Chapter Twelve

The Alpha King's office was quiet, save for the steady ticking of the large brass clock mounted on the wall. Morning light spilled across the polished surface of his desk, catching on neatly stacked reports, contracts, and one slim receipt lying at the top of the pile.

He stared at it.

A charge from the high-end restaurant he kept on retainer for official business—and, occasionally, for his sister's less-than-official whims. Last night’s bill.

Two entrees. Dessert. Wine. Truffle pasta.

His jaw ticked.

He pressed a button on his desk phone and waited.

Victoria picked up on the third ring. "Yes, dearest brother?"

"Explain," he cut to the chase

“Okay, okay. First of all—rude. Second of all, it was one dinner.”

"This bill is for the restaurant I take important clients."

“Yes, yes, at your fancy account-only palace of a restaurant. But in my defense, the wine was your fault. And the dessert? Also your fault. You trained me to appreciate good food.”

"You ordered the lobsters, didn't you?" he said believing that she had dinner by herself.

“No, I didn’t order the lobster. Celeste didn’t either. We are humble diners. We got pasta.” Victoria paused. “Okay, I got truffle pasta. And dessert. And two drinks. But still.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

He opened his mouth to respond, but paused.

Faintly, through the line, he heard it—a soft sound, distant, but distinct.

A laugh. Light and short. Barely more than a snort.

But it cut through him.

His fingers stilled on the armrest of his chair.

“I’m your only sister,” she said sweetly into the phone. “Your baby sister. Your joy. Your—okay, okay, I’m hanging up now before you start listing interest rates.” Victoria was still talking, but her words faded into background noise.

That laugh.

He'd only heard it once before, but it had stayed with him. In the diner, the night she brushed past him. That small, startled apology. The faint scent of floral perfume.

He found himself leaning back slowly, eyes unfocused as the memory replayed in his head.

Why did he want to hear it again?

Why was she still in his mind?

She was human. Quiet. Unassuming. Nothing about her explained the way her presence stayed with him like an echo.

But it did.

And now, even something as simple as a laugh over a phone line stirred something in him.

He didn’t like questions he couldn’t answer. But she—

She was starting to feel like the biggest one of all.

**

The air outside the diner was cool and soft, touched with the faded warmth of dawn. Pale light spilled over the pavement as Victoria and Celeste stepped out, shoulders brushing, laughter still lingering between them from Victoria’s dramatic phone call.

“He’s going to hold that over your head forever,” Celeste teased, pulling her sweater tighter around herself as they walked.

“Oh, absolutely,” Victoria groaned. “He’s probably drafting an invoice for my soul right now. The man has no chill.”

Celeste chuckled, but then grew quiet for a moment as they rounded the corner. “Can I ask you something?”

Victoria glanced over, curious. “Sure.”

“What’s he like?” Celeste asked. “Your brother. I mean, I’ve seen glimpses. But… I don’t know. You two are close.”

Victoria smiled faintly at that. “Yeah. We are. We didn’t used to be—not like this. But after our parents died, it was just the two of us. He… changed a lot. Stepped up in ways I don’t think either of us were ready for.”

Celeste nodded slowly, listening.

“He’s protective. Quiet, unless he’s irritated—then good luck getting a word in. A little too intense sometimes, honestly. But he’s got a good heart. Carries too much weight, though. He’s always thinking five steps ahead. Work, people, deals. Managing everything. Like he’s trying to keep the whole city from falling apart by sheer force of will.”

Celeste tilted her head. “What exactly does he do?”

Victoria smirked. “Technically, he runs a private security and infrastructure firm. High-level negotiations. Mediation. Political contracts. That kind of thing.”

Celeste arched a brow. “So… a fancy fixer?”

“Basically,” Victoria said with a laugh. “He makes sure everything runs smooth. Keeps dangerous people in check. Ensures order without making it look like control.”

Celeste was quiet again, processing.

“And you?” she asked. “Has he always taken care of you?”

Victoria’s smile turned soft. “Yeah. Even before our parents died, he always looked out for me. Taught me how to fight. How to stand my ground. How to know when to walk away, too. He’s… more than just a big brother. He’s kind of the last of what we had.”

Celeste looked ahead, her gaze fixed on the quiet morning light stretching across the empty road. “Sounds like he’s lucky to have you.”

Victoria nudged her gently. “Nah. I’m lucky to have you, too. You’re like the sister I didn’t get to grow up with.”

Celeste blinked, lips parting slightly. A hundred words caught in her throat, none of them ready.

They walked in silence for a few more blocks, the cool breeze tugging gently at their sleeves. The first hints of sunrise stretched over the buildings, casting a soft blush across the sky.

Celeste’s voice broke the stillness, quiet, almost fragile. “I have two older brothers.”

Victoria turned slightly, surprised. Celeste rarely talked about her family—almost never.

“They were always taller than everyone, louder than necessary,” Celeste said with a ghost of a smile. “They used to make me laugh until I cried. Even when I was mad at them, they’d still do stupid impressions or chase me around the fields just to get me to smile.”

Victoria stayed quiet, listening.

“I remember once—when I was about nine—one of them built this ridiculous sled out of scrap wood just so we could slide down the frozen hills outside our home. It was dangerous. It wobbled. I’m pretty sure we broke a fence at the bottom. But they cheered like we’d won some championship.”

Her eyes were glassy now, but the smile on her lips remained. “They always made everything feel lighter. Even when the world didn’t make sense. Even when I was struggling.”

Victoria gave her a sideways glance, her expression soft.

Celeste continued, her gaze distant. “They made a little space under the stairs once, filled it with pillows and snacks—called it my reading fort. It had a flashlight, a stack of old books, and my name on a piece of paper taped to the wall. It was just for me.”

Victoria’s voice was gentle. “Sounds like they adored you.”

“They did,” Celeste whispered. “And I adored them.”

She paused, swallowing hard. “I think about them a lot. About who they are now… what they’d say if they saw me here.”

Victoria reached out, linking her arm with Celeste’s. “They’d probably still try to make you laugh.”

Celeste looked down, brushing away a tear that slipped free. “Yeah. Probably.”

“But you don’t always have to carry the weight of everything by yourself,” Victoria said softly. “You can talk to me, you know?”

Celeste gave a small nod. “I know.”

They stopped at the corner of Celeste’s street, the early light painting their faces in warmth.

“Thank you,” Celeste said.

“For walking?” Victoria teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“For listening,” Celeste said. “And for staying.”

Victoria leaned her head lightly against Celeste’s shoulder. “Always.”

And together, they stood for a moment longer, wrapped in quiet and memory and the beginning of something whole.