Chapter 78: Chapter 78
"Fleur, I’m so happy you said yes."
Raphael beamed, his chest swelling as he spread his arms to pull her in. To the human eye, he was the perfect catch—charming, patient, and utterly devoted.
But as his shadow fell over her, Fleur’s inner instincts recoiled. She pressed a flat palm against his chest, the contact lacking any spark of the fated fire she secretly craved. Gently, but firmly, she stopped him.
"No, Raphael. I didn’t say yes." Fleur shook her head, her voice a hushed plea. "I only let you slip that ring onto my finger because the paparazzi were watching, and your fans were right there. I didn’t want to humiliate you in public. You’ve been a wonderful friend to me, but that’s all."
Raphael took a slow, deep breath. He wasn’t a man known for patience, yet around Fleur, his rough edges smoothed out. He was willing to bend his pride, to do whatever it took to claim her.
"Fleur, I love you. I want you in my life," Raphael pleaded, his eyes searching hers, desperately looking for a flicker of submission or agreement. "Marry me. Let me protect you."
"Raphael," Fleur sighed, a heavy weight pressing down on her chest. The sorrow in her eyes was suffocating. "I can’t marry you."
"Why?!" The word tore from Raphael, thick with frustration. "Is it because of him? Because of Christian Wayne?"
At the mention of that name, Fleur’s eyes widened in a flash of raw, instinctual fear. Her gaze snapped up, colliding with Raphael’s furiously narrowed eyes. The air in the car suddenly felt dangerously thin.
"Because I am already married!" she blurted out, the truth escaping her before she could stop it.
Raphael’s brow furrowed in sheer confusion. "To... to the father of Chloe and Gabriel?"
Fleur nodded slowly, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. "We never divorced."
"But you aren’t together!" Raphael pressed, though the denial in his voice tasted bitter.
He had known Fleur for nearly four years, but he had never seen or heard anything about her husband. To Raphael, a man who abandoned his family was no man at all. The absence was proof enough that the bond was broken; a divorce was just a delayed formality.
When Fleur remained silent, her gaze dropping to her lap, Raphael’s tone grew stern, possessive.
"What’s the catch, Fleur? If he’s refusing to let you go, give me his name. I have resources. I can make him sign the papers."
Fleur shook her head, a bittersweet smile touching her lips. If only it were that simple. How could she explain to a human that her husband wasn’t just a powerful man, but an Alpha King? That their bond was etched into her very soul, written in blood and moonlight?
"It’s not that simple, Raphael," she whispered.
"Then let’s make it simple," Raphael demanded authoritatively, reaching for her hand. "We get you divorced, and we build a life together. No more hiding."
"Raphael, please. I need time. I’m just not ready," Fleur said softly. With trembling fingers, she slid the heavy diamond ring off her finger and held it out to him.
"Fleur, no." Raphael refused to take it, his eyes begging her. "It belongs to you. Keep it. I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as it takes."
But the ring felt like a silver shackle on her skin, burning her with a guilt she couldn’t carry. She felt utterly suffocated. Raphael was her sanctuary, a loyal protector who had shielded her through her darkest storms, and she was profoundly grateful. But gratitude could not ignite the primal fire of a true mate.
She wanted to scream at the cruelty of her own heart. Even after all these years of abandonment, that wicked, dangerous Alpha had ruined her for anyone else.
"Raphael, please try to understand. I can’t keep this."
Gently, she placed the ring on the luxurious leather seat between them. Before he could argue, she popped the car door open and stepped out into the crisp air.
Ignoring his calls, she hurried through the shadows of the parking lot toward her own vehicle. She didn’t look back, driving away with a hollow sense of relief that neither the media nor Raphael had followed her.
Fleur drove aimlessly, the city lights blurring into streaks of neon. She wanted to go home, to bury herself beneath her covers and hide from the world, but her soul was too restless. Her heart felt fractured—destined to beat only for a man who had brought her nothing but torment.
When she finally pulled the car over and looked up, she realized her subconscious had guided her. Towering into the dark, star-studded sky was the Eiffel Tower, ablaze with thousands of twinkling lights. A monumental beacon of romance and hope.
Catching her reflection in the rearview mirror, Fleur stared at her pale face and shadowed eyes.
"You need to move on, Fleur," she whispered to herself, using the name she had adopted to hide her past. "Let go of this agonizing love for a man who will never love you back. You shouldn’t punish a good man like Raphael. He could give you peace. He could be the father the twins deserve."
Numbing her mind to the ache in her chest, she stepped out of the car. The cool Parisian evening air wrapped around her, carrying the ambient hum of tourist chatter and distant laughter.
The plaza was alive. Couples held each other tightly under the golden glow, children danced, and flashes from cameras captured fleeting moments of human happiness.
Fleur walked through the crowd like a ghost, drawn toward the massive iron base of the tower. She looked up at its grand curves, remembering the first time she had ever seen it. Years ago, she had been a wide-eyed girl, full of dreams. Now, she was a mother, a runaway, a marked mate living in exile.
As the night deepened, a sudden, biting chill swept across the plaza. Fleur wrapped her arms tightly around herself, rubbing her palms together for warmth.
Then, a scent hit her.
It was faint at first, carried by the wind, but it made every cell in her body freeze. Dark oak, rain, and a dangerous hint of ozone. His scent.
Her head snapped toward a shadowed, secluded corner near the edge of the viewing platform. Standing there, half-shrouded in darkness, was a towering figure.
It was Christian.
Fleur’s breath hitched.
The fearsome, untouchable Alpha King looked utterly undone. He was leaning heavily against a stone pillar, a bottle loosely gripped in his hand, completely intoxicated. His midnight hair was disheveled, his expensive suit wrinkled, and even from a distance, she could see the raw, bloodshot agony in his eyes. He looked like a feral king stripped of his throne.
Before her intellect could scream at her to run, to protect her freedom, her wolf took over. The invisible, unbroken tether between them snapped taut, pulling at her soul. Driven by pure, instinctual concern, Fleur’s feet began to move on their own, drawing her straight toward the dangerous man she had spent years trying to forget.
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