Chapter 5

Dorothy nods, her eyes focused on the emerging lines taking shape beneath her skilled hands. Already, the outline of scattered roses, rose petals, glass and chocolates on the floor. Like someone had thrown gifts away to the floor.

Back in the hallway, Magnus watches the space where Dorothy disappeared, the weight of his mistake growing heavier by the second. He can feel Ethan's curious gaze on him, but he can't bring himself to meet his friend's eyes.

"Actually," Magnus says, making a sudden decision, "I need to talk to Dorothy about something. Pack business. I'll catch up with you later."

Before Ethan can respond, Magnus strides down the hallway in the direction Dorothy and Lila went, leaving his friend staring after him with confusion etched across his face. Something isn't adding up, and Ethan's wolf stirs uneasily within him.

In the studio, Dorothy's hand moves with increasing confidence across the paper. The scattered rose petals take shape, each one detailed with remarkable precision. Some are whole, others torn, creating a path that leads to a shattered heart-shaped glass box. Chocolates spill from the broken container, the careful rendering making them appear almost real enough to touch.

"This is... intense," Lila murmurs, watching over Dorothy's shoulder as the image emerges.

"It's just a concept sketch," Dorothy replies, though they both know it's already becoming much more than that. Her fingers are stained with graphite as she adds depth to the shadows beneath the broken glass.

The studio door opens without warning, and Magnus stands in the entrance, his broad shoulders filling the frame. Dorothy's pencil freezes mid-stroke, her breath catching in her throat.

"I need to speak with you," he says quietly, his amber eyes pleading. "Alone."

Lila steps protectively in front of Dorothy's drawing table. "I don't think now is a good time," she says, her voice cool with disapproval.

Magnus's gaze moves past Lila to the sketch on Dorothy's table. The sight of the broken heart-shaped box surrounded by torn petals makes his own heart constrict. He recognises immediately what it represents, and the knowledge that he's inspired such a painful piece cuts deeper than he expected.

"Please," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Five minutes."

Dorothy sets down her pencil with deliberate care, her face a careful mask. "It's fine, Lila. You can wait outside."

"Are you sure?" Lila asks, her protective instincts on high alert.

Dorothy nods, and Lila reluctantly moves toward the door, shooting Magnus a warning glare as she passes. "Five minutes," she echoes, making it clear she'll be timing every second.

When the door closes behind her, the silence between Magnus and Dorothy feels vast and treacherous. Outside, clouds shift across the sun, momentarily dimming the light streaming through the windows.

"I'm sorry," Magnus finally says, reaching into his jacket to pull out the carefully reassembled Valentine. "I didn't look. I thought it was something else. From your brother, maybe. I just...I wasn't thinking."

Dorothy stares at him, “My brother doesn’t know about your thinking spot at the Lake and believe me, he's tried actually. I don’t think anyone but me knows, so that’s why I went there. Why are you here? I have work to do.”

Magnus takes a hesitant step forward, the pieces of the Valentine held between his trembling fingers. "I know you do, and I'll leave you to it. I just wanted to..." He trails off, struggling to find the right words as his gaze falls on her sketch again. The detailed rendering of shattered glass and scattered petals feels like a mirror to the damage he's caused.

"You wanted to what?" Dorothy asks, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions churning inside her. She doesn't meet his eyes, focusing instead on a point just past his shoulder. Her heart beats traitorously fast in her chest, betraying the calm she's trying to project.

"I wanted to apologise properly," Magnus says, setting the reconstructed Valentine gently on the corner of her desk. "What I did was unforgivable. I should have looked before I...before I tore it."

Dorothy's eyes finally flick to the Valentine, then quickly away. The sight of her carefully crafted paper roses, now held together with tape and regret, threatens to crack her composure. "It doesn't matter," she says softly. "It was just a silly card."

"We both know that's not true," Magnus counters, his amber eyes darkening with emotion. His wolf paces anxiously within him, pushing him to make this right. "Dorothy, I..."

Outside the studio door, Lila presses her ear against the wood, straining to hear every word. Her protective instincts are on high alert, ready to burst in at the first sign of Dorothy's distress. She doesn't trust the Alpha's son, not after seeing the evidence of Dorothy's tears earlier.

Simultaneously, across the packhouse grounds, Ethan feels a strange pull toward his sister's studio. The sibling bond thrums with tension, drawing him away from his training path and toward the small building where Dorothy retreats to create her art. His wolf growls softly within him, sensing something important happening.

Inside, Dorothy rises from her stool, needing to put physical distance between herself and Magnus. She moves to the window, where afternoon light spills across her workspace. "You've apologised," she says, her back to him. "Is that all?"

Magnus watches her silhouette against the light, struck by how small yet fierce she appears. The daughter of the Beta has always seemed separate from pack politics, focused entirely on her art. Yet now, standing in her creative space, surrounded by evidence of her talent, Magnus realises how little he truly knows her, this girl who somehow found her way into his private sanctuary to offer him her heart.

"No," he says finally. "That's not all. I want to know why. Why me? Why would you..." He gestures helplessly at the torn Valentine.

Dorothy's shoulders stiffen. This is exactly the conversation she'd hoped to avoid. Admitting her feelings had been hard enough the first time, when she'd channelled them into art and paper roses. Having to verbalise them now, after such humiliating rejection, feels impossible, “I…”