Chapter Text
A month later, the loft felt balanced again.
Peter stood at the kitchen counter scrolling through financial projections, sleeves rolled neatly, expression composed. Isabelle moved through the space quietly. She kissed his cheek before leaving.
“Bookstore,” she said lightly.
He hummed in acknowledgment. Normal.
That was the dangerous part. Because she had memorized the feeling of those four days. The hollow. The pacing.
And she wondered. Not if he loved her. But if he would notice.
—
She didn’t go to the bookstore. She turned her phone off. Not silent. Off.
She drove out past the preserve, parked near her clearing, and sat on the hood of her car staring at the trees. The sun dipped slowly behind the branches.
Her wolf was uneasy. This wasn’t about revenge. It was about proof. Hours passed.
She imagined him at the loft. Maybe reading. Maybe pouring himself a drink. Maybe not checking his phone at all. Maybe not caring. Her chest tightened. She stayed gone longer.
Just to be sure.
—
Peter noticed at hour one.
Not because she texted. Because she hadn’t. He checked his phone once. Then again. No message about being late. No “stopped for coffee.” No anything.
At hour two, he called. Straight to voicemail. His jaw tightened slightly.
At hour three, he stopped pretending he wasn’t counting. The loft felt wrong. Empty. Her scent faint but fading. His wolf stirred, restless.
He told himself she was fine. She was not fragile. She could manage. That’s what he’d said.
Hour four. He called again. Voicemail. His grip on the phone tightened enough to crack the casing. He stepped onto the balcony, scanning the city as if he could scent her from there.
He didn’t like the way the loft felt without her. He didn’t like it at all.
—
At hour five, the elevator dinged. Peter was already standing in the center of the room.
Waiting. The doors slid open. Isabelle stepped out. Whole, unharmed and infuriatingly calm.
She took one look at him and saw it immediately. He was not composed. Not quite. His shoulders were rigid. His eyes brighter than usual. Jaw tight.
“You’re late,” he said evenly.
She walked past him, setting her keys down with deliberate calm. “Am I?”
“You were expected home at six.”
She shrugged lightly. “I didn’t feel the need.”
The words landed between them like a blade. His eyes sharpened instantly. “Where were you?”
She moved to the kitchen, pouring herself water. “Out.”
“Out where?”
She sipped slowly before answering. “I was handling something.”
Peter’s nostrils flared faintly. “You didn’t answer your phone.”
She glanced at him over the rim of her glass. “I was busy.”
His control thinned. “You turned it off.”
She set the glass down gently. “I assumed you’d manage.”
Silence. The air shifted. He took a step toward her. “You think this is amusing?” he asked quietly.
Her heart pounded but she didn’t let it show. “I’m not responsible for how deeply you feel,” she replied.
His eyes went dark. “Isabelle.”
“You constructed scenarios in your head,” she continued, steady. “That’s not my responsibility.”
The color drained slightly from his face. She stepped closer.
“I came back,” she echoed his words from a month ago.
His jaw flexed. “That’s not the same,” he snapped.
“Why not?”
“Because I—”
He stopped. Because I what?
She tilted her head slightly. “Because you what, Peter?”
His breathing wasn’t even anymore. “You don’t get to disappear like that.”
“Watch me.” The words echoed perfectly.
His eyes flashed bright blue for half a second. “You scared me,” he said before he could stop himself.
There it was. Bare. Raw. She felt it hit her square in the chest. But she didn’t soften. Not yet. “You allowed yourself to be,” she said quietly.
His expression shifted, anger cracking into something far more dangerous. “Don’t twist my words.”
“I’m not.”
She held his gaze. “You’re still here,” she added calmly. “You’re still mine. I don’t see the issue.”
That did it. He crossed the distance in two strides, gripping her shoulders, not bruising, but firm. “This is not a game.”
“I never said it was.”
“You don’t get to test me.”
“You tested me first.”
Silence fell heavy between them. His grip loosened slowly. “You were gone five hours,” he said, voice lower now.
“You were gone four days.”
The words settled like a verdict. His hands dropped completely. For a moment, he looked… stripped...of certainty.
“But you came back,” she said.
“Yes,” he answered automatically.
“So did I.”
That quiet logic hit harder than anger ever could. He stared at her. “This isn’t the same,” he said finally.
“Because you didn’t like it?” she asked.
“I didn’t like not knowing where you were.”
Her voice softened, not weak, just clear. “I didn’t like it either.”
The room felt smaller suddenly. He exhaled slowly. “You did this to prove a point.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
She held his gaze steadily. “And you noticed.”
His jaw clenched. “I noticed at hour one.”
Her lip quivered unintentionally.
He confessed, “I called.”
“I know.”
“I don’t panic,” he said quietly. “You know that.”
She nodded once. “And yet.”
Silence stretched again. Finally, she stepped closer, close enough that their chests nearly touched.
“You said if I truly believed I deserved better, I’d leave,” she murmured.
His eyes darkened.
“I was only gone five hours,” she continued. “And you were ready to tear the city apart.”
He didn’t deny it. Her fingers brushed lightly against his shirt. “You don’t get to act unaffected,” she said softly. “Not when you’re not.”
His composure fractured just slightly. “You’re mine,” he said.
There was no arrogance in it this time. Just truth. “And you’re mine,” she answered.
He went still. The weight of that landed differently.
“You don’t get to disappear because you can,” she added quietly. “And you don’t get to pretend you wouldn’t care if I did.”
Silence.
Then —
“No,” he admitted.
It was small. But it was there. Her wolf eased. “I wasn’t fragile,” she said gently. “I was scared.”
His hand came up slowly, cupping the back of her neck. “I don’t like being scared,” he muttered.
“I know.”
A long pause.
“You proved your point,” he said at last.
She tilted her head. “And?”
His thumb brushed lightly over her pulse. “And I didn’t enjoy it.”
That was as close to remorse as Peter Hale came.
She leaned into him slightly. “I didn’t either.”
His forehead rested briefly against hers.
Something unspoken shifted between them. Because this time —
He had noticed.