Page 95 of The Cuddle Clause

Roman hadn’t said a word. Not last night. Not this morning.

The blood in my ears roared loud enough to drown out the coffee shop noise. I barely noticed when the barista called my name. I grabbed my drink with a numb hand and walked straight out without saying thank you. My Americano sloshed over the rim, burning the tips of my fingers. I didn’t feel it.

I stood on the sidewalk and stared. The sky was blue. A bus rumbled by. People were laughing outside the bakery next door. The world tilted. The ground beneath shifted and I was the only person who noticed.

He hadn’t told me.Whyhadn’t he told me?

I replayed the last few days. The tenderness. The slow kisses. The way he held me like I was breakable and sacred all at once.

Making love last night.

Had he been... easing me into it? A soft launch before the big bite? Was it all just a box to check for him?

My chest ached. My fingers tightened around the coffee cup like it could anchor me to something real. I wasn’t mad, but a splinter of doubt formed under the surface. Once you started wondering what else someone hasn’t told you, it was hard to stop.

As I walked home, Seraphina’s words echoed through my mind.

I’m sure he’ll be gentle.

Roman had promised me honesty. Promised me a choice in how I helped him with his pack. It was all for the betterment ofhis standing within the pack, and a way to keep him from being forced into mating with someone.

But tonight didn’t sound like a choice. It sounded like a deadline.

Suddenly, nothing about last night felt warm anymore. It felt calculated.

It felt like I might’ve been wrong about everything. About him. About us.

I walked straight into the apartment without taking off my shoes.

My coffee was still in my hand. I hadn’t taken a sip since I left the café. My jaw ached from how hard I was clenching it. My heart was pounding like I’d sprinted home, but I’d walked. Briskly, sure. Rage-walked, really. I hadn’t even registered red lights or curbs or the people who glanced at me and then looked away.

Roman was standing at the kitchen counter when I entered, like some domestic fantasy that had already expired. Like nothing in the world had shifted since I left.

His head snapped up, eyes alert and concerned. “You okay?”

I walked past him, set my coffee on the counter a little too hard, and crossed my arms over my chest. My skin was hot. My neck, my ears, my chest, were all burning.

“I ran into Seraphina at the café,” I said.

Roman swallowed. “Oh?”

“She told me about the bonding ceremony tonight. That you and I are supposed to be the headliners.”

His whole face went still. My stomach knotted. It told me everything before he even opened his mouth. Guilt. Panic. The unspokenoh shitin his eyes.

He lifted his hands placatingly, like I might explode. “Mags, I swear. I was going to tell you. Today. Lucien only told me about it late last night. I was just… trying to figure out how.”

He took a measured step toward me as if he was afraid I might bolt.

“I’m not going to bite you,” he said quickly. “I’d never?—”

He said it like biting me, like mating with me, would be the worst possible outcome. A line he’d never cross. Something so unthinkable, so horrifying, that he had to assure me it wasn’t even on the table.

I gave a short nod. Shrugged. Aimed for breezy and landed somewhere around brittle. “Right. Of course.”

He didn’t catch it. Or maybe he did but didn’t know what to do with it. Either way, his eyes were soft and sorry, and it only made the ache worse. I wasn’t angry, exactly. I didn’t want to throw things or raise my voice. But I was unraveling.

He’d made me feel like I belonged. And now? Now I wasn’t sure if I’d just been convenient. If all this was just damage control. Or guilt. Or some warped sense of responsibility. I wasn’t special. I was useful. A means to a political end.