Confessions and Scars

~FREYA~

My cane struck the hardwood floor of Cleo's porch. The sound echoed in the quiet morning air, heavy and dragging, much like the hollow beating of my own heart. I didn't even have to lift my hand to knock. The front door swung open before I reached the threshold. Cleo stood in the doorway, wearing an oversized sweater, her expression instantly shifting. She took one look at my red, puffy eyes and the swollen, trembling mess of my lips. She knew. She understood the specific, suffocating texture of this grief because she wore the exact same scars.

Without a single word, Cleo stepped forward and pulled me into her arms. Her embrace was warm, smelling faintly of chamomile and old paper. The moment her arms wrapped around my shaking shoulders, the last fragile thread holding my composure snapped. I surrendered to the bitter sobs clawing at my throat. I buried my face against her shoulder, crying until my ribs ached and my lungs burned. She simply held me, letting me soak her shirt, rubbing soothing circles into my back while my world continued to fracture into a million unfixable pieces.

"I’m sorry it turned out this way, Frey," Cleo murmured into my hair. Her voice was gentle, a stark contrast to the brutal reality of my tears. "So, Elise turned out to be the fated mate."

I nodded against her collarbone. I pulled back just enough to accept the box of tissues she nudged into my hands. I dabbed at my running nose, struggling to drag enough oxygen into my lungs to form coherent words. "Yes," I choked out, my voice ragged and raw. "And... and she might be pregnant with his child."

"What?" Cleo grabbed my shoulders, her eyes widening in sheer disbelief. "Did you confront them? How could he do that to you? He owed you the basic respect to at least tell you the truth before it ever went this far."

I swallowed the thick lump of despair lodged in my throat, tasting the bitter salt of my own tears. "I know. I told him that." I took a shaky, uneven breath, staring blindly at the crumpled tissue in my palm. "He claimed he hid the truth to spare my feelings. He looked me right in the eye and insisted he still loves me. He actually said he wants me to remain his Luna, as if nothing has changed. As if Elise is just a minor complication."

Cleo’s expression shifted. The shock drained away, leaving behind a weary, bone-deep resignation. She guided me toward her living room sofa, helping me sit down before taking the spot next to me. "He was remorseful?" she asked, a cynical edge slipping into her tone.

"I think he was. But only because I caught him red-handed. I don't know how to survive this, Cleo. How do you wake up every day and manage this kind of heartbreak?"

Cleo sighed, leaning her head back against the cushions. "You are somewhat fortunate, Frey. At least Alpha Gael showed a trace of remorse. My husband loathed me from the exact second he laid eyes on his fated mate. He didn't care about my bleeding heart. He never offered a single word of reassurance." She let out a dry, humorless scoff. "When I finally cornered him and demanded answers, he coldly told me that if I needed someone to blame, I should go blame the Moon Goddess. He said I could retain my grand title as Luna, but Piper gets to keep his dick."

Hearing her say those harsh, unfiltered words sent a fresh wave of agony crashing over me. She rolled her eyes with raw disgust, but I could see the ghost of the pain lingering in her empty gaze.

"It has been hell, Frey," Cleo continued softly. "And now, I don’t even hold that meaningless title anymore. I am just a shadow occupying space in the Alpha's house."

Tears spilled over my lashes again. I wept for her, and I wept for myself. Because I knew my future looked exactly like her present. I was going to be relegated to a ghost in my own home. Gael's attention would inevitably shift away from me. The mate bond demanded it. A heavy, suffocating guilt pressed down on my chest, tightening like an iron vice. I had to let it out. I needed to confess the weight dragging me down into the dirt.

My lips trembled as I looked at her. "I am not blameless in this mess either, Cleo. I... I made a mistake."

Cleo tilted her head, genuine concern knitting her brows. "What did you do?"

I gripped the damp tissue, twisting it until it tore in half. "Gael might not be the only one who strayed," I whispered. The confession tasted like ash on my tongue. "But I didn't plan it. I swear to you. I was so overwhelmed that night. The ambush, the blood, losing my leg, seeing them together... I went to a bar and drank until I couldn't feel my own body. The next thing I remember, I was waking up in an unfamiliar room."

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the humiliating words out into the open air. "I was naked. There was a stack of money resting on the nightstand and this heavy, masculine scent clinging to the sheets. I ran out of there so fast. Cleo... I don't even know if sex actually happened. I don't remember any of it."

Silence stretched between us. I braced myself for her harsh judgment, for the disappointment to cloud her eyes. Instead, a low, breathy chuckle escaped her lips.

My brow furrowed in deep confusion. I opened my eyes, watching her wipe a stray tear of mirth from her cheek. She took a breath, and her expression sobered into something earnest and grounding.

"I am sorry for laughing," Cleo said, reaching over to squeeze my trembling hand. "But Frey, do you genuinely feel guilty about that night?"

I shrugged, my shoulders tight with unspoken tension. "I don't know how I'm supposed to feel. I woke up naked in a stranger's bed while legally married to my mate. The guilt is eating me alive, even though I have no idea if we actually had sex."

Cleo leaned closer, locking her dark gaze onto mine. "Listen to me very carefully. Denying yourself physical affection will only cause you more harm in the long run. You need an outlet to survive this kind of rejection."

"Do you... do you have regular sex?" I asked tentatively, the question slipping out before I could censor it.

Cleo offered a knowing, unapologetic smile. "Why wouldn't I? My husband shares his bed with another woman every single night. Am I supposed to suffer in silence, lock my knees, and wither away into nothing? No. I refused to let that happen."

She reached up and brushed her dark hair aside, tilting her head to expose the crook of her neck. I leaned in, my breath catching in my throat. Right where a dark, vibrant mate mark should sit, there was only a ghostly, faded scar. The skin looked pale and dead, untouched by the magic of the bond.

"For the first few months, I endured the agony," Cleo explained, dropping her hand to let her hair fall back into place. "It was unbearable because he had claimed me and marked me. Every time he touched her, the bond burned me alive from the inside out. But when I started having casual sex, the pain diminished. It severed the lingering ties between us." She traced the air above the faded scar. "His mark is practically invisible now. The physical pain is gone. My grievances are more about the blatant disrespect I am subjected to under his roof, that's all."

"Does he not mind that you are sleeping with other men?" I asked, trying to wrap my logical mind around her chaotic reality.

Cleo gave a dismissive, heavy shrug. "Husbands stop caring about you or what you do. They become so consumed by their fated mates that the rest of the world ceases to exist. He didn't even flinch when I sought comfort in another man's bed because he was too busy drowning in Piper. He couldn't feel my betrayal."

She tapped my knee lightly. "That is exactly why Alpha Gael didn't feel any pain when you were with your stranger. He was with Elise. He might find out about your night eventually, but he won't care the way a real mate should. You shouldn’t feel an ounce of guilt for what happened. Just find a way to cope."

A profound, aching sadness swept through my veins, chilling my blood. "I still love him, Cleo," I whispered, my voice breaking on the admission. "I don't see myself with someone else intentionally. Gael and I married when I was only sixteen. I grew up with him by my side. He has always been my anchor. My strength. My best friend. I once thought of him as my savior." Recalling those early, innocent memories felt like driving a jagged blade straight into my chest. "I really don’t know how to deal with all of this."

Cleo sighed heavily. The raw sympathy in her eyes was almost too much to bear. "Frey, do you think Gael will feel the same about you in a month? No matter how much you believe he loves you right now, the bond will change him. He will be drawn to his mate like a starving addict to a drug. Eventually, your very presence might start to irritate him. The mate bond demands pure exclusivity."

She gripped both of my hands, her grip firm and unyielding. "The best thing you can do for yourself right now is to look for an exit strategy. Stop trying to salvage a house that is already burning down to the foundation. I am sorry if this sounds harsh, but I am trying to be realistic. You are still young. You are beautiful. You have the spirit of a fierce warrior, even with that cane. Do not let him turn you into a faded scar."

"Why me?" I whispered to the empty room, clasping my hands tightly in front of me and exhaling a deep, shaky breath. "Why did this happen to us?"

I stared down at my lap, grappling with the crushing weight of her advice. An exit strategy. Leaving the pack. Leaving Gael forever. The thought was terrifying, plunging me into an abyss of uncertainty, yet a tiny spark of rebellion flickered to life deep in my gut.

Inadvertently, my mind drifted away from Gael's betrayal and the suffocating walls of our shared home. My thoughts slipped backward, returning to the dim lighting of that unfamiliar hotel room. I remembered the crisp white sheets. The stack of bills on the dark wood nightstand. But more than anything, I remembered the scent.

It was a rich, intoxicating blend of dark timber, rain, and something dangerous. The masculine scent had clung to my bare skin, lingering in my memory with surprising clarity. A strange, undeniable heat pooled low in my stomach. For the first time since discovering Elise's identity, the thought of that mysterious stranger didn't fill me with dread. It ignited a curious, sudden desire. I wanted to know whose bed I had slept in. I wanted to meet him, just once more, to put a face to the scent that had briefly chased away the shadows of my broken marriage.

Cleo watched the shifting emotions cross my face. She let out a long, slow breath, shaking her head in dismay and clicking her tongue against her teeth.

"This is a fate I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy," she said quietly, releasing my hands and leaning back into the sofa cushions.