Chapter 3

After Serena’s address was exposed, strangers lingered outside her home for days. Rowan moved her into the Alpha residence for her safety. He did not tell me until Pack Security was carrying her luggage into the west wing.

“It’s temporary,” he said, pouring me a glass of water as if he were explaining an ordinary pack arrangement. “She’ll leave when the attention dies down. The west wing is near the safe room and has been empty for years. It won’t affect us.”

I nodded. I would be gone in two days anyway.

The house quickly filled with traces of Serena. White slippers appeared between ours in the entryway. Her clinic schedule was pinned beside our photograph on the refrigerator. The hallways sometimes carried the faint scent of her medicinal herbs, and the kitchen began timing dinner around her shifts.

Rowan used to ask where I was the moment he came home. Now he first asked whether Serena had returned from the clinic. In the mornings, he drove her to work on his way to pack headquarters.

Once, when I got into the passenger seat, I found it reclined and one of Serena’s parking slips tucked behind the visor. Rowan adjusted the seat without concern. “I’ve been driving her so often that I forgot to put it back.”

I did not question him. I continued sorting the sketches my mother had left me.

I hoped my final two days would pass quietly. Instead, Serena decided to film a charity video for the rescue foundation in my glass conservatory.

My mother had built it for me before she died. It held the original white camellia she had cultivated by hand, along with her botanical journals and photographs. I never permitted outsiders inside, and Rowan had always known that.

On the morning of the shoot, he gave Serena the access code anyway.

By the time I arrived, the conservatory was packed with crew members. They had turned off the climate controls, shifted the plant stands, and placed equipment directly on my mother’s journal.

“Move that plant out of the shot,” Rowan told a crew member, pointing at the white camellia.

The man dragged its stand toward the wall. One leg caught on a cable, and the stand tipped. The pot shattered against the floor. Its roots snapped apart, and muddy water spilled across my mother’s open journal.

For a moment, I heard nothing but a high, empty ringing.

Serena looked from the broken plant to me. “Maeve, I’m sorry. I didn’t know these things mattered so much. Rowan said we could use the space, so I thought you had agreed.”

Rowan stepped beside her. “It was an accident. She was trying to help the foundation. I’ll find you a better one.”

I knelt and lifted the broken rootstock with both hands. “There isn’t another one.”

His brows drew together. “Maeve, she’s already apologized. What else do you want her to do?”

I looked at the journal dissolving in mud and water, then called Pack Security.

“Seal the conservatory and document every loss. Revoke all access except mine.”

The crew exchanged uncertain looks. Serena’s eyes filled immediately.

“This is my fault. If Maeve doesn’t want me here, I’ll move out tonight. Please don’t fight because of me.”

“No one told you to leave,” Rowan said. He turned to me. “I approved this shoot. You could have spoken to me privately instead of embarrassing her in front of everyone.”

“This is private property my mother left to me. You had no right to grant permission on my behalf.”

His face darkened. “Then be angry with me. Serena thought she had permission. There’s no reason to humiliate her in front of the crew.”

“Everyone out.”

I did not look at him again. After a long silence, Rowan placed his coat around Serena’s shoulders and escorted her from the conservatory. His wolf shadow followed at her heels.

That night, I sent the rest of my mother’s possessions to Southhaven. I closed our shared household account and changed my insurance beneficiary and emergency contact. Then I packed my clothes, documents, and my mother’s photographs.

My flight reminder lit the screen.

Only two days remained.