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He set a plate down in front of me without a word. No sarcastic comment. No drama. No accidental smirk. Just the clink of porcelain and tension so thick I could chew it.

We ate in silence.

It was easily the most awkward meal we’d ever shared, and that was saying something, considering our origin story involved pretending to be mated under the watchful eye of a pack alpha with emotional flare-ups that rivaled a telenovela.

Roman finally cleared his throat. “Lucien’s been calling and texting. He wants to see us.”

I set down my fork. “Okay…”

“He knows. Or at least, he suspects. He said, and I quote, ‘You really thought I wouldn’t find out?’”

My stomach dropped. “Shit.”

Roman didn’t even flinch. “Yeah.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. I just stared at him, trying to decide if I was more furious or heartbroken. Probably both. “When were you going to tell me?”

“I just found out this morning.”

“Still,” I said, voice sharp with something that sounded too close to betrayal. “You should’ve said something immediately.”

He stared into his mug as if it held answers I never would.

The silence stretched again. I couldn’t take it anymore. My chest felt like it was caving in on itself, and my heart was screaming at me to say something.

“I didn’t agree to try again with Eric.”

That got his attention. He looked up, and something flickered in his gaze. “Okay.”

“Okay? That’s all you have to say?” Why was he not relieved?

“What do you want me to say, Maggie?” His voice didn’t rise, but it cracked.

“Are you not happy that I didn’t say yes to him?”

“Well, you didn’t seem too eager to tell him no.”

“I don’t know what the hell I said. I was in shock, Roman!” I slammed my hand on the table, making my coffee slosh over the rim. “You think I’ve processed a single thing since we got fake-mated and then real-exposed and then real-humiliated in front of your entire pack?”

Roman’s jaw ticked. “So process.”

“I am! I’ve been trying to figure out what I want, Roman. You want to know the truth?”

He didn’t answer, but his shoulders tensed. But before he could speak—before I could say more—there was a thunderous knock at the front door.

I froze.

“Romanus, I know you’re in there. You’re avoiding me, but it’s time to face the music. Open the damn door.”

Lucien.

Roman groaned, standing with the posture of a man walking toward a guillotine. I slid off the barstool and gave a half-hearted shrug.

“I’ll go to my room,” I whispered. “Give you privacy.”

He didn’t stop me. I slipped down the hall and closed my bedroom door, cracking it just enough to hear what was said, even if it made me feel gross. I wasn’t proud of eavesdropping, but self-preservation won out.

The front door opened, and Lucien’s voice roared inside like a storm.