Chapitre 7: Chapter 7: Tangled Bonds
MAEVE
The next morning, I woke up in the room that was never meant to be mine.
I stared up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on me like an oppressive, invisible hand. The bed beneath me was new, too soft, and unfamiliar—an odd comfort that felt foreign, much like everything else about this place. My fingers brushed against the plush blankets, tracing the fine stitching of the silk comforter, each stitch a reminder of the life I didn't choose but was now thrust into. This room—this entire situation—wasn't meant for me.
My eyes traveled the length of the room. It was large, but not cozy. The walls were lined with shelves, each crammed with political tomes, volumes on pack history, and wolf lore. Scrolls about magic and documents lay scattered across a large desk in the corner, as though someone had left in a hurry, abandoning the room in mid-study. The dark wood furniture was imposing, heavy, and far too serious for someone like me. My presence in this room felt like an invasion, a bitter joke.
This was Isabelle's study. No—it had been Isabelle's study. Now it was mine, apparently. Someone had even thought to place a bed in the center of the room, an enormous thing with a headboard that nearly scraped the ceiling, draped in heavy, royal fabrics that made the space feel even more suffocating. It was a grand gesture, sure, but in a room like this? The bed felt out of place, much like I did.
The whole situation was just as absurd as the bed. Everyone at the wedding had seen I wasn't Isabelle. It wasn't exactly a subtle switch, and yet here I was, pretending to be the Alpha's new wife as if we were pulling off some grand illusion. But the truth? It wasn't fooling anyone. The guests knew. The pack knew. And you could bet the press had already picked up on how strange it all was. Why were we even pretending at this point?
For those on the outside looking in, I was supposedly adjusting to pack life, sharing a bed with my husband, Ronan. But the truth was far from that. Ronan slept next door, in the real bedroom—the one he had shared with Isabelle. That space was still drenched in the life they had built together, and thank God for that. The idea of sharing a bed with him made my skin crawl. I still loved Liam, and no rituals or political schemes were going to change that.
But why were we even playing this game? Why keep up this charade of living together when it was clear to everyone that I wasn't his chosen wife? None of it made sense anymore. This whole farce of a marriage—this wedding that shouldn't have even taken place—was unraveling in front of me, and I was starting to see just how pointless it all was.
But the real question? How were we supposed to explain this to the rest of the world? One minute Ronan was supposed to marry Isabelle, and then—ta-da—Maeve, standing in her place in a white dress. What happens when Isabelle comes back? Are we supposed to say, "Oh, sorry for the confusion, folks, just a little detour on the way to happily ever after"? Would Isabelle just slide back into her rightful place at Ronan's side, and I'd quietly exit stage left with Liam? Would the pack accept that without questioning the entire charade?The thought of that inevitable, awkward transition hung over me like a storm cloud, but strangely enough, it was the most comforting thing I had to hold onto. This wasn't real. Soon, it would all be over, and things would go back to the way they were supposed to be. At least, that's what I kept telling myself. But then there were the rituals—the ones that had bound me to Ronan in ways I still didn't understand. And let's not forget those mind-blowing visions that seemed to hijack my brain at the worst possible moments. I couldn't just wait this out; I had to figure out how to break free from all of it.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my feet sinking into the thick fur rug beneath. It was too soft, too luxurious, and yet it irritated me. I missed the roughness of home, the little apartment I shared with Siobhan and her wife, Nimah. The floors there were wooden, creaking underfoot, and everything was small, lived-in, and messy in a way that felt like life—real life. Not this polished, grand display of status and control. Here, everything was pristine, cold, and suffocating in its perfection.
Living with Siobhan and Nimah had always been a chaotic comfort. Siobhan, my anchor, always had her arms open, ready to share a bottle of wine or to give me the pep talk I needed after a long day of wedding planning. And then there was Nimah. Brilliant and a bit reckless, always tinkering with something magical, leaving the scent of herbs and flickers of wild energy in the air.
Nimah, with her dark eyes, olive skin and wicked smile, who I once trusted implicitly—until everything fell apart with this damn wedding.
I just knew that Nimah's Coven had something to do with it. I just felt it in my bones. At the very least, they had to know more than they were letting on. I need to check if Siobhan shares my suspicions. But how could she not? She is my sister, after all, and she knew what Nimah was capable of. On the other hand, Siobhan loved Nimah—and despite everything, so did I. Nimah wasn't just my sister's wife; she was part of the family. And now she was part of the mess.
A mess that got more tangled with every passing day.
A quiet knock startled me from my thoughts, followed immediately by the door creaking open. He didn't wait for an invitation. Of course.
"Maeve."
Liam's voice was soft, but it cut through the air like a blade, bringing with it a flood of emotions I wasn't ready to deal with. My heart clenched at the sound of his voice—a voice I'd always found comforting, warm. I turned to see him standing in the doorway, his blond hair messy and tousled, as though he hadn't slept either. His blue eyes, usually so bright and playful, were shadowed with something darker—anger, confusion, desperation. He looked... lost.
He closed the door behind him with a quiet click, the sound ringing louder in the room's silence than it should have. For a moment, neither of us spoke. He just stood there, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his tall frame leaning against the door as if the weight of what was unspoken between us was too much to bear standing upright.
Liam crossed the room in three quick strides, his movements tense, almost frantic. His presence seemed to fill the space, overwhelming me with the memories of all the times we'd spent together—happy, carefree moments that now felt like they belonged to someone else's life. His hand reached out before I could stop him, cupping my face, tilting my chin upward until my gaze locked with his.
"Maeve," he murmured, his voice hoarse, thick with something I couldn't quite name. Desperation, maybe. Or fear. His thumb brushed against my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. "Maeve, please."
The look in his eyes was almost unbearable.
Before I could say a word, before I could even think, his lips were on mine, soft and familiar, pulling me into a kiss that was so painfully Liam. For a second, I leaned into it, craving the comfort of what we used to be, the warmth of his touch, the way everything had felt right when we were together. But then I felt the smell of alcohol in his breath, and it brought me back. Everything was wrong. So, so wrong.
"Liam, stop," I whispered against his lips, pushing him back gently, though my heart ached at the words.
He pulled back, his brows knitting together in confusion, frustration flashing across his features. His hands dropped to his sides, and he stepped away, though the distance felt more like a chasm. "Why not?" he asked, his voice tight. "Maeve, I love you."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. I opened my mouth, but the words that came out felt hollow. "I know, Liam. I love you too, but—" My gaze flickered to the adjoining door, the one that led to Ronan's room, and all the unspoken weight of that connection.
Liam followed my gaze, his jaw tightening as he took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. His blue eyes turned hard, colder than I'd ever seen them. "So that's it, then?" His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it that made my stomach twist. "You just... accept it? You just go along with this sham? Let them control you like this?"
I bristled at the accusation, the sharp edge in his voice cutting deep. "I didn't have a choice, Liam! Do you think I wanted any of this?" My voice was louder than I meant, the frustration bubbling over. "And you're the one talking about letting them control me? Where were you when Jean made that offer? Standing right behind her, like a good little puppy!" I could feel the tears of rage burning in my eyes. "You stood there, silent! You didn't say a word, didn't fight for me! You didn't even have the guts to look at me!"
His jaw clenched tighter, his knuckles turning white as his hands balled into fists at his sides. "So this is my fault now?" His voice cracked as it rose, trembling with barely suppressed rage. "I didn't agree to this shitshow, Maeve! But you—" He shook his head, pacing back and forth like a caged wolf. "You didn't fight it either."
I stood up, my pulse pounding in my ears as the anger simmered just below the surface. "Don't you dare put this on me," I spat, my fists clenched at my sides. "I didn't ask for any of this, Liam! But here we are, and I can't just keep pretending like nothing's changed. This is my reality now, whether I like it or not."
Liam stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing as he stared at me, his voice low and dangerous. "I can't believe this. I can't believe you're just going to let them win." His words were sharp, cutting, and they sliced through me, leaving me raw. "You're just going to be Ronan's wife now?"
His words hit like a physical blow, and I recoiled, my breath catching in my throat. "What do you want me to do, Liam? Huh? Keep sneaking around like this? Pretend I'm not someone else's wife now?" My voice wavered, but I forced myself to keep going, even though my throat felt tight. "This isn't forever. You know that! It's just temporary until we find Isabelle, and figure out what the hell is going on. But right now, this is my reality, whether we like it or not. And the worst part is that the Coven isn't finished with us yet, I just know that."
Liam's expression darkened, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. He shook his head, running a hand through his messy blond hair, the strands falling back into place, giving him that effortless, disheveled look he always had. But now, his usual charm was gone, replaced by something darker, angrier.
"Temporary? Really, Maeve?" His voice was dripping with disbelief, his eyes narrowing further. "How do you even know that? Do you honestly think this is just going to go away? You're his wife now, whether it's some sham or not. You're tied to him in ways I'll never be. And what then, huh? When Isabelle comes back? What's your brilliant plan for after all this?" He stepped closer, the bitterness in his laugh growing.
"I don't have it all figured out yet, but I am working on it. What have you done so far, huh? Besides drinking, of course, and blaming everyone around you—me included—but never yourself? You were there, remember? You could've said something! And now you're throwing a fit because I can't just pretend nothing happened."
"Fine. Do whatever the hell you want, Maeve. Be his wife. Temporary or not. I hope it's worth it."
His words were venomous, laced with hurt, but I didn't flinch. I couldn't. Instead, I watched him turn on his heel and storm out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality that echoed in the silence, leaving me standing there, breathless and seething.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone