Chapter 4 Too Close

Amy's face was small and pale, and there was an unsettling resemblance to Rhea's own features. It wasn't obvious at first glance, but there was something in her expression, a certain likeness that made them look eerily similar.

In that moment, Rhea understood. To Patrick, she had been nothing more than a stand-in for Amy.

She forced a bitter smile. Of course, that was why three years ago, after just one look, he'd agreed to bond with her. It all made sense now.

"Patrick, you're here," Amy's mother, Marcia Adams, greeted them, trying to smile through her worry.

Her gaze flicked over to Rhea, a hint of coldness in her eyes.

Patrick gave her a polite nod.

Marcia walked over to the bed, gently patting Amy's shoulder. "Amy, Patrick's here to see you."

Amy slowly opened her eyes, and her gaze swept over Rhea's face, showing no surprise. It was as if she'd already known about their resemblance.

She looked up at Patrick, her eyes filling with tears. Her voice was soft, almost helpless.

"Patrick, I wasn't trying to... I just couldn't sleep, so I took a few extra sleeping pills. My mom overreacted and rushed me to the hospital. I'm sorry for dragging you and Rhea out here so late."

Marcia's eyes were red as she chided, "A few pills? You took nearly the whole bottle! If I hadn't found you in time, you would've..." Her voice broke, and she covered her mouth, sobbing.

Patrick moved to sit at the edge of Amy's bed, gazing at her with a mix of concern and affection.

"Don't ever do something like that again, okay?"

Amy bit her lip, her eyes glistening with tears, and nodded obediently, looking like a delicate, broken doll.

Patrick took out a handkerchief and gently wiped the tears from her eyes, his movements so tender that he seemed to be handling fine porcelain. His gaze was full of warmth, of care.

Rhea watched, feeling an ache in her chest. In three years of marriage, he'd never once looked at her like that.

This was the difference between love and... well, whatever they had.

Even though Amy had abandoned him in his darkest hour, he still loved her.

A lump rose in Rhea's throat, and she couldn't stay there a moment longer.

"I'm going home."

At her words, Patrick glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Explain to Amy first."

Rhea took a deep breath.

"Miss Adams, Patrick and I are only staying together for now to avoid upsetting his grandmother..."

Her voice caught. She couldn't finish the sentence and turned to leave, her composure slipping. For the first time, she openly defied Patrick.

Once the door closed, Amy looked up at Patrick.

"You should go after her, Patrick. She looked really upset."

Patrick hesitated.

"She won't be mad. She never is."

Amy sighed, her voice low. "I didn't realize Rhea was so composed and graceful. So unlike what you'd expect from a small-town elf-werewolf. I thought... she wouldn't suit you."

Patrick frowned, uncomfortable.

"She may have grown up in a small village, but her mother and grandmother were teachers, and her grandfather was a sacred werewolf artifacts restorer at a museum. It's a family of scholars."

"Ah, I see."

They both fell silent, the conversation stalling.

After a while, Amy asked cautiously, "Rhea's beautiful and kind. You must love her a lot, right?"

Patrick was looking down at his phone, momentarily distracted. "What did you say?"

Amy's eyes dimmed with disappointment.

"Go on, Patrick. It's late, and it's dangerous for her to be out there alone."

He stood up.

"I'll drop her off and come back to check on you."

Amy's smile was soft. "Go on."

As he walked out, her expression darkened.

Once he was out of sight, Marcia turned to her.

"Amy, you finally got him to come. Why let him go so easily?"

Amy frowned.

"Couldn't you tell? Patrick was distracted, worried about Rhea the entire time. If I'd forced him to stay, he'd just blame me if anything happened to her."

Marcia shook her head, clicking her tongue.

"You're too clever for your own good, girl."

Patrick caught up to Rhea just as she reached the hospital entrance. In the cold spring night, her slender figure stood out against the dim light, like a bamboo branch painted in ink.

He hurried to her side.

They walked in silence, side by side, through the hospital doors.

When she turned toward the curb to hail a cab, he reached out, catching her by the wrist and leading her to the parking lot.

Once inside the car, Patrick pulled out a card from his bag and slipped it into the pocket of her coat.

"I wasn't fair to you tonight. Consider this an apology. The pin is your birthday."

Rhea felt a sting of humiliation. In his eyes, she was someone he could easily brush off with money, not even worth the effort of a real apology.

He saved his warmth for Amy.

She reached into her pocket, ready to hand the card back.

But he pressed her hand down firmly. His voice was low and unyielding.

"Take it. I have nothing else to give you but money."

Her heart felt like it was filled with sand, each grain rubbing painfully. Money was the last thing she wanted from him.

Halfway through the drive, Patrick's phone rang-it was Diane.

"Didn't I tell you to come straight back? Get home. Now," she said sharply.

"We're nearly there," he replied, hanging up.

Back at the Old Fabian Wolfpack House, they entered to find Diane slumped on the sofa, looking pale but with an intensity in her eyes that suggested she was waiting for them.

She held out her hand. "Your phone."

Patrick handed it to her, and she quickly found Amy's number and dialed.

When Amy picked up, Diane's voice was stern.

"Miss Adams, Patrick is married. Respect that and don't call him unless it's necessary. You ended things with him three years ago. Don't look back now or entertain any foolish ideas about him."

Before Amy could reply, Diane ended the call and tossed the phone onto the coffee table.

Patrick's brow furrowed.

"Amy has severe depression. You can't upset her like that."

Diane scoffed.

"Even if she had cancer, it doesn't concern you. Your focus should be on your wife!"

Patrick's eyes darkened.

"Grandma..."

Diane covered her mouth as she began to cough violently.

Rhea hurried over, helping her back to bed, where she soothed Diane until she was settled. Then she returned to the guest room.

Patrick was just putting his phone down on the bedside table, likely after another call to Amy.

Without a word, Rhea grabbed a long pillow from the couch and placed it between them on the bed. She fetched a second blanket from the closet so they'd each have one.

She took off her coat and slipped into bed. By now, it was three in the morning, and exhaustion had turned her mind to mush. She didn't want to think or feel-she just wanted to sleep.

As soon as her head hit the pillow, she fell into a deep sleep.

When she finally woke, sunlight was streaming in through the window, and she opened her eyes to find herself face-to-face with Patrick.

He was watching her intently, their faces so close she could feel his breath warm on her forehead.

His eyes were restrained but smouldering, filled with a depth she hadn't seen before.

She realized, with a jolt, that she was nestled against his chest, her arms around his waist, her legs tangled with his.

The air between them grew thick with tension, and her wolf instincts kicked in, the bond stirring in her as her neck tingled, craving his mark.

Startled, she pulled away, practically scrambling out of his arms.

Flustered and embarrassed, she stammered, "Why was I in your arms?"