Chapter 16
Kora’s POV
Edward’s arm was warm beneath my hand, solid and unyielding, like a wall I could lean against without fear of it crumbling. In that moment, I clung to him as if the entire hall had dissolved into nothingness, as if the music, the lights, the murmuring voices, and the countless eyes watching us had all faded away. There was only Edward. Only his presence. Only the unspoken message I wanted Aaron to see and choke on.
I wanted Aaron to understand, to feel, that I was no longer his to intimidate, no longer his to manipulate or break. I wanted him to see that whatever hold he once had over me was gone — burned away by pain, by time, by survival. I wanted him to see me standing here, unbroken, wrapped in the arm of a man who would never allow him to touch me again.
But deep inside, beneath the calm mask I wore so carefully, I wasn’t as steady as I pretended to be.
My heart was still racing, pounding violently against my ribs as if it wanted to escape. My chest felt tight, the air thick and heavy in my lungs. The exchange with Aaron replayed over and over in my head — the way his eyes had locked onto mine, the way his voice had carried that familiar, dangerous confidence, the way he had tried to peel back the layers I had worked so hard to build.
I wasn’t that fragile girl anymore. I refused to be.
But the shadows of who I used to be still lingered, whispering doubts in the quiet corners of my mind. They reminded me of nights filled with fear, of words that cut deeper than claws, of a version of myself who had learned to survive by shrinking.
Edward didn’t say a word.
He didn’t need to.
His hand slid over mine, his fingers closing firmly around it, his grip strong and steady — protective, possessive, almost claiming. It sent a strange mix of comfort and tension through me. His sharp gaze flicked once toward Aaron, just once, and in that brief glance I felt the restrained violence beneath Edward’s calm exterior.
It was like standing beside a storm held back by sheer will.
“Let’s go,” Edward said softly.
His voice was calm, controlled, but there was an edge to it that made my skin prickle. It wasn’t a request. It was a decision.
I nodded immediately, tightening my grip on him as we turned away from the table. I didn’t look back, but I could feel Aaron’s stare drilling into my back, heavy and burning. The old me would have folded under it. The old me would have lowered her head, would have felt shame, fear, guilt — emotions that never truly belonged to her.
But this time, I didn’t shiver.
I lifted my chin and walked beside Edward with my head held high, matching his stride as best as I could. I moved like he had taught me to move, like the Luna I was expected to be, even if I still felt like I was pretending. Every step away from that table felt like reclaiming a piece of myself.
When we reached a quieter hallway outside the main hall, the noise dimmed, the music becoming distant, muffled by thick walls and closed doors. The sudden quiet made everything crash down on me at once.
The moment we were alone, I finally let out the breath I had been holding for what felt like hours.
My knees weakened, a tremor running through my legs, and I swayed slightly before I could stop myself. Edward noticed instantly. He always did.
Without hesitation, he guided me into a secluded corner, his body shielding mine from view. His hand came up to cup my face, warm and firm, his thumb brushing gently over my cheek. The contrast between his tenderness and the fury simmering beneath it made my chest ache.
“You shouldn’t have faced him alone,” Edward murmured.
His voice was low, dangerous, threaded with restrained anger that wasn’t directed at me — never at me — but at the thought of anyone daring to make me feel small again.
“I wasn’t alone,” I whispered back.
The words came out softer than I intended, my voice betraying the bravery I was trying to cling to. “You were here.”
For a fleeting second, something shifted in his eyes. The sharpness softened, replaced by something almost vulnerable. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, swallowed by tension. His jaw tightened, his thumb pausing against my skin.
“What did he say to you?” he asked.
I swallowed hard.
I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want to give Aaron’s words a voice, didn’t want to breathe life into them by repeating them out loud. Saying them would make them real again, and I had spent so long trying to bury them.
But Edward didn’t push. He didn’t raise his voice or demand answers. He simply waited, his silence heavy, pressing against me until it became impossible to ignore.
“He...” My voice faltered, and I had to steady myself before continuing. “He asked how I survived.”
Edward’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly.
“And then,” I added quietly, “he reminded me of who I used to be.”
The air around us shifted.
Edward’s nostrils flared, his eyes darkening as his wolf surfaced just beneath the surface. I could practically feel it — the raw power, the instinct to protect, to destroy any threat that dared come near what was his. For a terrifying moment, I thought he would turn and storm back into the hall, that he would confront Aaron openly, consequences be damned.
Fear surged through me, sharp and sudden.
“Don’t,” I whispered urgently, grabbing his wrist.
My fingers curled around him, grounding him as much as I was grounding myself. “That’s what he wants. He wants you to lose control here.”
His gaze snapped back to mine, intense and blazing. The weight of it pinned me in place. For a heartbeat, I thought he might argue, might tell me Aaron wouldn’t leave this place alive if he tried anything again.
But then Edward exhaled slowly, deliberately, forcing the tension down. It didn’t disappear — it never really did — but it eased enough for him to stay still.
“You are mine now,” he said firmly.
Each word landed like a vow, heavy and unbreakable. “He has no right to speak to you. No right to even look at you.”
A strange warmth spread through my chest at his words, unsettling and comforting all at once. My heart responded before my mind could stop it, fluttering traitorously. But I pushed the feeling away, locking it down where it couldn’t hurt me.
I couldn’t afford to fall for sweet promises.
Not when this marriage was nothing more than a contract. Not when I had only a year. Not when the future was so uncertain it scared me to think about it too deeply.
Still... a small, dangerous part of me wanted to believe him.
Wanted to believe that his words weren’t just instinct or obligation. Wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, I was truly safe here.
“Come,” Edward finally said, his hand sliding to the small of my back.
The touch was subtle, guiding rather than controlling. “We’ll leave soon. I’ve seen enough.” I nodded, allowing myself to lean into him just a little as we made our way out.
The drive home was quiet.
The city lights blurred past the window, stretching into streaks of gold and white against the darkness. I held the small bag on my lap, clutching it like a lifeline even though it was empty now. I had eaten the ice cream earlier, but the comfort it had given me lingered — a reminder of something simple, something normal in a night filled with tension.
Edward’s hands stayed firmly on the wheel, his posture rigid, his face carved from stone. He didn’t glance at me, didn’t speak, didn’t even sigh. Whatever storm was raging inside him, he was keeping it locked away.
And for once, I didn’t know whether I wanted him to break the silence... or keep it.
The car hummed softly beneath us as the distance between the pack hall and the place I now called home grew wider. I leaned my head back against the seat, staring at the ceiling, replaying the night in fragments — Aaron’s voice, Edward’s grip, the way my heart had refused to slow down.
I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.
But I knew one thing for certain.
I had faced my past tonight... and I hadn’t shattered.
And that alone felt like a victory.
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