Chapter Six

Catherine sighed, touching my cheek gently.

“He has been asking about you, you know ,” she said. “I think he worries about you more than he lets anyone know.”

I swallowed hard. On hearing what my mother said, I actually wanted to know more and to ask more about his whereabouts, but I had been trying to forget him for years.

I wasn’t willing to break now, so I pushed the thought away almost immediately.

The mansion grew quiet as we stepped deeper inside, each room felt the same, yet different. The marble floors glowed softly under the chandelier lights and the portraits of Wells' ancestors lined the walls.

Suddenly, Andre tugged my sleeve.

“Mom,” he whispered, “this house is very big.”

I smiled down at him. “I know sweetheart, I used to live here.”

“Did you get lost a lot?” he asked.

I let out a small laugh. “All the time.”

Andre’s eyes widened in wonder. “Can I get lost too?”

Catherine chuckled. “Not today, young man, today you will rest.”

We walked through the hallway until we reached my old room and Catherine opened the door gently. Everything had been kept the way I left it, like the old desk where I used to write, the soft curtains, the bookshelf, and the bed with the same cream colored blanket. It was almost strange, like stepping into my old life through a preserved memory.

“You kept it,” I whispered.

“Of course,” Catherine said. “I always hoped you would come home.”

I glanced away, I had hoped too, but hope didn’t stop her from leaving.

“Mom” I began, but the words faded as I didn't know what to say. Catherine placed a hand on my shoulder as if she already knew what was on my mind.

“You are home now, so whatever has happened, we will talk about it when you’re ready.”

I forced a nod as I helped Andre settle onto the bed. He bounced once, testing the softness.

Meanwhile, Catherine excused herself soon after sensing I needed a moment alone.

Andre lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Mom,” he said softly, “are you okay?”

I sat beside him and brushed his hair back.

“I am now,” I said truthfully.

But deep down, I knew the hardest part was still ahead because somewhere in this house, memories were waiting and so was Mason, the man I once loved and never truly forgot.

And the man who had no idea that the child sleeping beside me carried his blood.

Seven years have passed but some truths do not fade with time.

They wait.

………..

Letty’s POV

Three days.

I had been back in the Wells Mansion for three days, and the air still felt wrong.

It wasn’t that I was unwelcome. No one treated me badly. The staff bowed their heads respectfully, spoke softly, and followed every request I made without question. My mother hovered around me, trying to make up for lost years with gentle smiles and quiet concern.

But the house itself felt… hollow.

Micheal Wells was gone, and his absence sat heavy in every corridor, every room, every breath taken under this roof.

For decades, Micheal Wells had been the iron hand behind the Wells empire. Alpha of the pack and ruler in the shadows. His name alone had been enough to silence rooms, end arguments, and stop wars before they began. He had not needed to raise his voice. His presence did the work for him and now, he was dead.

And with his death came movement.

Whispers traveled fast through the city as old enemies stirred and former allies began to hesitate. Eyes that had once lowered now watched the Wells empire carefully, like predators circling something wounded.

Everyone knows the truth, power never stays in an empty seat.

Someone would try to take it and now, everything fell onto Mason.

For the first two days after my return, he wasn’t at the mansion at all. My mother said very little, but I knew what that meant. Mason was out there doing what needed to be done. Making threats disappear and tying loose ends. He was silencing rumors and making examples of those foolish enough to test the Wells name during a moment of weakness.

He couldn’t allow the empire to shake before Micheal was even buried. When Mason returned, the city would understand one clear message.

Micheal Wells might be dead, but the Wells name still had a ruler.

And that ruler was not soft.

I didn’t see his mate either. No one spoke her name around me, and I didn’t ask. Some questions were better left buried, at least for now.

Still, even Mason, with all his cold strength and careful control, was not prepared for what waited for him at home.

I was in my old room early that morning, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back loosely, directing two workers as they carried in boxes.

“Careful with that one,” I said gently. “That’s fragile.”

“Yes, ma’am,” one of them replied.

Andre sat cross legged on the floor, surrounded by toys, completely fascinated by the activity.

“Mom,” he asked, holding up a small wooden train, “can I put this here?”

“Of course,” I smiled. “Make it your space.”

The room no longer felt like a preserved memory. I couldn’t live inside a frozen past so I changed things. New curtains, new furniture, warm colors and life.

Down the hall, a door opened.

Mason had returned late the night before, exhausted and running on instinct. That morning, he woke to sounds that did not belong in the Wells Mansion.

Doors slamming, footsteps rushing and voices too loud and too careless.

He slipped into his bathrobe and stepped into the hall, irritation flickering across his face. As he walked, the sounds became clearer.

They were coming from a hallway he had avoided for years.

The hallway where my room used to be.

His steps slowed.

Then stopped.

The door to the room was wide open.

That room had been closed for seven years. Now people moved in and out of it freely, carrying boxes, bags, decorations, and… children’s items.

Mason’s jaw tightened.

He took one step forward. Then another.

And that was when I stepped out.

For a brief moment, he thought his mind was betraying him.

I stood there, calm and composed, giving instructions as two men carried a large trunk inside. My voice was gentle but firm.

Our eyes met and just like that, seven years collapsed into nothing.

My breath caught.

“Mason,” I whispered before I could stop myself.

Hearing his name on my lips sent something sharp through me. He hadn’t changed much or maybe he had changed too much.

His face was harder now, his jaw sharper and his eyes colder. There was a darkness in him that hadn’t been there before, or maybe it had always been there and I was only seeing it clearly now.

He stared at me like I was a ghost.

“Letty,” he said at last.

My heart jumped.

“You’re back,” he added.

“Mom told you?” I asked quietly.

“No,” he replied flatly. “No one told me anything.”

The workers kept moving, unaware of the tension pulling tight between us.

Mason stepped closer.

“Why are people in this room?” he asked calmly, though his voice was cold.

My fingers tightened at my side.

“Because,” I said after a breath, “I’m staying here for now.”

“I never thought you would show up,” he said.

I met his gaze. “I’m here for Father.”

His jaw flexed, but before he could respond, a small voice drifted from inside the room.

“Mom?”

My body stiffened.

Mason’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Andre stepped into the hallway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He paused when he saw Mason.

“Mom,” he asked softly, moving closer to me, “who is that?”

The air shifted as Mason looked at Andre and Andre looked back.

Gray eyes.

The same shade.

I saw the shock on his face.

Andre reached for my hand.

“Mom?” he whispered again.

Mason’s voice came slow and dangerously calm.

“Letty,” he said, eyes locked on Mason, “who is the child?”

“This is Andre,” I said quietly. “My son.”

Silence crashed down around us.

Mason didn’t move and he didn’t blink. Then, sharp and sudden, he asked

“Where is his father?”

I felt the question cutting him deeper than he intended.

I tightened my grip on Andre’s hand.

“His father,” I said carefully, “is not someone you need to worry about.”

It was a lie. A quiet one and Mason knew it.

His gaze moved from Andre back to me, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes.

“Letty,” His jaw tightened.

“We need to talk,” he said coldly.

“Not here,” I replied just as firmly. “Not in front of him.”

Andre looked between us, confused.

“Mom, am I in trouble?” he asked softly.

“No, sweetheart,” I said quickly, kneeling beside him. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Mason hesitated.

Then he turned away.

“Give us a moment,” he told the workers.

They didn’t question him and when the hallway cleared, the silence grew heavier.

Mason finally spoke again.

“How old is he?” he asked.

“Six,” I answered.

He swallowed.

“And where have you been all this time?” he asked, his voice low.

“I built a life,” I said. “A real one.”

His eyes flickered. “You disappeared.”

“I left,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Andre tugged my sleeve.

“Mom,” he whispered, “I’m hungry.”

I smiled softly. “Go inside and wait, okay?”

He nodded, though he glanced back at Mason once before obeying.

As the door closed, Mason exhaled slowly.

“You should have told me,” he said.

“I tried,” I replied. “Seven years ago. You didn’t let me.”

His fists clenched.

“That night,” he said quietly, “you left without a word.”

“You told me to,” I shot back. “You told me I was a mistake.”

The words hit him hard.

“That was a lie,” he said.

“Then this is the truth,” I replied, my voice shaking. “Andre is my son. And he is my responsibility.”

Mason stared at me, something breaking behind his eyes.

“And if I ask again,” he said, “who his father is?”

I held his gaze.

“You don’t get that answer,” I said firmly.

Silence fell between us again. Seven years had changed everything but some truths had never left.