Chapter Text
Y/N wasn’t expecting anything unusual when she walked into Sam and Emily’s house that day. The sun was out (shocking for Forks), she had a coffee in one hand, her phone in the other, and a plan to hang out with Emily while ignoring whatever supernatural nonsense her brother and his pack were up to. Life was good.
And then Paul fucking Lahote had to ruin it, like he always does.
She didn’t even know he was back. The last time she saw him was… god, years ago? Back in high school, when he was still the same arrogant, smirking asshole who lived to make her life hell. Sam’s best friend. The walking migraine in her life. The reason she had developed an iron-clad patience, because if she hadn’t, she would have ended up in jail for homicide.
But life went on. She graduated, left for college, came back, and in all that time, she hadn’t thought much about him. Until today.
It happened so fast.
One second, she was stepping into the house, greeting Emily with a lazy smile, and the next, Paul turned, their eyes met, and the air was punched out of her lungs.
No. No. No fucking way.
She knew that look. She had seen it before, years ago, when Sam looked at Emily for the first time after breaking Leah’s heart into pieces. The imprint.
Her blood turned to ice.
Paul’s cocky expression vanished, replaced by something unreadable, something intense. For once in his life, he was dead silent. It lasted a second. Maybe two. And then the asshole opened his mouth.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”
Oh, she was going to kill him.
“So, let me get this straight, out of all the people in the world, you get stuck with me?” Y/N raised an eyebrow, arms crossed, trying to keep her voice steady despite the rage boiling under her skin.
Paul hadn’t moved since the realization hit him. He stood there, jaw clenched so tight it could break, eyes fixed on her like she was the single biggest mistake the universe had ever made.
And she hated that it stung.
“Maybe your wolfy magic is broken,” she suggested, voice sickly sweet. “You should get a refund.”
That snapped him out of it. His eyes darkened, lips curling into that same smirk that used to drive her insane back in school. Oh, he wanted to play?
“Of course it’s you,” he scoffed. “My life’s a joke.”
Y/N let out a laugh, sharp, sarcastic, and absolutely livid. “Oh no, I’m so sorry your magical soul-bonding bullshit decided to pick someone with actual standards,” she said, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Must be such a downgrade from your usual lineup of brainless hookups.”
Paul blinked, momentarily caught off guard. The pack watching the exchange let out a mix of snickers and wide-eyed looks, already enjoying the show.
“Damn,” Embry muttered. “She came in swinging.”
Paul rolled his eyes, but there was something tight in his posture, something tense in the way he was holding himself. Good. Let him suffer.
She didn’t stop there. Oh, no.
Y/N tilted her head, pretending to think. “Actually, wait—does this mean you’re stuck with me now? Like, forever?” She gasped, dramatic. “How will you ever survive without emotionally damaging random girls and running away from your problems?”
The pack collectively lost it.
Jared straight-up wheezed. Quil had to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from cackling. Even Sam, her own brother, was biting back a smile.
Paul, meanwhile, looked seconds away from combusting. His hands were shaking, whether from rage or something else, she didn’t know. But instead of blowing up, he did what he did best- he fought back.
“Cute,” he said, voice low and mocking. “But remind me, how’s life being Sam’s perfect little sister? You still following all the rules? Still doing everything right?”
It was a cheap shot, but it landed.
Her jaw tightened. She was not having this argument. Not today.
So, she smiled, the most condescending, patronizing smile she could manage. “Aw, are you mad?” she cooed. “Mad that I’m not a complete disaster? Mad that I don’t need a pack of emotional support wolves to handle my anger issues?”
That did it. Paul actually growled.
And she walked away.
Like he wasn’t even worth her time.
Unfortunately, the universe hates her
Here’s the thing, Y/N had terrible luck.
It wasn’t just bad luck. It was cursed, humiliating, the-universe-is-laughing-at-her type of luck.
Which is why, less than twenty minutes after obliterating Paul Lahote in front of his entire pack, she ended up needing his help.
She wasn’t even doing anything reckless. She was just leaving Emily’s house, walking to her car, when the ground, the literal Earth itself, betrayed her.
One second, she was stepping down the porch stairs. The next? Her ankle twisted, her balance disappeared, and gravity did its thing.
She hit the ground with all the grace of a dying fish.
“Are you serious?” she muttered, pain shooting up her leg.
And then, because God really had favorites, and she was not one of them, she heard a voice above her.
A very familiar, very smug voice.
“Wow,” Paul drawled, standing over her with his arms crossed. “Karma works fast.”
She closed her eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled. Prayed for patience.
“Don’t,” she warned.
He crouched down, his smirk somehow even bigger. “Don’t what? Point out how you just ate shit right after acting all high and mighty?”
She was going to commit a crime.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, trying (and failing) to push herself up without wincing.
Paul just watched, unimpressed. “You sure? Because it kinda looks like you’re struggling.”
“Your concern is touching,” she deadpanned.
And then, before she could stop him, the asshole scooped her up like she weighed nothing.
She yelled. “What the hell, put me down!”
Paul grinned. “Nah.”
She kicked. “Paul, I swear to...”
“Nope.”
“I hate you.”
“You’ve made that clear, sweetheart.”
The pack was losing their shit. Embry was crying. Quil had pulled out his phone like he was about to record this historic moment. Even Sam was shaking his head in that ‘I-don’t-get-paid-enough-for-this’ way.
And Paul?
Paul just kept walking, carrying her like it was the easiest thing in the world.
It was official.
Her life was ruined.
Breaking up with Steve was the responsible thing to do.
That didn’t mean it didn’t suck.
She sat on her couch, arms wrapped around a throw pillow, staring at the now-closed messages between them. Steve took it well. As well as a guy could take it when his girlfriend suddenly, inexplicably, broke things off without a solid explanation.
She couldn’t tell him the truth.
“Hey, Steve, so… I know we’ve been dating for a few months, and you’re great, really, but last week I accidentally soul-bonded with my childhood bully-slash-brother’s annoying best friend, so now I physically cannot be with you. Cool?”
Yeah. No.
Instead, she gave him the classic “It’s not you, it’s me” speech, and Steve, to his credit, accepted it without pushing. Because Steve was nice. A good guy. He deserved more than some half-assed excuse, but she wasn’t about to tell him, Hey, my life is now permanently tied to a guy who probably doesn’t even like me, so… yeah.
She liked Steve. She could’ve loved Steve.
But ever since the imprint happened, something had changed inside her. The connection to Paul was there, buried deep, something she felt every second of every day. Even if she wasn’t looking at him, even if she was actively trying to ignore it.
She felt him.
And it pissed her off.
So she did what any rational, heartbroken woman would do, she called Emily.
And Emily, being the best bestie that she was, did what any rational best friend would do.
She told her to get dressed because they were going out.
There was nothing a little alcohol and good company couldn’t fix.
The music was loud, the drinks were strong, and for the first time all week, she actually felt good. Emily was on one side, Leah on the other, and she had a half-empty margarita in front of her that tasted way too good to put down.
She could do this. She could get over this. She could move on.
And then he walked in.
Paul, followed by Jared, Quil, and Embry, looking exactly as smug and insufferable as always.
Her fingers tightened around her glass.
Of course he was here. Of course.
Leah saw her tense and raised a brow. “You good?”
“Peachy,” she muttered, lifting her drink to take another sip.
Leah followed her gaze, saw Paul, and groaned. “Do you want me to punch him? I’ll do it.”
She actually considered it for a second.
But no. No, that would be giving him attention.
Instead, she turned her back to them, ignoring him. Because Paul was not going to ruin her night.
But Paul, being Paul, made that impossible.
She heard him before she saw him, his voice way too close for her liking.
“Well, well, well,” he drawled, leaning against the bar next to her. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Thought this wasn’t your scene.”
She refused to look at him. “I could say the same about you.”
He smirked. “And yet, here we are.”
She rolled her eyes, taking another sip of her drink. “Wow, incredible observation. Anything else to add, or are you just here to be annoying?”
“Oh, I’m just getting started, sweetheart.”
Her grip on the glass tightened.
Leah, who had been watching this unfold with growing amusement, cut in. “Paul, don’t you have some poor, unsuspecting girl to go bother?”
That made her flinch.
Because Leah was right. That’s exactly what he had been doing for the past week.
Paul noticed.
His smirk grew. “Jealous, sweetheart?”
That did it. Y/N stormed out of the bar, heart pounding, hands shaking. She didn’t mean to lose it, didn’t mean to let him get to her, but he always does.
She marched away, trying to get some air, when she heard footsteps behind her. Paul.
Of course it’s Paul.
"What the hell was that?" he called after her, his voice still dripping with that same cocky attitude, like this is all so funny to him.
But when she whirled around to face him, he saw it. The real frustration. The real hurt.
"Are you serious right now?" she spat, eyes blazing. "You’re really gonna stand here and act confused? You’re really gonna pretend this imprint doesn’t exist?"
Paul crossed his arms, jaw clenched. "I never said that."
"Oh, right. You don’t have to say it. You’re too busy proving it, hooking up with every girl in town like it’s some big joke. Do you think this is funny?"
Paul scoffed, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying not to explode himself. "What do you want me to do, huh? Fall at your feet? Beg you to love me?"
And that? That’s what set her off.
"Oh, get over yourself, Paul!" she snaps. "I don’t want you to love me. I don’t want anything from you! But you, you’re out here acting like some reckless idiot, trying to pretend this isn’t happening, and it’s pathetic!"
Paul stepped closer, and suddenly the air feelt thicker, hotter.
"You think I’m the only one struggling with this?" he muttered, voice lower now, rougher. "You think this is easy for me? You don’t know what it’s like..."
"Don’t I?" she cut in, her voice sharp, but there was something raw in it now. "I had a boyfriend, Paul. A real, normal relationship. But guess what? I ended it. Because I knew. I knew it wasn’t going to work. So don’t stand here and act like I don’t get it."
That actually hit him. His smirk faltered, his whole body tensed like she just knocked the wind out of him.
"You broke up with him."
She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Yeah. I did. Because unlike you, I don’t go running from things just because I don’t like them."
Silence. Thick, heavy, electric silence.
Then, Paul took another step closer. And another.
Too close.
Her back hit the wall behind her, and suddenly, he was right there, towering over her, breathing just as hard as she was.
"You wanna talk about running?" he murmured, voice dangerously low. "Then why do you look like you’re about to run right now?"
Oh. Oh, he was good. Too good.
Her stomach flipped, but she refused to back down. Instead, she tilted her chin up, meeting his eyes with full force.
"I’m not running, Paul." Her voice is quieter now, but just as sharp. "But if you think for one second that I’m gonna stand here and watch you screw your way through this town like it’s gonna fix something, you’re out of your damn mind."
Paul’s hands tightened into fists at his sides. His whole body was coiled, tense, ready to break.
"And what if I don’t stop?" he challenged, voice rough.
She leaned in, just enough for him to feel her breath against his skin.
"Then that’s your problem."
And just like that, she shoved past him and walks away.
Leaving him there, breathless, furious, and completely, utterly wrecked.
Paul was wrecked. Completely done for.
She walked away. Again. Like she always does. Like he didn’t just stand there, barely holding himself together, while every part of him screamed to chase after her, to grab her, to make her stay.
But she was right. She was so fucking right.
He’s been fighting this since the second it happened. Hooking up with random girls, trying to drown out her laugh, her voice, the way she drives him insane without even trying.
And none of it worked. None of it ever worked.
And now? Now, she’s standing there, telling him she feels it too. That she knows. That she ended things with Steve (fucking Steve, man), because of him.
And what does he do? He pisses her off even more.
Paul kicked a rock so hard it flew into the woods. He needed to get out of here before he snapped.
So he shifted.
It’s instant, like the rage has been boiling under his skin all night, just waiting to explode. His paws dug into the dirt, his breath heavy, his mind a complete storm.
“Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?” Sam’s voice rang in his head, annoyed.
“Nothing.” Paul growled, but his thoughts betray him.
Sam saw everything. Feelt everything.
And suddenly, the pack link goes dead silent.
Because now? They all know.
Paul Lahote, the pack’s biggest asshole, has officially fallen harder than anyone ever has in the history of falling.
Then, laughter.
"Ohhh shit." That’s Jared, and he’s loving this. "No way. No. Fucking. Way."
"Paul, man, this is bad." Embry adds, but he’s totally grinning.
"Shut up." Paul snaps, running faster, trying to escape them.
"You’re done for, dude." Quil’s practically howling. "Holy shit, this is better than TV."
Paul snarls, loudly.
"Keep talking and I swear to God, I’m ripping all of you apart."
But Sam hasn’t said anything.
Paul slows down, already knowing what’s coming.
"You need to fix this," Sam finally says, voice calm but firm. "You know what happens if you keep fighting it."
Paul knows.
He’s seen it before. The longer you fight the imprint, the worse it gets. The anger, the frustration, the way it eats you alive from the inside out.
But how the hell is he supposed to fix this?
It’s not like he can just show up at her house, tell her “Hey, I’m done being an idiot. Let’s just, be together.”
No. That’s not how she works.
She’s mad at him. Mad that he tried to pretend she didn’t exist. Mad that he’s been sleeping around instead of dealing with this like a grown-ass man.
She doesn’t want him.
And for the first time in his life, that actually hurts.
Bad.
He doesn’t shift back for hours.
The house was quiet when Y/N stepped inside. Too quiet.
She dropped her keys on the table with a hollow clink and exhaled, pressing her fingers into her temples. It wasn’t the kind of silence she usually liked—the kind that felt peaceful, the kind she could wrap around herself like a warm blanket after a long day. No, this silence was thick. Suffocating.
She was exhausted.
Not just from the night itself, but from everything.
From the moment the imprint happened, her life had been a slow, downward spiral into something she didn’t recognize anymore. Paul was everywhere, even when he wasn’t. His presence had dug itself into the corners of her mind, refusing to leave. And worst of all? She could feel it. She could feel the pull, the weight of the bond, the way it changed things inside her even though she wanted nothing to do with it.
And yet, that night at the bar had been the final straw.
Paul, all cocky smiles and easy charm, acting like nothing had changed. Acting like he wasn’t the reason she had to let go of the first good thing she’d had in years.
"I broke up with Steve."
She could still see the way his smirk faltered, the way something flashed in his eyes before he covered it up. She could still hear the way he said her name after she walked away, like he hadn’t expected her to actually do it.
And now, here she was. Alone in this stupid, quiet house, exhausted to her bones.
A door opened behind her, and she didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was.
Sam.
"You wanna tell me what the hell happened tonight?" His voice was steady, but there was anger simmering underneath.
Y/N swallowed hard. "Not really."
"Too bad." Sam stepped forward, arms crossed. "Because I just had to talk a couple of guys out of kicking Paul’s ass."
She let out a breathy, humorless laugh. "Why? Seems like a great idea to me."
Sam didn’t smile. "Y/N."
She turned away, bracing her hands on the back of the couch. "I don’t wanna talk about it, Sam. I just wanna go to bed."
"Yeah?" He scoffed. "Well, I wanna go back in time and shake some sense into Paul before he turned into the biggest dumbass on the planet, but neither of us are getting what we want tonight."
She clenched her jaw. "Why do you even care? What does it matter?"
"Because you look like you’re about to collapse," Sam said, and the frustration in his tone cracked, letting something else slip through. Concern. "Because Paul’s been acting like a rabid animal since the imprint, and now I find out you broke up with your boyfriend, and somehow he’s involved in that too? So yeah, Y/N, I care. You might not wanna talk about it, but you need to."
She stared at him, fingers digging into the fabric of the couch.
And then...
The front door swung open.
Paul stood in the doorway, his face set in stone, his chest rising and falling like he’d run all the way here.
Sam turned his head slowly, his expression darkening. "Perfect timing."
Paul barely looked at him. His eyes were on Y/N.
"I need to talk to you." His voice was rough, like gravel.
Y/N let out a short, bitter laugh. "You have got to be kidding me."
Paul stepped forward, but Sam’s hand shot out, pressing against his chest to keep him back.
"Not so fast," Sam said, voice low and dangerous. "You don’t just get to walk in here and demand her time. You don’t get to mess with her life and then act like you’re owed something."
Paul’s jaw tightened. "Sam..."
"No, you listen to me." Sam’s voice was sharp. "You’ve been treating this imprint like some kind of goddamn inconvenience. Like it’s some punishment for you. And maybe you’re too far up your own ass to realize it, but while you’ve been out there," his voice rose, and Paul flinched as if he already knew what was coming. "Sleeping with anyone who’ll have you, trying to pretend this isn’t happening, she’s been dealing with the fallout. Alone."
Paul inhaled sharply.
Sam shook his head, disgusted. "Do you even know how tired she looks? Have you even noticed?"
Paul didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
Y/N shifted, stepping around the couch, finally looking at Paul, and the moment their eyes met, something in him cracked.
Because Sam was right.
She was tired.
And not just in the way someone is after a long night out, this was deeper than that. There were dark circles under her eyes, a weight in her shoulders that hadn’t been there before. Like she was carrying something too heavy, too painful, too unfair.
Because of him.
Because of what he’d done.
Because of what he was still doing.
Paul’s hands curled into fists. "I..."
But for once, he didn’t know what to say.
Y/N let out a slow breath, shaking her head. "Forget it."
She turned, walking toward the hallway, toward her room, toward anywhere but here.
Paul moved. "Y/N, wait..."
She stopped.
Turned her head just enough to glance at him over her shoulder.
"You know what’s funny?" she said, voice light. Too light. Like she wasn’t sure if she was going to laugh or cry. "I thought this was supposed to make things easier. That’s what everyone always says about imprints, right? That it makes everything make sense."
She turned around fully, her eyes locking onto his.
"But it doesn’t," she said. "It doesn’t make sense at all. Because if it did, I wouldn’t feel like this."
Paul swallowed, his throat dry. "Like what?"
Y/N’s lips pressed together for a moment, like she wasn’t sure if she should say it.
Like she wasn’t sure if she could.
But then...
"Like I lost something I never even got to have."
Paul exhaled, sharp and pained, and Y/N blinked, like she couldn’t believe she’d actually said it out loud.
And then, before he could even think of a response, before he could reach for her, she turned away and disappeared down the hall.
A door clicked shut.
Paul stared at the empty space she left behind, something twisting inside him so tight it hurt.
He wanted to go after her.
Every part of him was screaming at him to go after her.
But he didn’t.
Because he knew.
He’d already done enough damage for one night.
And maybe, just maybe, for a lifetime.
The night air was heavy, thick with the lingering scent of rain. The earth was still damp, the sky a deep charcoal, stretching endlessly above the treetops. It should’ve been peaceful. It should’ve been quiet. But inside Emily and Sam’s house, a storm was brewing.
Y/N sat on the couch, curled in on herself, hands gripping the fabric of her sweater like it was the only thing keeping her together. She was exhausted. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix, but the kind that settled into her bones, deep and suffocating.
Emily was next to her, one hand resting gently over Y/N’s, grounding her. "You have to talk to him," she said softly, her voice careful.
Y/N let out a hollow laugh. "Talk to him? About what, Em? How I wake up every day and wish I could just stop feeling this?" Her voice cracked on the last word, her throat tightening painfully.
Outside, just beyond the back porch, Paul had stopped mid-step.
He hadn’t meant to listen in. He’d only come by because Sam told him to get his shit together, but now he couldn’t move.
The weight of her words hit him like a tidal wave, drowning him in something sharp and unforgiving.
"I can’t do this anymore, Em." Y/N’s voice was quieter now, thick with something heavy. "I wake up, and it’s just pain. Every second, it’s like I’m being burned alive. And the worst part? It’s not even mine. It’s his. And I still feel it."
Paul staggered back, breath catching in his throat.
No.
No, no, no.
He thought she was just mad at him. He thought she hated him for imprinting on her, for taking away her choices, for being the absolute worst kind of person for her.
He never realized he was breaking her.
Inside, Emily’s grip on Y/N’s hand tightened. "You don’t mean that," she whispered, but the devastation in Y/N’s eyes said otherwise.
Y/N let out a shaky breath, forcing a bitter smile. "I do, Em. I want it gone. I want myself gone."
Paul felt the ground shift beneath him, like the universe had tilted on its axis.
She wanted to be gone.
His lungs burned, and before he could stop himself, he turned, stumbling away from the porch, into the woods. His legs carried him on instinct, heart pounding in his chest.
The woods blurred around him, dark shadows stretching between the trees. His breath came in ragged gasps, fists clenched so tightly his nails cut into his palms. He wanted to run. He wanted to shift. He wanted to claw his own heart out if it meant not feeling this anymore.
But he deserved it.
He deserved every second of it.
Y/N had been drowning in this bond, suffocating under the weight of something she never asked for, and he’d been too selfish to see it.
And now? Now it was too late.
By the time he forced himself back to the house, the porch light was off. He could still see the faint glow from the living room window, hear the murmur of voices inside.
His feet carried him forward before he could think better of it.
The door opened before he even knocked.
Y/N stood there, eyes red, face pale. She looked at him like he was the last person she wanted to see.
Paul swallowed hard. "I need to talk to you."
She huffed out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. "I don’t want to hear it, Paul."
"Please."
Something in his voice made her pause. For the first time in forever, he sounded... small.
Y/N clenched her jaw, arms wrapping around herself. "You have two minutes."
Paul inhaled sharply, stepping past her into the dimly lit room. Emily had retreated to the kitchen, giving them space, but he could feel her presence lingering.
Paul turned to Y/N, eyes dark and stormy. "I heard you," he admitted, voice rough. "I heard what you said to Emily."
Her body went rigid, fingers digging into her sides. "Good for you."
Paul exhaled sharply. "You think I don’t feel this too?" His voice was uneven, raw. "You think I haven’t been trying to make it go away?"
Y/N let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Oh, I know. Believe me, I know. It’s hard to miss when half the town has been in your bed, Paul."
That one stung.
Paul swallowed hard. "I was trying to outrun it. I thought if I could..."
"If you could what?" Y/N snapped, stepping closer, anger finally bleeding through the exhaustion. "If you could fuck your way out of feeling anything for me?"
Paul flinched.
She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Well, congratulations. It didn’t work."
The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Paul’s throat tightened. "I never meant to hurt you."
Y/N’s eyes burned. "Then why did you?"
Paul opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
She shook her head, voice trembling. "You were my worst fucking nightmare in high school, Paul. And now I have to wake up every day and feel this. I have to feel you. And you don’t even care."
"I do care." His voice cracked.
Y/N scoffed. "Yeah? Well, you sure as hell have a funny way of showing it."
Paul stepped forward, but she took a step back.
"Don’t," she whispered, shaking her head. "Just don’t."
His chest ached. "Tell me what to do," he pleaded. "Tell me how to fix this."
Y/N exhaled shakily, eyes glistening. "You can’t."
Paul felt something inside him splinter.
Y/N let out a breath, straightening her shoulders. "I don’t want you gone, Paul." Her voice was quieter now, careful. "I want me gone."
The world stopped.
Paul’s stomach dropped, his blood running ice cold.
No.
His breath caught in his throat, fingers twitching at his sides. "Don’t say that," he whispered.
Y/N let out a hollow laugh. "Why not? It’s the truth."
His hands were shaking. "Don’t. Say. That."
Y/N tilted her head, exhaustion weighing heavy in her features. "Now you care?"
"Don’t do that." His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
Y/N swallowed, jaw clenched. "I am so fucking tired, Paul."
Paul felt his chest cave in.
The guilt was suffocating, a thousand pounds pressing down on him, crushing him from the inside out.
He did this.
He did this to her.
His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps. He wanted to fix it. He wanted to take it all back. But he couldn’t.
So he did the only thing he could.
He fell apart.
His knees hit the floor before he even realized he was falling. His hands trembled as he clenched his fists against the wood, his whole body shaking.
Y/N took a step back, startled.
Paul lifted his head, and for the first time, she saw it.
The devastation. The wreckage.
His face was pale, his eyes wild, red-rimmed and desperate. He looked at her like she was slipping through his fingers, like she was something fragile, something he couldn’t afford to break any further.
But it was too late.
She was already broken.