Cold Rabbit was confused

The scent of antiseptic and despair clung to the air of the private hospital wing, a bitter perfume I knew all too well. My claws, carefully sheathed within my human-form fingers, dug into the palms of my hands. The report from my security detail was burning a hole in the inner pocket of my suit jacket.

Elijah Cassian-Webster. Ingestion of suspected Wolfsbane. Condition: Stable.

Wolfsbane. A poison. My mate had tried to kill himself.

The thought was a physical blow, a sucker-punch to the gut that stole my breath. I stood outside his door for a full minute, forcing the storm inside me back under control. An Alpha does not show weakness. A CEO does not show panic. A husband… what was I even allowed to show? I was just the man bound to him by a piece of paper and a desperate, foolish hope.

I pushed the door open.

And there he was.

My beautiful, infuriating, heartbreaking husband. Pale as the sheets, clinging to the bedframe like a lifeline, his slender body trembling with the effort of simply standing. Those wide eyes, usually so full of cold disdain or calculated boredom, were now pools of pure, unadulterated confusion. And those ears… his long, pristine white rabbit ears, usually held proudly, almost arrogantly, were drooping, one of them flopping slightly over his forehead.

He looked utterly lost.

A part of me, the primal, possessive Alpha core, roared to go to him, to gather him in my arms and scent him until the fear was gone, until my smell was the only thing on his skin. The other part, the part he had meticulously built up and calloused over six months of rejection, hardened into ice.

“Finally awake, I see,” I said, my voice a low growl I couldn’t quite suppress. I crossed my arms, my own gray tail lashing once, sharply, behind me, betraying the agitation I fought to conceal.

“What were you thinking, Elijah? Drinking poison? Was it truly so unbearable?”

The mere idea that existence with me was a fate worse than death was a blade twisted in a wound that had never healed.

He blinked, those long white lashes fluttering.

“I… it was… lemonade?” he whispered, his voice a soft, thready thing. It was so unlike his usual sharp, dismissive tone that it gave me pause.

Frustration, hot and acidic, rose in my throat.

“Do not play the fool with me.” The words came out harsher than I intended.

“We have an agreement. A contract. If you no longer desire this marriage, you simply needed to say the words. We could have arranged a quiet dissolution. There was no need for this… this dramatic, foolish attempt on your own life!”

I saw the words land, saw the genuine bewilderment deepen in his expression. This wasn’t his usual act. This wasn’t the cold, self-centered socialite who barely acknowledged my presence in our shared home.

“But…” he stammered, his brow furrowing in a way that was strangely… innocent. “I’m… I’m not married. Nobody… nobody wants to marry me. I’m dense.”

The world tilted.

Dense? Elijah?

The man who could eviscerate a business rival with a single, perfectly poised barb?

The man whose every public appearance was a masterclass in calculated charm and icy detachment?

He thought he was… dense?

My ears, which had been pinned back in anger, twitched forward of their own accord, straining to catch the nuance in his scent, in his voice. There was no guile there. Only a profound, shocking sincerity.

“Elijah,” I said, my voice dropping, the growl receding into a wary rumble. “What are you talking about? We’ve been married for six months.”

The silence that followed was deafening. He just stared at me, his rabbit nose twitching slightly, his whole world seemingly crumbling behind those violet eyes.

Six months.

Six months of me, James Webster, Alpha of the Silvermane Clan, owner of a global empire, being brought to my knees by a fragile rabbit who didn't even want to look at me.

I fell for him the moment I saw him. It was at a charity gala his family was desperately clinging to. He was across the room, a vision in white silk, his rabbit ears held high, a glass of champagne in his hand, looking bored and ethereally beautiful. Our eyes met, and for a single, staggering second, I felt the pull.

The mating bond.

It was faint, a fledgling thing, but it was there. I knew, with every fiber of my being, that he was mine.

Then his family’s empire crumbled. The vultures circled. And I saw my chance. I went to him, not as a savior, but as a businessman. I offered a merger. A marriage.

I drafted the contract myself, my hands trembling as I wrote the clause that was both my salvation and my damnation: The union may be dissolved upon the successful birth of a healthy heir.

I didn't want to force him.

I was a wolf, yes, possessive and territorial to my core, but I wanted him to choose me.

I thought, given time, proximity… he might feel the pull, too.

So I waited.

I gave him his own wing in the mansion. I bought him anything his heart desired. I never pressed. I never touched him, despite the agony of sleeping alone, knowing my mate was just rooms away.

And he… he was always cold.

His heart belonged to another.

Alex.

A flashy, preening tiger beastman from his old life.

I knew Elijah met him.

My security team gave me weekly reports, each one a fresh slice of hell. I saw the photos of them having lunch, laughing. I knew the sting of betrayal, the acid burn of jealousy, but I never stopped him.

What right did I have?

Our marriage was a transaction. I was just waiting for him to fulfill his part of the bargain so he could be free.

The pain was a constant, dull ache in my chest.

In the boardroom, I was the stoic, unflappable CEO. At home, I was a ghost, haunting the edges of his life.

And then, the final, cruel twist.

The report that wasn't about Elijah meeting Alex.

It was about Alex.

Caught in a luxury mall, his arm wrapped around a visibly pregnant fox beastman. He had cheated on Elijah. The man my husband pined for, the man he risked scandal for, had thrown him away for someone else.

I never told Elijah.

What would have been the point?

To see the pain in his eyes?

To witness his heart breaking for another man?

My pride, what little I had left where he was concerned, wouldn't allow it. I simply filed the report away, another secret to carry.

Now, standing here, looking at this confused, vulnerable version of my husband, a terrifying, impossible hope began to stir in the ashes of my heart.

The Wolfsbane… the confusion… the way he looked at me as if he’d never seen me before…

He didn’t answer.

He just continued to stare, a lost little rabbit who somehow held the entirety of my bruised and battered soul in his small, trembling hands.

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