Chapter 16
Arabella
The office of the Human Liaison was designed to intimidate.
It was located in the oldest administrative building on campus, a room of dark mahogany, leather-bound books, and windows that looked out over the snowy quad like judging eyes. The air smelled of old paper and citrus polish.
I sat in the stiff wooden chair opposite my father’s desk. My hands were folded in my lap. I was staring at a spot on the carpet to keep from screaming.
My father, Richard Thorne, was pacing.
He held a tablet in his hand. On the screen, glowing brightly, was the photo.
Me. Dante. The snow. The kiss.
"Explain," he said. His voice wasn't loud. It was terrifyingly calm. The voice he used when he was negotiating treaties or threatening rogue packs.
"I can't," I whispered.
"You can't?" He stopped pacing. He turned to look at me, his glasses reflecting the lamp light.
"Arabella, this... this filth is all over the internet.
Half the student body has seen it. The Dean has seen it.
The Board of Regents is calling me every five minutes asking why my daughter is mating with a predator in the woods. "
"He's not a predator," I said, my voice shaking but firm. "He's Dante."
"He is a Moretti!" my father shouted, slamming the tablet onto his desk. The sound echoed like a gunshot. "Do you have any idea what that means? His father killed a woman! A human woman! Because he couldn't control his instincts!"
"Dante isn't his father," I argued, tears pricking my eyes. "He has control. He's never hurt me."
"Yet," my father corrected coldly. "He hasn't hurt you yet. But look at this photo, Arabella. Look at the way he's holding you. That isn't affection. That's possession. He thinks he owns you."
"Maybe I want to be owned," I whispered.
My father stared at me. His face went pale, then red. A vein throbbed in his temple.
"You don't know what you're saying," he hissed. "You are infatuated. You are under the influence of pheromones. This is biology, not love."
"It is love," I said, standing up. "I love him, Dad. And he loves me. We're going to figure this out."
"There is nothing to figure out," he said.
He walked around the desk and stood in front of me. He looked older suddenly. Tired. But his eyes were hard as flint.
"I just got off the phone with Dean Vance," he said quietly. "And the NCAA ethics committee."
My heart stopped. "What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything," he said. "The photo did the work. They are launching an investigation, Arabella. Into Dante. Into his grades. Into his conduct."
"He hasn't done anything wrong!"
"Fraternizing with a faculty member's family? Coercion? Academic fraud?" My father ticked them off on his fingers. "It doesn't matter if it's true. The accusation is enough. They are talking about suspension. Effective immediately."
"Suspension?" I gasped. "But... the Frozen Four. The Combine."
"Gone," my father said. "If he is suspended, he misses the championship. If he misses the championship with a cloud of scandal over his head, the Kraken will pull their offer. Reed told me as much."
I felt the blood drain from my face. "You talked to Reed?"
"I called him," my father admitted shamelessly. "To confirm the stakes. Reed said they can't draft a liability. And right now, Dante Moretti is a walking liability."
"You're ruining his life," I whispered. "Just because you hate who his father was."
"I am saving your life!" my father roared. "I am keeping you from becoming another statistic! Another broken body found in a shifter den!"
He took a deep breath, composing himself.
"But," he said, smoothing his tie. "There is a way out."
I looked at him. Hope, fragile and desperate, fluttered in my chest. "What?"
"The investigation is preliminary," he said. "It relies on the narrative. If the narrative is that this was a consensual, serious relationship... the investigation proceeds. The conflict of interest is proven. He goes down."
"And the other option?" I asked, dread curling in my stomach.
"You change the narrative," he said.
He picked up a piece of paper from his desk and held it out to me.
"A statement," he said. "From you. To the Dean. To the press."
I took the paper. My hands shook so hard the text blurred.
I, Arabella Thorne, confirm that my interactions with Dante Moretti were strictly academic.
The recent photograph was a moment of confusion and pressure.
I was intimidated by Mr. Moretti's status and physical presence.
I felt unsafe refusing his advances. I have severed all contact and request privacy.
I stared at the words.
Intimidated. Unsafe. Advances.
It painted him as a monster. A harasser. A predator.
"This is a lie," I whispered, looking up at my father with horror. "This says he forced me."
"It says you felt pressured," my father corrected smoothly. "Which is true. The power dynamic is undeniable. He is an Alpha. You are a student."
"If I sign this," I said, my voice trembling, "what happens to him?"
"The investigation changes," my father said. "It becomes a conduct issue, not an ethics violation. He gets a slap on the wrist for 'unprofessional behavior.' He plays in the championship. The scouts see him play. He gets drafted."
"But he loses me," I realized.
"He keeps his future," my father said. "And you keep yours. You finish your degree. You go to grad school in London, like we planned. You stay alive."
"And if I don't sign?"
My father’s expression hardened.
"If you don't sign... I will personally ensure the investigation digs into every corner of his life.
I will testify that I warned him to stay away.
I will use every contact I have to make sure he never plays professional hockey.
He will be expelled, Arabella. He will go back to the mountains with nothing. "
The room spun.
The choice was laid bare.
I could stand by him, tell the truth, and watch his dreams burn to ash because of my father's vendetta.
Or I could lie. I could break his heart. I could make him hate me.
And in doing so, I could save him.
I thought of the truck. The way he looked when he talked about architecture. The way he said I have to succeed. It's all I have.
He had fought so hard to escape his father’s shadow. To prove he wasn't a monster.
If I stayed, I proved he was reckless. If I left... I proved he was a victim of a confused girl.
I looked at the paper.
"He'll hate me," I whispered. A tear fell onto the page, soaking into the word unsafe.
"He'll survive," my father said. "Alphas always do."
I picked up the pen. It felt like holding a knife.
"I'll do it," I said, my voice dead. "But on one condition."
"Name it."
"You drop the investigation completely. No slap on the wrist. No record. He plays Friday. He goes to Buffalo. Untouched."
My father hesitated, then nodded. "Done. Sign it."
I signed my name.
With that ink, I didn't just end a relationship. I signed Dante Moretti’s death warrant for his heart.
I walked out of the administration building into the blinding white snow.
I felt nothing. The cold didn't bite. The wind didn't sting. I was numb.
I had to do the second part now. The hardest part.
I had to tell him.
I couldn't just send the letter. He wouldn't believe it. He would come for me. He would fight.
I had to make him believe it. I had to look him in the eye and break him so thoroughly that he would never try to fix us.
I walked toward the Hive.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Dante: Where are you? I'm going out of my mind. Please just tell me you're safe.
I ignored it.
I reached the Hive. The front door was unlocked.
I walked in.
The living room was exactly as we had left it. The pizza box was still on the floor. The blanket was rumpled. It smelled of sex and happiness.
Dante was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. He was still wearing his sweatpants, shirtless.
When he heard the door, his head snapped up.
"Arabella!"
He scrambled up, wincing as his bad knee took his weight. He rushed toward me, relief flooding his face.
"Oh god," he breathed, reaching for me. "I thought... I didn't know where you went. Are you okay? Did your dad get to you?"
I stepped back.
He froze. His hands hovered in the air, empty.
"Don't touch me," I said.
My voice was unrecognizable. It was cold. Flat. It sounded like my father’s voice.
Dante blinked. Confused. Hurt.
"Ara?" he whispered. "What's wrong? It's me."
"I know who you are," I said. I crossed my arms over my chest, shielding myself. "I just came to get my things. And to tell you... it's over."
Silence. Heavy and suffocating.
"Over?" he repeated. He let out a nervous, incredulous laugh. "What are you talking about? We just... an hour ago, we were talking about moving in together. We said we loved each other."
"I was confused," I said. I looked him in the eye. I focused on the scar on his neck. Focus on the scar. Remember why you're doing this. You're saving him from the scar.
"Confused?" he asked, his voice dropping. The relief was fading, replaced by a slow-dawning horror. "Confused about love?"
"It wasn't love, Dante," I lied. "It was... intensity. It was the adrenaline. The forbidden aspect."
"Don't lie to me," he growled, stepping closer. "I felt the bond snap. I know you felt it too."
"I felt fear," I said.
He stopped dead.
"Fear?"
"Yes," I said. "Look at you. You're huge. You're violent. My father showed me the files. Your dad... what he did..."
"I am not my father," he roared. "You told me that! On the mountain! You said I was different!"
"I was wrong," I whispered. "I looked at that photo... and I realized I don't know you. I don't know what you're capable of. And I don't want to find out."
"You're lying," he said, shaking his head. "Your dad got to you. He threatened you."
"He didn't threaten me," I said. "He opened my eyes. He showed me what happens to humans who get involved with Alphas. We break, Dante. And I don't want to be broken."
"I would never hurt you," he pleaded. Tears were streaming down his face now. He reached out again, desperate. "Arabella, please. Look at me. It's Dante. The guy who likes architecture. The guy who eats frozen peas. Don't do this."
I had to kill it. I had to use the one weapon I knew would work.
I laughed.
It was cruel. It was mocking. It was the hardest thing I had ever done.
"Architecture?" I scoffed. "Dante, let's be real. You're a hockey player. You're a jock. You were a fun experiment for my thesis. A way to get some 'grit' into my paper. But a future? With you?"
I looked him up and down with disdain.
"I'm the Liaison's daughter. I'm going to London. You're going to... what? Buffalo? To get hit in the head for a living? We exist in different worlds."
The color drained from his face completely. He looked like he had been punched in the gut.
"An experiment?" he whispered. His voice was broken. "That's all I was?"
"You helped me get an A," I said, shrugging. "And the sex was... educational."
Something in his eyes died.
The gold faded. The human brown faded. They went black.
The hurt vanished, replaced by a wall of ice so thick I knew I would never penetrate it again.
He straightened up. He wiped the tears from his face. He looked at me, and for the first time, I felt truly unsafe. Not because he would hurt me, but because the man who loved me was gone.
"Get out," he said.
"Dante..."
"GET OUT!" he roared. The sound shook the windows. The wolf surfaced, snarling, wounded, and lethal.
I grabbed my bag from the floor. I turned around.
I walked to the door.
My hand was on the knob when he spoke one last time.
"You were right," he said. His voice was devoid of emotion. "I am a monster. Because right now... I want to tear the world apart. Starting with you."
I opened the door and ran.
I ran into the snow. I ran until my lungs burned. I ran until I was far away from the Hive, far away from the man I loved, far away from the wreckage of the future we had built.
I collapsed on a bench in the quad—the same bench where I had smiled at his text just days ago.
I pulled my knees to my chest and screamed.
It was a silent scream, lost in the wind.
I had saved him. I had saved his career. I had saved his legacy.
But as the snow buried me, I knew the truth.
I hadn't saved Dante Moretti. I had killed him. And I had buried my own heart right alongside him.