Chapter 7 · Sebastian Feels Bond Not Broken

Sebastian Blackwood hadn't slept through the night in four months.

The Alpha lay in the master bedroom—the bedroom that still smelled wrong, still felt wrong, still carried the ghost of a woman he'd cast out and couldn't stop reaching for in the dark. Celeste slept beside him, her breathing even, her hand resting on his chest as if she owned the space his mate had vacated.

She didn't. No one did. The bond made sure of it.

Every night, the same pattern. Sebastian closed his eyes and felt Zaia's pain like a second heartbeat—not metaphorical, not poetic, but literal agony that pulsed through the golden thread connecting them. Distance didn't dull it. Time didn't sever it. The rejection he'd initiated, the divorce he'd demanded, the narrative he'd constructed to protect the pack's stability—none of it had broken what the moon had forged.

The bond was still there.

He'd known, theoretically. Pack law was clear: rejected mates suffered until dissolution or reconciliation. But knowing and *feeling* were different countries. Sebastian had spent three years with Zaia. He'd felt her joy, her anxiety, her quiet contentment in moments he'd taken for granted.