The car was very quiet all the way, with a tense atmosphere that made Nathaniel dare not change speed while driving.
Only the low hum of the engine filled the night. Rain-dark hedgerows slid past the windows as the estate lights of the English countryside came into view.
Kiara sat stiff beside Alpha Kyrian, arms folded, her mind running in circles. Two years gone. Two years of silence, of cold walls between them. Tonight, she would not let him hide behind that calm face.
Nathaniel exhaled with relief when he finally steered into the old Blackwood estate's stone-paved parking court. He cut the engine, but no one moved.
Kyrian's voice broke the hush, low and cutting.
"So you think I like women who have large chests but no brains?"
Kiara jerked around. "What?"
"Kiara," he said flatly. "That's what people whisper, isn't it? That I keep her because of…shape."
Kiara blinked, stunned. "Why are you—"
"Answer me," he pressed, a faint growl under the words.
Her heart skipped. His wolf lurked close; she felt it in the heavy air. "Only you know what you like, Alpha."
His grey eyes drifted, slow and deliberate, to the hollow just below her collarbone. The look wasn't lust. It was darker, unreadable.
"Isn't it natural for men to prefer…larger?" she shot back, a bitter edge in her voice. "For two years you never even tried. Even Fiona is not—"
"I don't like them," he interrupted, sharper now.
Kiara let out a small laugh, half-mocking. "Whether you like it or not has nothing to do with me. I like things that are bigger and useful. That's why I want a divorce."
His head snapped toward her. In the narrow space, his wolf flared. The scent of pine and storm filled the car as his eyes flashed silver.
"Careful, Kiara," he warned, voice a low rumble.
The air tightened, thick with Alpha power. Nathaniel shifted in the driver's seat, uneasy. He had heard every word.
Before Kyrian could speak again, Nathaniel rushed out and opened the door. "Sir…madam, we are home."
Kiara slipped out first, her boots striking the wet gravel. Cool night air cleared her head.
At the top of the stone steps, Martha waited with a wool shawl around her shoulders, warm smile in place. "Kiara, my dear," she said, grasping her hand. "Come inside. Gwen has a pot of elderflower and pear soup for you. Good for the skin."
Kyrian followed in silence, a shadow behind them.
Inside, Martha lowered her voice. "Did that stubborn boy bully you?"
Kiara hesitated. "Mum, he and I—"
"If he troubles you, just say the word. I'll have his father box his ears even from the grave. I'll send you a recipe list—foods he hates. Feed him that for a month. And I'll ring his father, tell him not to show Kyrian any favour."
"Mum—"
Martha waved her off and pulled her toward the warm kitchen. Gwen, the housekeeper, hurried in with a soft blanket. "Madam, you were chilled earlier. Kiara, convince her to rest more. She forgets she isn't twenty."
Kiara tried again, "Mum, are you unwell? Should I call the doctor?"
"It's the old aches," Martha said, brushing it aside. "A night's rest will do." She stayed until Kiara finished the sweet, floral soup, then slipped a silver charm bracelet onto her wrist.
Before climbing the stairs, she cast Kyrian a sharp look. "Charm her tonight, or I'll have your hide."
Kyrian raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Upstairs, the large oak-beamed room smelled of fresh linen. Gwen had already changed the bedding. Kiara opened the wardrobe and froze. Her cotton pajamas were gone. In their place hung silk v-neck nightgowns in soft cream and deep burgundy, even a couple of playful costumes.
She exhaled, half amused, half weary. Everyone knew Martha's dream of a grandchild. If only she knew this marriage was still untouched.
Kyrian leaned on the doorframe, eyes taking in the display. "These don't suit you," he said.
Kiara arched a brow. "Then what does?"
He pulled off his black shirt and tossed it to her. "This. Wear it."
The scent of his wolf clung to the fabric—cedar and cold rain. She clutched it, muttering, "Half your assets are mine by law. This shirt counts."
In the bathroom she washed and dried her hair, slipping into the shirt that fell almost to her knees. The mirror showed a woman who no longer blushed.
When she came out, Kyrian stood on the balcony, cigarette glowing in the dusk. Smoke curled around his sharp face, softening it. For a heartbeat his gaze deepened as it met hers, something wild flickering there, then it was gone. He crushed the cigarette and walked past her into the bathroom.
Her chest ached with all the words she never said.
A soft knock sounded. Gwen entered carrying a silver tray with a steaming bowl. "Miss, this is a soup Madam Martha made for the Alpha. She burned her hand and still finished it. Please, make sure he drinks every drop."
Kiara nodded. "Thank you."
Kyrian returned, hair damp, eyes catching the lamplight. He noticed the bowl on the table but gave no sign.
Kiara's voice hardened. "Your mother made that for you. Drink it."
He glanced at the bowl and looked away.
Her temper flared. "Kyrian, she burned her hands while making that soup. Have you no care for her?"
Something in her tone shifted the air. Power pulsed through her skin, a faint silver glow she didn't notice, but Kyrian's eyes narrowed as his wolf stirred.
Then he smiled, slow and unreadable. "Do you really want me to drink it?"