Third Person P.O.V.
The house was hushed, as though even the walls held their breath after the storm of the past few days. The faint scent of pancakes still lingered in the air, mixed with the warmth of candle wax and the subtle undertone of wolf essence that clung to every corner of Bella’s home.
Mason sat on the edge of the couch, his elbows braced against his knees, his head bowed. His hands were clasped so tightly together that the skin over his knuckles had gone white. He could hear the steady rhythm of Bella’s breathing across from him, soft but strained, as though she were holding herself together by fragile threads.
The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was heavy, laden with everything unsaid—his accusations, her tears, their shattered pieces.
He finally dragged his eyes up
