Elora’s POV
I blinked, his words landing like a fist to the gut.
Jealous?
Of me?
“That’s not true.
Dad doesn’t care about me.”
That man hadn’t even had the decency to check on me.
Not once.
“You don’t get it,” Garrett went on, low.
“You’ve always been different.
Better.
You’ve got healing gifts that outshine anyone in our pack, the elders adore you—Dad adores you,” he said.
“It’s not fair to blame you.
I know that.
But I do.”
“Garrett—”
“And when I was younger…” He exhaled.
“When I was twelve, I told Dad he had to put me first, or I’d kill myself and take you with me.
I held a knife to your throat while you slept, and he had to pull me off you.
That’s how much I hated you, Elora.”
No one spoke.
No one breathed.
All I could hear was the fire.
That was the weight his words had dropped on us.
For the first time, it all made sense—why Uncle Vance was so cold toward me.
He’d had no choice.
One was his son.
The other, his niece.
And he’d chosen his heir.
My chest cinched with a sorrow I couldn’t name.
I’d known he hated me.
I could never have imagined he hated me that much.
I’d always thought Garrett was the one who had everything.
Our future Alpha.
Strong, self-assured, everything our pack revered.
And here he was, telling me I made him feel small.
A nobody.
“I…” I tried to speak, but my lips wouldn’t obey.
What could I possibly say to that?
I forgive you?
I don’t forgive you?
Declan glanced between us with sympathy, while Varek shifted, uneasy—already dreading his own turn, most likely.