Mated To My Mate's Worst Enemy Chapter 127

ARIA

"I miss you," Kael said quietly. "Miss the you who had her memories. Who understood our history. Who knew why I trust you the way I do."

"I miss her too," Ivory said. "Or at least, I think I do. It's strange, mourning someone who's technically still here but fundamentally changed. Like grieving for myself while still being alive."

"Will you get your memories back?" Kael asked.

"I don't know," Ivory admitted. "Eliza thinks they might return eventually, or they might be gone permanently. There's no way to predict. All I can do is move forward with what I have now, try to build new memories instead of dwelling on lost ones."

"New memories that don't include what we shared," Kael said, and I heard the sadness in his voice.

"New memories that might be better," Ivory countered gently. "New relationships that aren't complicated by years of unspoken feelings and unfulfilled expectations. New possibilities that don't involve me pining for something I can't fully remember."

"Like with Jason," Kael said, and I heard the slight edge in his voice.

"Maybe," Ivory said. "He's kind. Dedicated. Uncomplicated. Everything I need right now while I figure out who I am without my past defining me."

"I'm happy for you," Kael said, though through the bond I felt his jealousy, his possessiveness, his struggle with watching her move on.

"No, you're not," Ivory said, and I heard her smile. "But you're trying to be, which is what matters. And Kael, that's another reason I need to step back. Need to stop letting you use your trust in me as a crutch for avoiding fully committing to Aria. Because as long as I'm here being your confidant, being the person whose word you trust absolutely, you're not going to invest in building that same trust with your mate."

"I trust Aria—" Kael started.

"You want to trust her," Ivory corrected. "But you don't. Not really. Not the way you trust me. And you won't start building that trust as long as you have me as an alternative. So I'm removing myself from that equation. Being professional but distant. Giving you space to actually develop the relationship you need with your mate."

"That's not necessary—" Kael protested.

"It is necessary," Ivory said firmly. "For your sake. For Aria's sake. For mine. We all need space to move forward instead of staying stuck in patterns that don't serve anyone."

"I don't want to lose you," Kael said quietly.

"You're not losing me," Ivory assured him. "I'm still here. Still part of the pack. Still someone you can rely on for important things. But Kael, the daily intimacy, the constant reliance on my judgment, the way you use my certainty as a substitute for developing your own—that needs to stop. For everyone's benefit."

They continued talking, but I couldn't listen anymore. Couldn't stand there absorbing more evidence of how completely Ivory understood the dynamics I'd been struggling with, how clearly she saw the problems I hadn't even been able to articulate.

I backed away from the meeting room, my mind churning with everything I'd heard. Ivory didn't like me—had been honest about that—but she was still willing to step back to give Kael and me space to build our relationship. Was still willing to acknowledge that supporting me, even when she didn't want to, was best for the pack.

She was angry and bitter and resentful about how things had turned out. But she was channeling those feelings into doing what was right rather than what was satisfying. Was proving yet again why her word carried such weight, why people trusted her absolutely, why Kael's faith in her was justified.

And I was... what? Still struggling to figure out my place. Still failing to contribute anything meaningful. Still being defended by the woman who had every reason to want me gone but was too fundamentally decent to actually work toward that outcome.

The comparison was devastating. Even when Ivory disliked me, even when she was hurt and angry about the situation, she was still more effective at protecting me than I was at protecting myself.

I made my way back to my chambers, passing pack members who nodded respectfully but maintained that careful distance. They were being polite now, after everything that had happened. But politeness wasn't trust. Wasn't respect. Wasn't the foundation I needed to actually survive in this role.

When I finally reached my chambers, I sank into a chair and stared at nothing, trying to process everything I'd learned.

Kael had been ordered by the elders to maintain distance during my investigation. That explained his absence, though it didn't make it hurt less.

Ivory had conducted her investigation alone, risking her life to prove the truth rather than just letting events unfold naturally. She'd saved me not out of any affection or support, but because killing me would have been cruel and unjust.

She was stepping back now, removing herself from Kael's daily life to force him to actually build trust with me instead of constantly relying on her judgment and certainty.

And she'd been honest about all of it. About her anger, her resentment, her belief that I was inadequate. But also about her commitment to doing what was right regardless of her personal feelings.

That was integrity. That was the kind of character that built absolute trust over fifteen years. That was what I needed to develop if I ever wanted my word to carry weight, my judgment to be respected, my position to be legitimate.

I had so far to go. So much work to do. So many ways I was failing to live up to even the basic requirements of leadership.

But at least now I understood what I was working toward. Understood the standard I needed to meet. Understood that rank alone would never be enough—I had to earn every bit of authority and trust through consistent action and proven integrity.

Just like Ivory had done.

The comparison still hurt. Still made me feel inadequate and small and completely out of my depth.

But maybe, eventually, I could build something similar. Maybe years from now, I could be someone whose word mattered, whose judgment was trusted, whose integrity was beyond question.

Maybe.

If I was willing to do the work. If I was willing to be honest even when it was uncomfortable. If I was willing to do what was right instead of what was easy.

It was a tall order. An overwhelming prospect. A goal that felt almost impossibly distant.

But it was the only path forward. The only way to ensure that next time—if there was a next time—I wouldn't be standing on a platform with a noose around my neck, waiting for someone else to prove my innocence because I hadn't built enough credibility to prove it myself.

So I would do the work. Would start tomorrow with Nina's suggestions. Would spend the months and years necessary to build the foundation I should have been building from the start.

Not because I liked Ivory or wanted to be like her or even fully understood her.

But because she'd shown me what was possible when you earned trust through consistent action and proven integrity.

And if she could do it while dealing with memory loss and romantic disappointment and a pack that expected miracles from her—then surely I could do it too.

Eventually.

With enough time and effort and dedication.

I hoped.