Lillian strutted into the kitchen, the sharp click of her heels echoing against the wooden flooring. She carried herself with the same effortless confidence she always had—chin high, shoulders squared, her eyes scanning the room like she was some kind of queen gracing her subjects with her presence. She came to a stop next to Luke, who was still busy entertaining his son, though even he shot her a wary glance, probably bracing for whatever shit she was about to stir up.
The silent brute beside her, though—that's who caught my attention.
He was taller than Luke, broader too, built like someone who could break a man in half with minimal effort. His black dress shirt stretched over thick muscles, the fabric barely containing his strength. His skin, a rich, dark amber, seemed to glow under the fluorescent kitchen lighting, making him look almost otherworldly. But it was his eyes that held me captive—black as ink, sharp, calculating as they swept over the room, taking everything in like he was assessing a battlefield.
And then there was Lillian, standing there with her usual air of superiority, the queen bitch in all her glory.
She had grown into a younger replica of our mother, nearly identical except for the eyes and hair. Where Mom had that soft, classic beauty, Lillian's features were sharper, her expressions colder. Her wavy blond hair, just a few shades darker than our mother's, cascaded over her shoulders in meticulously styled waves, streaked with pink highlights that screamed I'm a rebel when, in reality, she was anything but.
And, of course, she was still dressed to the nines.
Her outfit looked like she had just walked out of some high-end magazine shoot—blue skinny jeans that hugged her legs like a second skin, red heels that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, a crisp white blouse, and a navy blue blazer tailored to perfection. Everything about her screamed pristine, polished, perfect—the complete opposite of me.
And yet, despite all the effort she put into looking like a refined, put-together pack princess, all I could see was the same bratty, self-righteous little sister who had spent half her childhood making my life hell.
I continued eating, shoveling forkfuls of lasagna into my mouth while Lillian—of all people—played with little Damion. The tiny troublemaker had nearly sent a glass of juice crashing to the floor in the chaos of her dramatic entrance, but now, he was completely mesmerized by her. Lillian, smiling and cooing at the baby like some doting aunt, was a sight so surreal that I had to pause mid-chew just to process it.
Since when did Lillian like kids?
The last time I saw her hold a child, she nearly launched a toddler across the room when the poor thing dared to throw up on her. What followed was the biggest bitch-fit of the century—screaming, dry heaving, running around like the kid had infected her with the plague. It took three pack members and a fresh change of clothes to calm her down, and even then, she spent the rest of the day glaring at anything under the age of ten like they were ticking time bombs.
"Yeah, that was terrifying and hilarious at the same time," Orion snickered in my head. "The poor mother barely caught her kid before Lillian could punt her across the room, but gods, her hissy fit? Priceless."
I grinned, stabbing another bite of food. "Agreed."
And yet, here she was, not only tolerating a child but holding one. She swayed gently on the spot, her voice slipping into a soft melody as she sang to the little tyke. Damion's big blue eyes drooped, his tiny fingers curling into her blazer as he melted into her embrace. His parents, Luke and Ashton, watched the scene in quiet awe, their expressions a mix of gratitude and shock, like they couldn't quite believe what they were seeing either.
But what threw me off? The towering brute standing beside Lillian—her mystery companion—was watching her like she hung the damn moon. A small, knowing smile tugged at his lips, as if this wasn't a rare, once-in-a-lifetime event but something he'd witnessed before. My mind stuttered at the realization.
Was this the same holier-than-thou, ice queen of a sister from six years ago?
"It has to be a fluke," Orion muttered suspiciously. "Keep an eye on her. Any sudden movement and she might chuck the pup into the nearest oven and cook him for her next meal."
That mental image hit me so hard that I choked. One second, I was swallowing, and the next, I was sputtering and gasping for air as my throat rebelled. I barely managed to grab the juice bottle in time, tilting it back and draining the last of its contents to clear my windpipe.
Lillian turned her attention to me, brows raised in mild amusement. "What's wrong, Caleb?" she asked, passing the now-sleeping child back to Ashton with a tenderness that felt unnatural coming from her.
I set the empty bottle down, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and fixed her with a wary stare.
"What the actual fuck is going on?"
"Huh? Since when do you tolerate holding a child?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, earning me a sharp scowl from Lillian's oversized shadow.
The guy looked like he belonged on a battlefield rather than standing in my kitchen, all broad shoulders and quiet menace wrapped up in a tailored black dress shirt.
Ignoring his glare, I flicked my gaze back to my sister, arching a brow. "And not to be rude—but who the hell is he?"
Lillian giggled, the sound too damn sweet for my liking, before slipping her arms around the brute's muscled bicep like they were some picture-perfect couple. "Sorry, this is Ducalian Malrik. Beta of the Crimson Blade Pack."
I stilled.
Beta.
Crimson Blade.
My stomach twisted into knots before my brain even caught up. He's second-in-command to the asshole who marked me. If the Beta was here, then that could only mean—
"So where's that ass you call an Alpha?" I deadpanned.
The question hung in the air like a loaded gun.
Ducalian didn't bristle, didn't flinch. Instead, the bastard smiled.
A slow, amused, utterly infuriating grin stretched across his face like he found my hostility entertaining. Lillian sighed and shook her head as if she were dealing with unruly children, while Ashton gawked at me, his lips parted like he couldn't believe I dared to call an Alpha an ass out loud.
"Oh, Emil's going to love you," Ducalian mused, his grin widening as if he already knew how this game would end. "He likes a challenge."
I dropped my fork into the lasagna container with a sharp clatter and met his gaze with a glare that could've curdled milk. "I'm not easily tamed. And definitely not by an Alpha."
The Beta didn't blink, didn't back down. His smirk only deepened, as if he saw through every word I spoke, like he knew something I didn't.
Smug bastard.
Before I could give in to the growing urge to hurl my half-eaten meal at his too-pretty face, Lillian intervened.
"Emiliano isn't here yet," she said with a dramatic sigh, slapping Ducalian's chest in mock exasperation. "Stop aggravating my brother."
Her words should have cooled the tension, but they only made it worse.
Because if Emiliano wasn't here yet, that meant he would be. Soon.
**********
I left the kitchen faster than a rogue running from a pissed-off Alpha. My appetite had long since vanished, ruined by the unwelcome reminder of him and the Beta who wore that smug grin like it was permanently etched onto his face. Ducalian Malrik. Emiliano's right-hand man.
Even the sound of my brother and sister chatting about their oh-so-perfect lives grated on my nerves. How boring. How utterly predictable. Like they hadn't stood by while my life went to hell.
I kept walking, determined to put as much distance between them and myself as possible. The moment I reached the staircase leading to the second floor, a voice rang out behind me.
"Caleb, wait!"
I sighed, gripping the railing tight enough for my knuckles to turn white. Great. Just great.
Slowly, I turned to face her. Lillian stood at the base of the stairs, her expression softer than I'd ever seen it. There was no smugness, no superiority—just something close to hesitation.
"What do you want, Lillian?" My voice was flat, tired. "I've had enough of today, and I'm not in the mood to talk."
That should've been the end of it.
But instead of backing off, she stepped closer. "Can we talk?"
I almost laughed. Didn't I just tell her I wasn't in the mood?
"About what?" My tone was clipped, my patience already worn thin.
She flinched at my sharpness but didn't back down. That was... new. The Lillian I remembered would have scoffed, rolled her eyes, and strutted off in her high heels, muttering about how I wasn't worth the effort.
"Please," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "I'll try not to waste any more of your time, but I need to clear the air between us. The last time we saw each other, I was a bitch to you. And ever since then, I've regretted it."
I stared at her, my emotions twisted in a tight, unreadable knot.
Regret? From her?
Lillian had always been our father's golden child—the one who got whatever she wanted with a flick of her perfectly manicured fingers. She never had to fight for anything, never had to bleed for a scrap of love or attention. The world had revolved around her, and she liked it that way.
So why now? Why this?
I narrowed my eyes. Had she changed? Or was she just playing me for a fool?
"There's one way to find out," Orion grumbled in the back of my mind, his voice thick with sleep. Apparently, my sister's sudden sincerity was enough to rouse even him. "Give her a chance. Who knows? She might surprise you."
I let out a slow breath, then finally, reluctantly, nodded.
"Fine," I said. "Let's talk."
Let's see if she meant it.