NOT A MONROE

Scarlett pov

The road home looked nothing like I remembered.

Maybe it was the way the trees had grown taller, or how the shadows stretched longer across the gravel path. Or maybe it was me. Everything looked the same—but I wasn’t.

Lucian drove like a man with something to prove, one hand on the wheel, the other clenched tight on the gearstick. The silence between us wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Familiar. Like he didn’t know where to begin, and I didn’t want to ask him to.

We passed the old riverbank where we used to skip stones as kids. The clearing where I first shifted. The training grounds where I was taught to fight like an alpha, not just a girl.

I felt like a ghost passing through my own memories.

“You’re quiet,” Lucian said finally.

I shrugged, eyes still on the window. “I forgot what quiet felt like.”

He glanced at me, something soft flickering behind his golden eyes. “You don’t have to talk. Just… you don’t have to go back there alone.”

Back there. He meant home. If it still counted as that.

“Does anyone know I’m out?” I asked.

Lucian didn’t answer right away. “Some do. Rumors spread fast. But Dad… he doesn’t. Not yet.”

Alpha Reyes. The man who married my mother, raised Darius like royalty, and tossed me aside like a broken toy. The man who helped frame me.

I swallowed hard. “Is he still Alpha?”

“Yeah. But things have changed.” Lucian’s jaw tightened. “Darius is pushing for the title. And he’s been… busy.”

That wasn’t surprising. Darius was always power-hungry. The golden boy with a rotten core. If I’d stayed, I might’ve been the only one standing in his way.

Now? I wasn’t even sure I could stand.

“Selene—” I stopped myself. “Mother…”

“She’s gone,” Lucian said gently. “A year ago. Heart failure. At least, that’s what they told the pack.”

It hit like a slap.

Gone. Just like that.

The woman whose hands once braided my hair. The one who used to hum lullabies under her breath when she thought no one was listening. The same woman who stood silently while I was dragged away in chains.

I chocked on the unsaid words, my jaw locking. “And you believed that?”

He looked at me then, really looked. “I think she died with too many secrets.”

I turned my face to the window, blinking fast, willing the sting in my eyes to fade.

I didn’t know whether to grieve her… or hate her.

Maybe both.

I was quiet for a moment, watching the trees blur past. “What happened while I was gone? I mean… really happened.”

Lucian sighed. “Reyes started pulling back from public view about two years ago. Said his ‘health was failing,’ but we all knew it was Darius pushing him into the background. Darius started speaking on his behalf during council meetings. Making decisions. Cutting alliances. He’s trying to make the pack look stronger to outsiders—but inside? It’s all rot.”

He glanced at me, eyes sharp. “The council’s divided. Half of them are afraid of him, and the other half are greedy enough to support him if it benefits them.”

“What about the elders?” I asked quietly.

Lucian hesitated, then said, “Most of the council’s been around since your real father’s time. They served under Alpha Monroe. They’re loyal to his bloodline. To you.”

That stunned me.

“They’ve blocked Darius from being crowned Alpha,” he continued. “They can’t challenge Reyes openly—not without risking exile or worse—but they’ve stalled the official transition for over a year now. Quiet resistance. It’s the only reason Darius doesn’t wear the crown yet.”

“They’re waiting for me?” I asked.

Lucian nodded once. “They never said it out loud. But yeah. I think they were hoping you’d come back. That maybe there’d still be something left to fight for.”

I leaned my head against the window, too tired to think. Too numb to feel. “Do I even have a place there anymore?”

Lucian didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled off the main road, the tires crunching over gravel. Trees gave way to familiar buildings—the edge of the pack grounds. I felt the air shift.

We passed warriors on patrol. One of them did a double take, eyes widening as he recognized me.

Let them stare.

Let them wonder if I was a ghost or a warning.

Lucian pulled up in front of a house I hadn’t seen in five years. Not the main estate. This was smaller, quieter. A safehouse on the edge of the territory.

“You’re not staying in the packhouse,” he said. “You’re not ready for that. And honestly, they’re not ready for you.”

I blinked at him. “So where is this?”

“My place,” he said simply.

“You live here?”

He smirked. “I live where I can keep you safe.”

My throat tightened.

He killed the engine and stepped out, walking around to open my door before I could argue. I stepped out slowly, knees shaky, body stiff from the ride and years of disuse. The air smelled like pine and rain.

Inside, the house was simple—wooden floors, clean lines, warm lighting. Lived-in but not messy. Comfortable. Safe.

Lucian grabbed a blanket from the couch and tossed it at me. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that when you’re not.”

I let the blanket settle over my shoulders. The warmth hit something deep in my chest.

He disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a glass of water and a protein bar. “Start small,” he said. “You’ve got time.”

I took it, even if I didn’t want to eat. My hands trembled slightly, but I kept my grip steady.

Lucian sat across from me, elbows on his knees, watching me like he was trying to piece me back together with his eyes.

“You were gone five years,” he said softly. “But you came back. That has to mean something.”

I felt something flicker in my chest that wasn’t rage or grief.

Hope.

It was small. Barely there. But it was real.

And I wasn’t ready to let it go.