Chapter 2

Letty’s pov

The house was supposed to be empty. My mother and Micheal had left hours earlier for an all-night event. I’d stayed upstairs, enjoying the rare freedom of being alone.

Then the door slammed.

The sound echoed like a warning. I froze, heart pounding, and then I heard it, something wet dragging slowly across the floor.

I stepped out of my room, barefoot on the carpet. The air felt sharp and alive then a low sound followed, almost a growl.

I should have run and screamed but instead, calm settled over me. Whatever was here felt familiar.

I moved down the stairs and saw the paw prints, mud smeared across white marble, ruining its perfection. I followed them until the bathroom door opened and he walked out.

Completely naked.

I couldn’t move. My breath caught, burning in my chest.

His grey eyes met mine and for the first time, he really looked at me and not past me or through me.

At me.

“What are you doing down here?” he asked, his voice calm yet rough and unfamiliar.

“I…” My voice broke. “I heard a noise.”

His gaze lingered, heavy. “And you followed it?”

I nodded, my back already pressing into the wall as he stepped closer.

“You shouldn’t,” he said quietly.

“I live here,” I whispered.

There was a pause as his eyes flickered, something wild tightening his expression. “That’s the problem.”

He leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed my neck. He inhaled slowly.

“You smell different,” he murmured, almost to himself.

My fingers curled against the wall. “Mason…”

His hand lifted, touching my face with terrifying gentleness, his thumb traced my jaw, my neck, like he was memorizing me.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.

“Like what?” I answered innocently

“Like you don’t know what you’re asking for.” he replied and what made it worst was that he was correct.

Masons hand tightened briefly at my throat, it was not painful, but firm enough to steal my breath.

“Are you scared?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

His eyes softened, just a little. He leaned closer, his lips near my ear.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

The sound of his voice sent a shiver through me.

Then he pulled back.

“You’ve grown,” he said.

The words weren’t innocent. They settled deep, heavy with meaning. A dark smile curved his lips before he turned and walked away.

I slid down the wall, shaking.

That night, I understood something terrifying. The man who had never noticed me before had finally seen me.

That night sleep barely came. My body burned with questions I was afraid to ask.

By morning, I avoided him. Every footstep made my heart race. When my mother returned and casually asked, “Did Mason come in yesterday like he said?” heat rushed to my cheeks.

“Yes,” I answered quickly.

So they knew he was coming back, everyone knew but me.

I woke up the next morning after the night we shared in the kitchen, and something felt wrong from the moment I opened my eyes.

I woke before dawn, my body restless, my mind already racing.

The room was too quiet and empty as I lay there staring at the ceiling, replaying everything in my mind, every touch, every word, every look we shared.

What had felt intense and real in the dark now felt confusing in the light.

My heart was restless, torn between warmth and regret. I knew we had crossed a line, and the truth of it settled deep in my bones though the memory lingered, sweet but painful.

The sheets were cold, but my skin still remembered his warmth like a ghost pressed into me. My heart beat fast, not from fear, but from anticipation I didn’t want to admit.

I wanted to see him.

That truth settled deep and heavy.

I showered quickly, letting the water run too long, hoping it would rinse the thoughts away but It didn’t. Every movement reminded me of him, his voice when he said my name, the way his eyes had darkened like he was fighting something he had lost long ago.

I dressed carefully, more carefully than usual.

Not for the house or for myself but for him.

Downstairs, I sat in the living room with a book open on my lap, turning pages without seeing the words. My eyes kept drifting to the hallway that led to his room. Every sound made my heart jump. Every sound that wasn’t him made disappointment sink deeper.

Morning slid into afternoon.

No Mason.

“He’s probably sleeping,” I whispered to myself. “Or working.”

By evening, excitement curdled into unease.

I wandered through the house, pretending everything was normal, pretending my chest wasn’t tight with questions I was too afraid to ask. He didn’t pass me in the hallway and he didn’t appear in the kitchen. It was as if he had vanished without a trace. I told myself he was just busy, that it meant nothing, that I was overthinking everything.

Not knowing it would stretch on for two more long, quiet weeks.

Mason would leave before dawn and come back late at night or maybe he was just better at avoiding me than I was at pretending I was fine.

Then my body betrayed me.

I stood in the bathroom one morning, staring at the calendar on my phone. I counted once. Then again.

“No,” I whispered. “No… this can’t be.”

My hands shook as I pressed them against my stomach.

“You’re just stressed,” I told myself. “That’s all.”

But I already knew.

When the test confirmed it, my legs gave way. I sank onto the cold floor, staring at the result in my trembling hand.

Pregnant.

The word felt unreal.

I let out a broken laugh. “This can’t be happening.”

Tears spilled down my face before I could stop them.

“You chose the worst time,” I whispered to my stomach, then shook my head quickly. “No… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

I hugged myself tightly.

“It’s my fault,” I said softly. “I should have walked away, I should have listened.”

Memories of Mason flooded my mind, his hands, his restraint, the way he gave in.

“Why is he avoiding me,” I asked myself.

The thought of telling Mason about the pregnancy made my heart beat even faster.

“How can I tell him I was carrying his child? How would he react on hearing I am pregnant?” I cried out softly

Then my mind went back to my mother…

How could I explain loving and getting pregnant for someone I was never meant to?

I placed my hand gently on my stomach.

“I won’t hurt you,” I whispered. “No matter what happens.” That choice was easy and everything else was not.

Immediately I felt nauseous and needed air, I managed to pick myself up and slowly went down the stairs.

That was when I heard the voices.

Two of the house staff stood near the hallway, speaking in hushed tones. I wasn’t trying to listen, but my body stilled when I heard his name.

“Mason was already mated,” one of them whispered.

My breath left me in a rush.

“What?” the other replied. “Then why come back early?”

“That’s exactly why,” the first said. “It’s the talk of the house.”

Immediately the world tilted.

Already… mated? I asked myself in disbelief

I backed away slowly, my hand pressed to the wall to keep myself upright. I quickly turned back and by the time I reached my room, my legs were trembling. I closed the door and slid down hugging my knees, the fire inside me now laced with something bitter and sharp.

He had known.

The hesitation and the warnings were there. The way he’d looked torn, like he was fighting himself.

Tears burned, but I refused them.

If he was already mated, then what was I?

A mistake? A moment he couldn’t resist? The thought hurt more than I was ready for.

Night came heavy and suffocating.

It pressed down on my chest, on every thought I tried to quiet. I barely moved or ate as the food on my plate went cold while I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at nothing.

Every sound felt louder in the dark and then a little bit of hope came just for a while

Late into the night, footsteps approached my door.

My heart slammed hard against my ribs, hope and fear crashing together. I sat up straight, my breath caught halfway in my throat.

“Mason?” I whispered.

The footsteps stopped.

For one long, cruel moment, I thought he would answer. That the door would open. That he would finally explain what had changed between us since that night.

Instead, the steps turned away and faded slowly back down the hall.

I pressed my lips together, refusing to cry. Refusing to give the silence that kind of power over me but the ache in my chest burned all the same.

I did not sleep that night and by morning I had made up my mind to confront him. Morning came without relief.

I paced my room like a trapped animal, anger and longing twisting together until I could not tell them apart.

By afternoon, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I left my room and walked down the hallway toward his study. Each step felt heavy, but I didn’t stop. My pulse roared in my ears, loud enough to drown out my doubts.

I reached the door and lifted my hand. Then I froze.

His voice came through the well polished wooden door, low and strained.

“This isn’t what I wanted,” he said.

My breath stuttered.

There was a pause, long enough for my heart to break into pieces.

“No,” he continued quietly. “But tradition doesn’t ask what we want.”

My stomach twisted painfully.

Tradition.

As I heard those words, it was becoming clear that the answers waiting behind the door would destroy me and I wasn’t ready to hear them.

But I pushed through still and I knocked.