Aria's Point of View
The sky is just beginning to soften, the first hint of dawn brushing the treetops in pale streaks of blue and gray. Birds haven’t even started yet. The world is quiet, too quiet. The kind of silence that carries guilt like smoke in the air. I land lightly on the balcony as I climb over the railing, my bare feet hitting the cool stone without a sound. My dress is rumpled, one strap slipping off my shoulder. My curls are half fallen from their clip, and my heels dangle from my fingers. I left them in my hand halfway through the run back from the edge of the forest. I should’ve come back earlier. I know better. I straighten slowly, slipping back into the practiced silence of a girl who’s done this before, too many times to count. I step towards the glass doors, already rehearsing a lie. Something vague, harmless. Maybe a joke. Maybe just pretend I was asleep the whole night and gaslight whoever questions it. But the second I slide the door open, I freeze. He’s already here. My father. Jensen. The Lycan King himself, standing by my window like a statue carved from storm clouds and iron. His arms are crossed over his chest, his face unreadable, but I can feel the weight of his disapproval pressing into the air like gravity. The room suddenly feels too small, the air too still. My pulse skips. Then quickens. I shut the door behind me carefully, like somehow that’ll soften the blow. He doesn’t speak right away. He doesn’t need to. That’s the worst part about him, he never yells. Never loses control. He just stares, and you feel the disappointment before a single word is said. I force my voice to stay even. “You’re up early.” His eyes narrow just slightly, the only shift in his otherwise unreadable expression. “I never went to sleep.” That stings more than I let show. I move further into the room, walking like I’m not half dressed and guilty, like I don’t still smell like sweat and smoke and club lights. “I wasn’t gone long.” He raises a brow. “Not gone long? Aria you have been out most of the night.” I hate that his voice is calm. Quiet. No raised tone. No lecture. Just that quiet, pointed disapproval that slides under my skin and makes me feel like I’m eight years old again, caught where I shouldn’t be. I swallow hard and turn away, heading towards the bathroom like maybe I can just outrun this conversation entirely. “I have told you countless time to stop sneaking out,” he says. Not loud. Not threatening. Just… heavy. “I needed air,” I reply, not turning around. “It’s stifling here.” “You mean the pack grounds. Your home.” “I mean this life.” That comes out sharper than I meant. Honest. Raw. Silence stretches between us. I don’t look at him. I don’t want to see the look on his face. “I let you have your freedoms, Aria,” he says, his voice low. “But there are limits. You’re not a child anymore. You’re nearly eighteen. That means you start acting like the daughter of the Lycan King, not some rogue slipping out of windows in the middle of the night.” I finally turn to face him, something bitter flaring behind my ribs. “Then maybe stop treating me like I’m some fragile doll that will break.” My words come out sharper than I intended and I know they must hurt But he just stands there, his expression carved from stone. The early morning light angles through the glass behind him, casting his silhouette in a way that makes him look ten feet tall. Kingly. Intimidating. And disappointed. He shakes his head slowly, like it physically pains him to look at me right now. “Aria, what were you thinking?” I cross my arms too, trying to match his posture, even though I feel like I’m already losing. “I was thinking I could go out for a few hours without being treated like I need a personal guard.” He doesn’t take the bait. Doesn’t even blink. “It’s not safe for you to be out there alone.” “I’m not alone!” I snap, heat rising in my chest. “I had Alaric. You know I always go with him.” Jensen shakes his head again, slower this time, as if every word I say proves his point. “That boy is not enough to keep you safe.” I clench my jaw. “I can keep myself safe.” He steps forward now, each word low and heavy with command. “No, Aria. You can’t.” That stings more than I expected. I swallow hard and straighten my spine, but he keeps going. “You’re reckless. You take risks without thinking them through. You put yourself in danger like your life doesn’t matter, and I won’t stand by and let it continue.” His voice isn’t loud, but it’s iron. Final. “You’re not just anyone,” he continues. “You’re my daughter. The daughter of the Lycan King. Of the first hybrid. And like it or not, that makes you a target.” I look away, my jaw tight, fighting the way his words dig into my skin. I know what I am. I’ve always known what I am. And what I’m not. “I can’t keep letting you run around unsupervised,” he says. “So, by the end of today, you’ll be moving back into the family home.” I blink, snapping my gaze back to him. “What?” “You’ll stay with me and your mother,” he says, firm and unmoved. “Where we can keep an eye on you. Where it’s safe.” I step towards him, disbelief flaring through me. “You can’t be serious. I’m almost eighteen...” “That doesn’t mean you're invincible.” “I’m not a child!” I shout. “No,” he says quietly, “you’re my daughter. And I won’t lose you because you think freedom means recklessness.” My chest is tight now, my breath shallow with frustration and disbelief. “You don’t get to lock me away just because you're scared.” “This isn’t a discussion, Aria,” he says, his voice sharp and final. “You’ll move yourself, or I’ll have pack members do it for you.” I stare at him, my heart pounding in my chest. He stares back at me, calm as ever, like he’s already made peace with this decision. “You can’t control every part of my life,” I whisper, more hurt than I want to admit. “I don’t want to control you,” he says. “I want to protect you. And right now, that means making hard choices, for both of us.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond. Just turns around and walks out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him like a gavel on stone. I stand there, shaking, staring at the door. I knew I should’ve come back earlier. But I didn’t. And now, my world just got smaller. I stand there with my back against the door for a moment, my fists clenched at my sides, trying not to scream. The room suddenly feels like it’s pressing in from all sides, my sanctuary turned prison, now just a collection of things I have to leave behind. I glare at the closet, the dresser, the pile of shoes on the floor. It’s my mess. My space. And by sunset, it won’t be mine anymore. He’s really doing it. I push off the door and stalk towards the bathroom, flicking on the light with more force than necessary. It buzzes softly above the mirror. I catch a glimpse of myself and wince. Smudged eyeliner. Hair tousled from the wind and smoke of last night. The thin strap of my black dress has slipped halfway down my arm. I look like everything my father disapproves of, and part of me wants to keep it that way. But the other part of me is exhausted. I turn on the shower, twisting the knob until the water is nearly scalding. Steam rising instantly, curling up the mirror and fogging the edges of the room. I step out of my clothes slowly, each movement dragging with reluctant weight. My fingers tremble as I unclip my necklace, as if even that wants to stay behind. When I step under the spray, the heat hits me like a wall. It’s almost too much, but I don’t move. I stand there, letting the water pour over me, eyes shut tight. My makeup runs in black streaks down my cheeks, mixing with the sweat and regret. The night flashes behind my eyelids, dancing with Alaric, the freedom of the wind in my hair, the sound of the bass vibrating in my chest, the laugh I didn’t have to fake. And now… this. Being forced back under their roof. Being watched. Controlled. Handled like I’m fragile glass in a world full of monsters. I’m not fragile. But the tears come anyway, hot and angry, masked by the water as they fall. I press my palms to the tiled wall and breathe, my jaw clenched, trying to find some sliver of calm beneath the growing storm inside of me. I’m not crying because I’m scared. I’m crying because I’m furious. Because this was my room. Because I finally started to feel like I could breathe, and now he’s shoving me back into the cage. I stay under the water until my skin turns red from the heat. Until the steam fills every corner of the room and the mirror is completely blank. I pretend, just for a second, that if I stay in here long enough, I won’t have to face the rest of it. But I know better. Eventually, I shut the water off and step out into the fogged-up room, grabbing a towel and wrapping it tightly around myself like armor. One last shower. One last moment in this version of my life. Then I guess it’s time to pack up and go be the daughter he wants, under his roof, under his rules. Again.
