Chosen as the Cursed Alpha's Seventh Bride

Chapter 272: Chapter 272 Return to the Pack House With Me

Emilia’s POV

I was surprised he’d actually come back.

"I thought I told you to leave," I said coldly. "Why are you back?"

He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at me, that green stare fixed on my face, and then he reached out one big hand and slowly wiped the tears off the tip of my nose.

"If I actually walked out like that, you’d never forgive me. Would you?"

I was so furious I turned my head away and refused to give him a reply. Eve stirred, and I hated that even she softened a little at his touch.

"Alright, don’t be angry anymore, okay?" he said. "This one’s on me. I know I screwed up. You can do whatever you want to me later. Yell, hit me, whatever. But right now, let’s just take care of you first. Deal?"

I sniffed hard, then turned back to face him. "So you’re finally admitting you were wrong?"

"Yes."

"And you want me to forgive you."

"Yes."

I studied him for a beat. He looked wrecked, those tired eyes practically begging.

"Fine," I said. "I’ll give you one chance to earn it."

"What chance?" His whole face lit up like a kid who’d just been told Christmas was back on.

I let the silence stretch. Then I dropped it. "We go back to the Pack House."

And just like that, the light went out. His expression froze solid, like I’d flipped some switch inside him. He didn’t say a word. He just sat there, stone-faced.

I raised an eyebrow. "What’s the matter? Is that really so impossible for you?"

"I can promise you anything," he said slowly. "Anything except—"

"Then don’t bother finishing." I cut him off. "That’s the one thing I want. If you can’t do it, then there’s nothing left for us to talk about."

"Emilia." His jaw tightened. "You know exactly how I feel about that place. Why would you ask me for the one thing you know I can’t stand?"

"Because the harder it is, the more it proves you actually mean it." I held his stare and didn’t blink. "You keep telling me you’re sincere. So show me. Let me feel it for once, instead of just hearing about it."

He stood up, caught in it, torn right down the middle. He pinched the bridge of his nose the way he always did when I’d backed him into a corner, then started pacing the length of the room like a caged animal. Ryder, I imagined, was probably prowling right along with him in there.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

I just waited.

Finally he stopped.

And because there was no other way to get my forgiveness, he ground it out through his teeth. "Okay. We’ll go back."

The tightness in my face loosened, just a little.

I looked up at him. "Deal?"

"Deal."

"And one more thing." I wasn’t done. "No fighting with your parents once we’re there. Whatever’s happened between you, you treat them the way you used to. With respect. With love."

He crossed to the bed and planted both hands on the mattress, leaning over me. "Don’t you think that’s asking a bit much?"

"Why do you think I’m sending you home in the first place?" I shot back. "So you can spend all day at each other’s throats?"

He exhaled hard. "Fine. Understood."

Then he sighed, that heavy, put-upon sigh of his, and pointed at the sandwich. "Now finish that."

"Not hungry anymore."

"Are you serious right now?" His eyes narrowed. "I have to agree to every single one of your demands, but you get to blow off mine whenever you feel like it?"

I tilted my head and looked at him, sweet as anything. "How about we eat together, then?"

He stared at me for a long moment. Then he touched his forehead, shook his head, and let out a low, defeated laugh under his breath.

"You," he muttered, "are absolutely impossible."

Tiffany’s POV

After I dropped Abigail Tanner off, I took my time driving back toward the hospital. There was no rush now, so I let the car crawl along and pretended to enjoy the view, which honestly wasn’t much of a view at all.

When I rolled past a little pastry shop, I hit the brakes on impulse. Emilia loved cream puffs, and I figured a box of them might cheer her up. Right next to the pastry shop sat a cozy little cafe, and as I stepped toward the door, my eyes drifted sideways through the glass without really meaning to.

That was when I froze.

A man and a woman were sitting by the window, cozy as anything. I’d know that woman anywhere. Willow York. The girl Fynn had been crazy about. But the man practically glued to her side was definitely not Fynn.

He had his arm draped over her shoulder, leaning in to murmur something in her ear, and Willow tipped her head back and laughed like she didn’t have a care in the world.

My stomach turned.

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