that finally breaks what’s left of me.
“Then why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me?”
I don’t have an answer.
Not one she’d understand.
Not one that doesn’t sound pathetic.
So, I do the only thing left.
I leave. I close her door, and I keep walking.
One foot in front of another, over and over.
Stopping would be dangerous.
Stopping means I’ll think.
And if I think too hard—I’m going to do something I’ll regret.
Something that will make her close the door between us for good.