CHAPTER TWO

JELENA

“Ma, you sent for me?” I say as I step into the room and come face to face with my stepmother, Vanessa.

Her room or should I say their room has always been large, almost unnecessarily so. It carries a kind of quiet luxury that feels cold rather than comforting, the heavy curtains are drawn halfway, allowing thin lines of sunlight to spill across polished floors and expensive furniture. Everything is perfectly arranged, untouched, as if no real life happens here.

Although it is meant to belong to both her and my father, he is rarely ever present, he is always away on one “work trip” or another, managing his carpentry business or at least, that is what everyone says. In truth, his work stretches far beyond wood and tools, his hands are not as clean as people believe, but I have learned not to look too deeply into that part of his life.

We are wealthy more than most in the area and my father is known as the biggest and most successful carpenter around, yet, that has never been enough for him, he always wants more, more influence, more control, .ore power, just more of everything he can get his hands on

Vanessa sits at her vanity, her back straight, her attention fixed on her reflection, she carefully applies makeup, layering perfection onto a face that already looks calculated, the soft clink of glass bottles and the faint scent of perfume fill the room and that alone tells me something important.

Father is home and he is staying for breakfast.

I should feel excited, shouldn’t I?

A daughter should look forward to moments like this rare mornings when her father is present, when the family gathers like a normal one but that feeling doesn’t exist in me anymore, it hasn’t for a long time.

I lost my father the same day I lost my mother and yeah, he may still be alive, still breathing, still walking through these halls like he owns them and he doesbut the man I trusted, the man who once felt like safety, is gone, something changed after my mother died, something I cannot name, something I do not want to understand and ever since then, I have chosen distance over disappointment.

“Your sister told me you refused to give her a dress she saw in your closet,” Vanessa finally says, breaking the silence that has stretched uncomfortably long.

Her tone is calm, but there is an edge beneath it, something sharp and waiting, I already know the dress she is talking about.

I also know my stepsister had no right to be in my room in the first place let alone touching my things, deciding what she wants to take as if everything I own belongs to her.

The dress… is my mother’s.

That alone should be enough explanation and for the first time, I said NO, I said no without thinking about the consequences, without weighing the punishment that always follows defiance in this house, for once, I held onto something that mattered to me.

“Yes, ma,” I reply softly. “I told her I couldn’t give it to her. It belonged to my late mom.”

The words barely leave my mouth before I feel the shift in the room and instead of softening her expression, my answer only hardens it, her hand pauses mid-air, holding a brush, and she slowly turns to face me. Her eyes narrow slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“I am not your ‘Ma,’” she says, her voice cold and controlled. “Never forget that, I am the Lady of this manor, and to you, I am My Lady. Do you understand me?”

There it is, the correction and the constant reminder of the line she never allows me to cross.

Typical.

Vanessa always reacts like this when she realizes she cannot push further and when she senses resistance but cannot openly retaliate, especially with my father in the house. She needs to maintain appearances, she needs to play her role perfectly because no one must ever know what truly happens here.

And I? I play mine just as well.

“Okay, My Lady,” I say meekly, lowering my gaze.

Submission is easier, safer, for now and I would soon be leaving all of the behind

“Your father is around for breakfast” she continues, turning back to her reflection as if I have already ceased to exist. “Dress well and meet us at the dining table.”

Dismissed and just like that, our “mother-daughter” time, if it can even be called that, is over, I leave the room quietly, closing the door behind me with as little sound as possible, and the moment I step into the hallway, I feel the tension ease slightly from my shoulders.

This is the only time I get any form of peace in this house when my father is present, it is ironic, really.

The same man I no longer trust is also the only reason I am not completely tormented, I walk back to my room, already thinking ahead

Since he is here, it won’t be for long. It never is, he will likely leave by the end of breakfast, maybe even earlier, his visits are always brief, purposeful and very much predictable, he has probably returned with some kind of injury again.

He always does and he always comes to me for it, not because he trusts me or even because he cares but because I am useful.

As the weakest member of the pack, I have learned to make myself valuable in other ways, .y wolf is not strong, she never has been. I cannot fight like the others, cannot overpower anyone, cannot even defend myself properly if it comes down to strength, so I adapt, I study, I learn, I move into nursing, then expand into veterinary medicine. It becomes my shield, my way of surviving in a place where strength determines worth.

When others are injured, when large wolves fall, when bodies break, I fix them at least that is what I am good for and that is enough.

Or at least, it has to be.

I reach my closet and pull out a cleaner dress, something simple but presentable, my fingers brush past fabrics and hangers, moving quickly until something catches my attention.

I pause.

The green dress, it is not there.

For a moment, I stare at the empty space where it should be, my thoughts slowing, that dress is not something I misplace, I know exactly where I keep it.

A quiet realization settles in but I don’t let myself dwell on it at least not now, I cannot afford to keep my father waiting.

Swallowing whatever reaction tries to rise, I grab another dress and change quickly, there will be time to think about it later or maybe there won’t. Either way, nothing changes by standing here.

Once I am ready, I head straight to the dining area.

As expected, the place is alive with activity, servants move back and forth, setting dishes, adjusting placements, ensuring everything is perfect and at the head of the table

My father.

He looks exactly as I remember, composed, commanding, untouchable, if not for the faint stiffness in his posture, no one would ever guess he is injured, appearances matter as always.

“How has being back home been treating you, Jelena?” he asks as I take my seat.

His tone is casual, almost warm, emphasis on almost.

“Oh… good,” I murmur, lowering my gaze as I focus on the food in front of me.

I cut into the steak, bringing a piece to my mouth, the taste is rich, seasoned perfectly something I know I won’t be enjoying again anytime soon, not until he decides to return.

“Any plans yet with Aaron?” he asks.

My hand pauses briefly before continuing.

Aaron.

“I don’t know yet,” I reply quietly. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

And just like that, the conversation ends as that is all we exchange, no deeper questions or any real connection but just surface-level words, spoken out of obligation rather than interest.

Breakfast continues, but I barely register it, later, as expected, I tend to his wounds, I clean them carefully, methodically, avoiding unnecessary eye contact, he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t question, doesn’t explain and I don’t ask.

We exist in silence, bound by something that feels more like duty than family and once I am done, he leaves, just like that with no lingering or even goodbye that means anything, he is gone again

I return to my room afterward, exhaustion settling into my bones as I collapse onto my bed, the ceiling above me feels distant, unfamiliar, like something I am seeing for the first time.

My life…

It has never been fun, not really, it has always been about surviving, adjusting, enduring but even in all of that 

There is one thing—one person—that makes everything feel a little lighter.

Aaron.

A small smile forms on my lips as I think of him, my wolf may be weak, but she chose him and she connected with him and for the first time in my life, I have something, ssomeone that I can call mine, I still remember the first time I saw him.

The way my blood surged, the way my heart pounded uncontrollably, the way my wolf practically sang inside me.

Mate.

The word echoed over and over again in my head, drowning out everything else.

It was overwhelming and terrifying, a first time experience and yet… beautiful.

It has been a while since I last saw him, though, too long in my opinion, I stare up at the ceiling, the quiet of my room wrapping around me.

Then I exhale softly, maybe…

Maybe my day isn’t as empty as I thought, I guess I have something to do after all.