Unspoken Weight

Aria sat cross-legged on her bed, fingers lightly drumming against her thighs as she stared at a small crack running along her bedroom wall. The quiet hum of the ceiling fan above did little to soothe her nerves. Her room—her sanctuary since childhood—felt different now. Smaller, almost. Like the walls knew something she didn’t and were closing in, waiting for her to crack.

Wyatt had left nearly an hour ago, but his presence clung to the air like thick smoke. She could still feel the weight of his gaze on her skin, hear the gravel-rich texture of his voice vibrating in her chest.

She’d expected an Alpha to be intimidating, loud, aggressive. But Wyatt Evans was none of those things. He didn’t need to raise his voice or flex his rank. He simply stood there—calm, stoic, unreadable—and the room had bent around him. Not because he demanded power, but because he was power.

And yet, beneath all that, something in him had called to her. Not her heart. Not her mind.

Her wolf.

Only, her wolf hadn’t howled or purred. It had sat still. Alert. Listening. Curious.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she ran both hands through her hair. Her curls bounced back defiantly, soft from her coconut leave-in conditioner, the scent comforting. Familiar. She focused on it like a lifeline, trying to anchor herself in the ordinary.

He’s just a man, she told herself. An Alpha. A stranger.

A soft knock pulled her from her thoughts.

“Come in,” she called, her voice a little hoarse.

Her mother stepped in carrying a glass of water. Lisa’s expression was unreadable, but her eyes—wise and steady—drifted over Aria’s face with practiced care. She sat beside her daughter on the edge of the bed and handed over the glass.

“You’ve been quiet,” Lisa said gently.

Aria took the water, grateful for the excuse to look away. “Just tired.”

Lisa didn’t comment on the lie. “Wyatt’s not what you expected, is he?”

Aria paused with the glass at her lips. “No. He’s not.”

Her mother gave her a knowing look. “You want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Aria said quickly. “He came, he said what he needed to say. That’s it.”

Lisa arched a brow. “You’ve never been a bad liar, sweetheart.”

Aria let out a short breath of laughter—humorless and dry. “I don’t know what I felt. There was something... strange. Like I’d met him before but knew I hadn’t. My wolf didn’t react, but I did. And it wasn’t fear. Just—” She struggled for the word. “Static. Like I was waiting for something to happen, but nothing did.”

Lisa didn’t speak for a long moment. “Your wolf didn’t stir at all?”

“No.” Aria shook her head. “She was quiet, just… watching.”

Her mother smiled faintly. “Maybe that’s a good thing. It means you’re still in control. And that control matters more than anything else right now.”

“I don’t want to feel anything,” Aria muttered. “Not toward him. Not toward anyone.”

Lisa reached out and tucked a curl behind Aria’s ear. “You’ve been through more than most wolves survive. You don’t owe anyone your heart, especially not after what James did. But sometimes… what we try to block out the hardest is what we’re meant to face.”

Aria’s throat tightened, but she didn’t respond. She didn’t want to think about James. Not now. Not after being reminded of him with every file her father had laid out on the kitchen table earlier. Manipulation. Lies. Deception. It had taken her years to understand how deep James’s claws had gone into her, and even longer to claw them out herself.

She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Her voice was quiet when she finally said, “Wyatt doesn’t seem interested. He barely looked at me. Maybe he already suspects who I used to be… and doesn’t like it.”

Lisa gave her a long look. “He wouldn’t judge you. Not for surviving.”

“I judged myself,” Aria whispered. “Still do.”

Her mother’s expression softened with a mix of pride and pain. “Then forgive yourself first. The rest will come.”

They sat in silence for a beat, the air thick with unspoken words.

Lisa stood and smoothed out her shirt. “Dinner will be ready in an hour. I’m heating up the rosemary potatoes and steak. You barely touched yours last night.”

Aria nodded. “I’ll be down later.”

As the door closed behind her mother, Aria fell back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Her mind swirled with too many thoughts—Wyatt’s quiet strength, her mother’s watchful eyes, the way her wolf had just… listened.

She was used to being on edge, to bracing for impact. But this was different. There was no danger yet. Just possibility. And that made it harder to trust.

She rolled onto her side and hugged her pillow, drawing in a slow breath as the familiar scent of lavender from last night’s body wash clung to the sheets. Safe. For now.

And yet, somewhere deep in her chest, something whispered.

Not words. Not even a feeling.

Just the sense that everything was about to change.