Chapter4

Oliver finally confessed everything to me. He wasn’t an ordinary man—he was a werewolf. Inside every werewolf there was a real wolf—that wolf was Liam. They shared one body but had completely different souls. At least, those nights when I was touched, it wasn’t a stranger but Oliver’s most primal animal side. After learning the truth, the taut muscles in my neck finally relaxed, only to shiver with memory. Liam’s possessive eyes, the force he used when he forced me to eat so I couldn’t resist... “Will he appear again?” my voice trembled. Oliver’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “...He will.” “But I can’t stand him.” My nails dug deep into his flesh. “I hate the way he touches me, I hate him—” “No!” Oliver cut me off, his trembling hands cupping my face. “I swear I won’t let him out again...please don’t cry...” He carefully wiped my tears as if I were a fragile treasure that might shatter under pressure. But Oliver was a liar. On the seventh day, Liam still came. Rain tapped softly at the window; I sat at the edge of the bed staring blankly outside. Liam had been here for five days, and he still wouldn’t speak about Oliver. I tried to get along with Liam outside of the bedroom, but he kept that condescending air, as if everyone should bow to him. I used the term Oliver taught me, the one used between wolf mates, calling him "mate," but he only sneered and didn’t even look at me. If Oliver didn’t show up, maybe I should leave. There was no future with someone like Liam. Liam stood in front of me, his large hand wrapped around my fingers but unable to pull me. “Time for breakfast,” his voice was low and commanding, leaving no room for refusal. “Wash up.” I looked him in the eye. “Today is the sixth day.” “There is no sixth day,” he corrected, “it’s been six months and eleven days since we’ve been together.” “What?” Had he already switched into Oliver? No—this was definitely Liam. The pressure radiating off him felt almost tangible, as if he couldn’t be bothered to pretend. Fear rose up my spine like icy water and I ripped my hand free. “Where’s Oliver? What did you do to him?!” Liam reacted quickly. He grabbed my wrist, tore the decorative ribbon off my blouse, and bound my hands in seconds. I kicked him hard in the stomach, but it was like kicking a concrete wall. He didn’t even flinch; he pinned my legs down and reinforced the bindings with torn fabric. Buttons popped onto the floor with a crisp sound. When he bit my lip his sharp canines cut the skin and a metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. He licked the blood away, his voice terrifyingly gentle, “We’ll have breakfast later...” ...... After another round of intimacy, Liam went to make breakfast. I lay on the bed and, struggling to lift my hand, saw the ring on my finger. I remembered the wedding vows. “For better or worse, in sickness and in health.” Forget it—how could I give up the husband I had once loved out of cowardice? I steeled myself, planning to wait for Oliver to come back tomorrow and ask him how to cope with Liam. As I prepared to leave, I accidentally knocked a book off the shelf. ‘Werewolf Records’?