Chapter 316: Chapter 316
~Axel’s Point Of View~
I never smoked before Madrid. Not once. I thought it was stupid. I saw it as a vice for the weak, a poor excuse for coping. I remember mocking Rafael for doing it when his mother passed. Told him grief wasn’t a fire that needed more smoke.
Crouched on the edge of the private terrace in my wing, shirtless, barefoot, knuckles still bruised from training, with a cigarette burning between my fingers like it was the only damn thing holding me together.
The embers hissed in the breeze, just like my thoughts. I took another drag. It burned. So did everything else. Two months into marriage. That’s all it took to start falling apart.
We hadn’t even had time to frame a wedding photo.
And yet, here I was—sneaking smokes like a fucking teenager, hiding it from María José because I didn’t want her to see how far I was breaking. Because I couldn’t let her know that the strongest man she knew, her protector, the one who once promised to be her shield, her sword... couldn’t protect the only thing that ever mattered.
More than life. More than air. More than the pack our families were trying to build from the ashes of our ruined bloodlines. She made me believe in something softer than survival. Something better than vengeance.
And then, our wedding night happened.
I remember how she looked under the candles—like a painting, like a goddess sculpted just for me. And I remember the moment—the exact fucking second I realized the truth.
She wasn’t a virgin. She didn’t even know it. It shattered me. The source of thɪs content is novel•fire.net
Not because I cared about some outdated purity bullshit. I wasn’t that guy. But because she cared. She made it a whole point. Said she’d kept herself for me—for us. Said she’d never even kissed someone without overthinking it. And then the bloodless sheets. The way she blinked up at me so innocently, asking if it was supposed to hurt more.
And I... God. I broke but not out loud. Never out loud. I got out of that bed and punched a hole in the wall of the bathroom so hard my hand swelled for three days because Hugo wouldn’t heal me.
He thought I was letting my emotions get in the way of logical reasoning, but seriously, was I to be blamed? What man wouldn’t break under the face of such?
It took weeks to realize it wasn’t María’s fault.
That I wasn’t strong enough to bring Rosa down but had to subject María to Ignacio’s mercy in return for help. That wasn’t my original plan. I just wanted to bait him, but she went ahead and took his offer for help, not knowing that the bastard wanted her virginity as a price.
If I couldn’t undo what happened, I’d make sure she’d never be vulnerable again. Not like that. Not under my watch.
That meant one thing—power. Not love. Not flowers. Not poems or sweet mornings in bed.
Meetings. Training. Deals. Expansion. More guards. Stronger alliances. Anything and everything that meant no one could touch her again without going through a kingdom of fire first.
But even while I worked, my heart was bleeding out in silence. She smiled at me across the dining table, and I looked away. She touched my arm during a gala, and I stiffened.
She whispered my name in the dark, and I pretended I was asleep. I thought I was protecting her. Giving her space. Giving me time to rebuild.
But all I was doing was pushing her away.
And the moment I saw her tonight—standing in the hallway, her hair up in one of those goddess braids she wore when she meant business, I realized something terrifying:
Not to another man or to treachery, but to silence. To all the damn things I wasn’t saying.
So I stood up, shoved the half-smoked cigarette into the stone wall, and left my wing with the taste of ash still in my mouth and a decision in my bones.
Fix it. Tonight. Or lose her forever.
It wasn’t the kind of fast where you’re trying to make it somewhere. No. This was the kind of fast where your bones itch with urgency and your chest is too full of something you can’t name but you know it’ll drown you if you stop moving.
The suite was empty when I arrived there.
Her shoes weren’t by the door. Her robe wasn’t tossed across the foot of the bed like usual. The light in the bathroom was off. No scent of her coconut hair oil, no faint hum of her voice singing some song off-key in the shower.
Just a hollow room and the echo of what I should’ve said to her hours ago. I was about to tear the place apart when I heard the shuffle of a voice. I turned sharply, nostrils flaring.
Lila and Carmen stepped in, whispering something in rapid Spanish before freezing at the sight of me. Lila was holding a tray of hot tea. Carmen had a basket of laundry that looked way too light to justify the frantic energy she walked in with.
"Where’s my wife?" I barked immediately.
"Señor," Carmen squeaked. "We... we thought she’d be here already."
"She told us to come in first," Lila added, setting the tray down with hands that trembled slightly. "Said she had something to handle."
They looked at each other, both clearly unsure if they should speak.
Oh, they better not push me to the edge tonight. What could my wife be doing at this hour that warranted her dismissing her maids or their panicked reactions to my sudden presence?
I advanced a step, shooting them a death stare. "Don’t make me ask again."