8
“Daisy, Harrison truly cares for you. And he’s your fated mate. There’s no mistake.”
I nodded.
Harrison’s attentiveness was evident.
But the thought of Rick and Calista’s bonding ceremony, the celebrations, the praise-while I was accused of theft-weighed heavily.
I confessed everything to my parents.
Rick pursued me in college; we started dating before graduation.
I’d heard whispers about his childhood sweetheart, Calista, but never met her, so I dismissed it.
Once, while cleaning his study, I accidentally knocked over a crystal ball on his desk.
He leaped up, shoving me away.
“Stay out of my study! Don’t touch anything!”
His face was dark, yet when he picked up the crystal ball, his eyes softened.
As I lay on the floor, I saw an inscription on its base: From Calista.
I remembered our six years of platonic love.
Rick always said he loved me, but he only stared at my lips, held my hand, hugged me.
No kisses, no intimacy.
He even used suppressants during his heat period.
I asked why he lacked normal romantic urges, and he said, “My parents are old-fashioned. We’re just dating; intimacy comes after bonding. This is my way of showing love.”
I was touched, determined to be with him, rejecting my arranged bond.
Now, with Calista’s return, everything clicked.
Rick had remained celibate for Calista all these years.
In his drunken ramblings, I’d heard him say I wasn’t as good as Calista’s hair.
I’d dismissed it as drunken words, but now I see the truth.
Those late-night confessions were heartfelt.
