Chapter 3

Lydia’s POV

“Pack your bags. Your flight leaves at six in the morning.”

My mother’s voice cut through the static of the midnight call like a knife. I sat up in bed, the sheets pooling at my waist, my heart suddenly thudding.

“Six in the morning?” My throat was dry. “Mother, did something happen? Is everyone okay?”

“We’re fine,” she replied, calm but firm. “There’s no emergency. Your father and I simply need you home. The ticket is already in your inbox.”

I glanced at my laptop on the desk, its screen glowing faintly in the dark. “That’s only… six hours from now. You forgot about the time difference.”

“Well then,” she said, her tone clipped. “You’d better hurry with the packing.”

And just like that, the call ended. No reason. No explanation. Just orders. Typical.

I sank back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling. My life in Paris flashed before me—the little one-bedroom apartment I’d rented for the first time in my life, the café job that smelled of coffee and sugar, the macaroon class I was halfway through. Freedom, independence, and friends I’d promised to meet for breakfast in the morning.

Now? All of it was being shoved into a suitcase with no warning.

I muttered to myself as I dragged the suitcase from under my bed. “Three months on the lease. I’ll be back. They can’t just… drag me back for good.”

But a cold thought pushed through: What if they can?

By the time the sun rose, I was slumped in my airplane seat, eyelids heavy. Six hours later, I stood in front of the Silverwood packhouse—a massive, ornate building that had always felt less like home and more like a gilded cage.

The double doors swung open and there they were: my parents, Alpha Gregory and Luna Comfort, seated elegantly in the living room, and my little brother Tristan lounging in an armchair that seemed too big for him.

“Welcome home,” Tristan said flatly. His voice echoed in my head before his lips even moved, the mind link striking me with a jolt I hadn’t felt in ten years.

I quickly shut my mind, embarrassed at how rusty I was.

“Tristan,” my mother snapped. “At least greet your sister properly.”

He gave a reluctant smile. “I’ve got class in two minutes. If I’m late, they’ll make me do extra drills. We’ll catch up later.” He stood, waved once, and left without another word.

I blinked after him. He’d been five when I left. Now he was fifteen, tall, lean, and already carrying himself like the next Alpha. We were practically strangers.

My father rose, his presence filling the room like it always did. He pulled me into a hug that was more rigid than warm, then leaned back to study me. His eyes scanned my face, his hand brushing my hair.

“You’ve grown into a beauty,” he said, pride edging his smile. “I’m proud to be your father.”

Heat flared in my cheeks. Praise wasn’t something Alpha Gregory gave out freely. “Thank you… Father.”

“Have you met your mate yet?”

The question hit me sideways. “What? No. Not yet.”

“Good.” His smile widened, unsettling in its satisfaction. “Very good.”

He didn’t explain why. He never explained anything. With a curt nod, he excused himself, leaving me under my mother’s watchful gaze.

“You must be tired,” she said briskly, already reaching for a planner. “We didn’t want to overwhelm you today. Tomorrow will be the proper welcome party. For now, I’ve scheduled a spa treatment, and in the afternoon a few of my friends will join us for tea. They all remember you as a little girl with freckles. They’ll be shocked to see you now.”

“Mother…” I cut her off, lifting a hand. “Please. I just got off a plane. Could I just eat in my room?”

She paused, clearly irritated, but forced a smile. “Of course. Shower first. I’ll have food sent up. You have one hour before we leave for the spa. Don’t be late.”

I nodded tightly and made my escape.

My old room was exactly as I’d left it: pastel pink walls, a queen-sized canopy bed, plush teddy bears lined up on the shelf. Childhood preserved in glass, untouched for a decade.

I closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a breath. The air smelled faintly of lavender and dust, too sweet, too staged. Europe had been messy, vibrant, alive. This room felt suffocating.

The bathroom steam eased some of the tension, but the sandwich waiting for me on the nightstand barely registered as food. I chewed mechanically, staring at the walls.

I had a life in Paris. Friends, freedom, plans. Here, I was the daughter of Alpha and Luna, a princess in a golden cage where every step was watched. I could travel Europe alone, but here? I needed permission to breathe.

Still, there was one freedom I couldn’t deny: shifting. On pack land, I could run as my wolf without fear of being seen or hunted. That thought alone steadied me—for now.

A knock broke through my spiral.

“Come in,” I called, half expecting my mother.

Instead, a tall brunette with polished features peeked through the door. “Hello…”

I frowned, trying to place her face.

She smiled awkwardly. “You don’t remember me, do you? I’m Wendy. My father is Beta Zachary. Your mother asked me to check on you. I’ll be joining you for the spa trip.”

Wendy. The name sparked a memory—a little girl with pigtails and freckles trailing behind me years ago. But the woman standing in my doorway wasn’t that girl. She was statuesque now, all curves and poise.

I gave a small nod, masking my unease. “Right. Wendy.”

Her smile softened. “It’s been a long time. But don’t worry. I’ll help you catch up.”

As she stepped into my room, I realized something: I hadn’t chosen this reunion, but Wendy was going to be in my life whether I liked it or not.

And in this house, choice was the one thing I no longer had.