Where Soft Light Shines Darkness Fades From Tired Hearts by Evan Holt Crane 169
Third Person’s POV
Trista tilted her head back slightly and took a long, slow breath.
Her chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vise, but her head had never been clearer.
Finished
She could actually hear her own pulse–steady and rhythmic, like a high–performance engine idling in the cold.
A few minutes later, she drifted into the toy department
The place was a sensory overload of neon colors and sterile white lights, with shelves packed to the ceiling with everything a pup could dream of.
She hung back behind a display rack, watching Cassian from a distance.
He paused at a shelf, weighing two different water guns in his hands before settling on the pricier model and grabbing a matching electronic target to go with it. He moved with a practiced ease, the casual efficiency of a man who’d been playing “Daddy” for a long time.
Trista pulled out her phone, killed the screen brightness and focused the lens. She didn’t hesitate when she hit the shutter.
She caught a perfect shot of Cassian’s back as he carefully curated his little gift.
Without missing a beat, she pulled up a contact in her phone and fired off that photo along with another “gift” she’d been holding onto.
The second shot was from the kindergarten–the school’s logo was front and center, with Cassian picking up Algernon. The time, the place, the evidence–it was all there.
Once the “Sent” notification popped up, she hit the dial button. Her voice was flat, echoing the tone of a boss giving a routine order. “I want these two shots on every front page before the sun goes down.”
A quick “Got it” came from the other end.
She tucked the phone back into her bag, her face a perfect, unreadable mask.
When Cassian finally circled back to the women’s section, Trista was busy browsing the racks.
He stepped up and smoothly traded the white parka she was holding for a sharp, deep–red tailored coat.
He sounded like the picture of a thoughtful partner. “Red’s a better look for Ulva. It’ll bring out in her.”
Trista shot him a brief, cold glance and gave a stiff nod. “Fine. Red it is.”
They spent another hour playing the “happy couple” at the mall and didn’t make it back to the new villa until after seven.
The sensor lights in the foyer flickered to life as they stepped inside and then died just as quickly. The heat was humming, but the air in the room felt heavy enough to choke someone.
The sound of the shopping bags hitting the floor echoed through the empty living room like a gunshot.
43%
Finished
Cassian tossed his keys into the tray. He hadn’t even cleared his shoulders of his overcoat when the comm- stone at his waist started buzzing like a disturbed horne
He could feel the faint, localized heat of the Ironthorn’s high–level encryption burning against his hip.
He pressed the stone, and his beta assistant’s voice, Humphrey, immediately cut through the Mind–Link.
“Alpha Cassian, someone just blew the lid off your private business.”
Humphrey didn’t sugarcoat it. He shoved the images directly into Cassian’s mental periphery.
Two photos, side–by–side: the toy store and the kindergarten.
The headlines were a trashy mix of clickbait and scandal. The comment sections were already a bloodbath -pure, unadulterated malice leaking from every word.
Cassian’s jaw went rigid.
He zoomed in on the kindergarten shot.
He remembered that crosswalk, the speed limit sign, even the way he was carrying the kid’s backpack.
That photo shouldn’t have existed… unless someone had been waiting in the shadows to take it.
He snapped his head toward Trista.
She was still standing in the middle of the room, looking pristine in her new red coat. Her hair was perfect, and her pheromones were as still as a frozen lake.
“These two photos,” Cassian rasped, his voice vibrating with a lethal edge. “Did you leak these to the press?”
The toy store shot could’ve been a fluke.
But the kindergarten one?
That was the day she’d just landed. He’d gone to pick up the boy and caught her standing across the street.
She’d been separated from him by a sea of traffic, holding her phone like a weapon.
That lens had been an ice–cold eye, locking onto his back.
Trista didn’t bother lying..
She met his gaze with a lazy indifference that was more insulting than a slap. “Maybe my finger sli Total accident.”
They locked eyes in a dead stare.
Cassian knew right then that she was playing for keeps.
It wasn’t about what she said–it was that terrifyingly calm look in her eyes.
“Trista,” he hissed, enunciating every syllable. “What kind of game are you playing?”
She didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer.
43%
Finished
Instead, she held up her own stone, which was vibrating out of control. With a tap, she projected a faint violet glow.
It was the “Emergency Summons” from Howard’s estate–Howard’s personal mark.
Her tone was flat, but her words hit like a hammer. “Maybe save the temper tantrum for someone else. You’d better figure out how to put out the fire your grandfather’s about to start.”
The words had barely left her lips when the doorbell rang–sharp and demanding.
An omega of Howard was standing there, buttoned up to the chin and looking like he was ready for a funeral.
He gave a stiff bow. “Alpha Cassian, Luna Trista. Howard wants you back at the main house. Now.”
“Let’s go.”
Trista didn’t wait for Cassian to move.
She walked past him and out the door, her back as straight as a razor.
She didn’t look back, and she didn’t hesitate. She knew exactly what was coming next.
Send Gifts
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Ruby Walker
Ruby Walker is a rising voice in the world of romance and spicy fiction. With a gift for weaving deep emotions, sizzling chemistry, and unexpected twists, her stories are a blend of passion and drama that captivate readers from start to finish. Ruby’s writing style is bold and irresistible—perfect for those who crave intense, addictive love stories.