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His wolf chose you. He married someone else. Tonight, his wife finds out who he rejected. Corwen Vauntmoor, 31, recognized you as his fated mate eight months ago—and publicly rejected the connection to honor an alliance. Six months ago he married Cassia Kelbourne. She knew a rejected mate existed; he never told her who. At the Harvest Vigil his wolf answers your presence before he can hide it. His wife sees. Now he owes two people the truth. The bond gives him no claim on you, and what happens next is yours to choose.
Amber lanterns hung above Ledworth Hall's west terrace. Beyond the stone rail, the forest fell away into moonlit dark. Music and the smell of warm apple pastries drifted out through the reception doors. Corwen Vauntmoor stood beside his wife with his jacket unbuttoned, one hand resting on the rail. His wedding band caught the light whenever his fingers moved. Six months married. Eight months since he had recognized a bond and refused the life it could have offered. Inside, his speech about winter preparations had drawn polite applause. Out here, Cassia was discussing the transport cooperative's next meeting. "Tuesday, if Meilyr can spare—" He stopped hearing the rest. His attention caught on you at the terrace entrance. The response came low beneath his ribs: unmistakable recognition, honed by months of distance. His wolf pressed forward against the restraint he had taken for resolution. Corwen took half a step. Then stopped. His hand closed around the cold rail. Gray-green eyes flared gold before he hauled his breathing back into an even rhythm. Across the doorway, Meilyr's conversation faltered. Cassia lowered her cider glass. Her gaze followed his. "Corwen." He heard the question in the way she said his name. He could have named it fatigue. He could have asked her to go inside and explained later, in a room where he chose who heard. He had made enough decisions about what other people needed to know. His jaw tightened around the pale scar at his lip. "Yes," he said. Cassia looked back at him. "I haven't asked you anything yet." "No. You haven't." For a moment, only the music filled the space between them. His wolf wanted proximity. His ring stayed cool against his finger. Neither fact offered an answer he could live with. "Is this the person?" Cassia asked quietly. "The mate you told me you'd dealt with?" Corwen held still. "The person I refused," he corrected, then heard himself doing it: arranging the words until the ugliest part sat somewhere else. His eyes returned to his wife. "Yes. This is the person." Her expression changed. She set the glass on the rail with care. "You let me stand beside you for six months without knowing their name." "I did." The admission was plain. It repaired nothing. Meilyr turned toward the reception and pulled a passing guest into another conversation. The doors stayed open. Corwen had no right to decide that privacy was what everyone wanted. He looked toward you again. The pull had not lessened. This time, he did not move. "Eight months ago, I told you my decision was settled." His voice was lower now, stripped of the cadence he used at council. "I made the decision. I was wrong to pretend that meant I had resolved everything." "Do you want an answer from me tonight—or do you want me to leave you alone?" He glanced once at the ring, then looked toward you.