Elena's POV
I left the Thorne house without saying goodbye.As soon as the front door clicked shut behind me, I let out a held breath—long and slow—like I'd been inhaling a dash the entire time.
The night air cooled, but not quite enough to chase away the flush of bitterness in my heart.
I hopped into my car and shut the door. My hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel, but I did not cry.
I wouldn't. I couldn't. Halfway along the curving driveway, my phone buzzed.
And a text message popped in,It was Damien.
"I'm sorry about what happened earlier."
"Vivian can be… emotional.
My mother was
Pampering her because of the pregnancy."
"Don't take anything she said to heart."
" I'll speak to her."
I read the messages, line after line hitting me like ice water. He wasn't upset by the tone in his message. He wasn't even upset that the woman he invited into our home had demeaned his wife.
He was seeking my forgiveness.Not once did he ask how I was. I typed out a response with numb fingers."
Getting back to work.
" I have orders to do."
"And also for the record, I never want to see her again.
"I didn't let him answer. I put the car in gear and left.
Work occupied me. Sort of.
The chop-chop-chop, season-season-season, plate-plate-plate—it kept my hands busy, even when my mind was racing.But even in the kitchen, I found myself comparing.Vivian was pregnant.
So was I.But no, nobody was spoiling me. All that nobody was giving me tea, asking me about my hunger or how the nights had slept.
I hadn't even informed Damien.
And now. I didn't think that I would.
By sundown, I was tired. Standing at the pass, checking over the final orders for dinner when one of the youngest cooks, Mira, burst in.
"Chef Elena!" she panted, grinning widely.
"There's someone here to see you.
"I blinked.
"Who?"
Her eyes sparkled.
"A very, very handsome man.
With a gigantic bouquet of roses.
Like, movie-screen gigantic. Everyone's staring.
"I rubbed my face and wiped my hands on a towel.I already knew who he was.I crept out of the kitchen carefully, trying to toughen myself up.
And there he was.
"Damien."
Standing in the middle of the restaurant entrance, tall and flawless as ever, holding a gigantic bouquet of red roses.
The flowers were dainty and plenished, the kind you only got from enchanted greenhouses.
He looked a bit nervous, his eyebrows furrowed in the way he showed when he was unsure whether he was behaving correctly.
"Elena," he whispered when he spotted me.
The air grayed out around us. It always did when he looked at me like that.
"I thought you might still be mad," he said, holding out the flowers.
"I am," I said.
But I took the flowers.His eyes raked over mine. "I wanted to say sorry.
In person.
No messages.
No phone call."
I said nothing.
"I've booked a table," he said.
"Just the two of us.
Tomorrow and the day after tomorrow. I leased our very first house—do you remember it? The stone cottage, up by Pinehill.
"I blinked.
That cottage.
The one we'd picked out together after our mating ceremony. We'd painted the walls ourselves. I'd picked out every pillow, every candle, every plate. But we hadn't lived there in months. Not since things got crazy with the restaurant and his pack duties.
"You booked it?" I asked, surprised.
"I've tidied the house already. Filled the fridge. I just… I wanted us to be away from it all.
From people.
From expectations.
"I looked down at the flowers, a lump in my throat."And Vivian?"
I asked.
"She won't be there," he said quickly.
"This is just between us."We drove together in silence the following evening.
The air between us felt softer—less sharp than it had for the last two days. He touched my hand once or twice.
I didn't release it.When we reached the Pinehill cottage, my heart twisted in a strange, nostalgic way. The stone path, the blooming vines on the walls, the carved wooden door with our initials—D & E—etched into the wood.
Home.Or, at least, once was.I exited the car, bouquet clutched still in my hand
Damien unlocked and opened the door for me.But the moment the door opened, I froze.There was someone inside.Not just someone.Vivian.She stood in the middle of the living room, her pale pink robe hugging her belly, hair loose and curled.
She stared up at us with big, guilty eyes and gasped as if we'd caught her in the act.
"Oh my Moon," she breathed. "I didn't know you were returning to stay. I'm so sorry."I didn't stir. My grip on the stems of the bouquet grew tighter.
"I didn't mean to intrude," she continued, gasping.
"Damien's mother gave me the address. She said I could stay here for a few days. Said it would be. good for the baby.
"I turned on Damien.
His expression was fixed in shock.
"I didn't know," he said quickly. "I didn't tell her—"Vivian interjected with a histrionic turn, grabbing the arm of a chair.
"Oh, I'm going to faint—please, don't get angry.
I'll leave immediately if I'm not wanted. I just… I was so exhausted… and the stress…"I said nothing.Just walked past her and into the house.
She lingered there awkwardly, blinking in shock. Maybe she hoped I would scream or strike her or cry. I didn't do any of those things.
"You need to go," I said brusquely.But Damien hesitated.
"She's having a baby," he said to me. "Let her stay overnight. We'll figure it out in the morning.
"We?
Figure it out?
My throat was on fire.
But I nodded stiffly."Fine," I said. "One night.
"That evening, I could not sleep. I navigated the cottage with careful steps, something gnawing at me.The house was… off. The walls were still ours, but the atmosphere had changed.My most cherished handwoven tapestry was missing from the living room wall.The candles I had bought at the Autumn Solstice Market were gone—there in their place were waxy vanilla-scented ones that I would never have selected.
The pillows were rearranged, mixed up, and some of the frames on the walls were askew—one actually cracked.The bedding in the bedroom had been changed. I didn't even know the linens. They felt cold to the touch.And that's when I noticed—my old teacup set, the one I'd kept in the kitchen cabinet behind the wine rack… gone.
Replaced by floral porcelain.
Vivian's selection.She'd taken over.
Occupied like it was hers.I stood in the center of the home I'd helped build, amid the mess of my own memories
Then she emerged behind me, barefoot and exuding false innocence.Oh!" she whispered, seeing the roses I'd placed down earlier.
"He still remembers my favorite flower
"I stared at her. "They're mine," I said, too softly.
"He bought them for me."
"Oh?" She leaned against her head.
"That's sweet. I just assumed… Well, you know how much I love red roses.
He used to give them to me every year on my birthday. Even when I was abroad."I didn't answer.I did not cry. I did not scream.I simply walked past her, into the room, and shut the door.