Semua Bab The Alpha’s Pretty Mistake: Bab 111 - Bab 120

AriaAfter managing to finally fall sleep, morning came and when I opened my eyes, the silence was the first thing I had noticed. I flipped to his spot, hoping that he had snicker in while I was sleeping but his spit was cold and empty. Again.I got up, massaging my temples to ease the aching that I woke up with. My legs no longer hurt as they used to. Though they were still a little bit sore. Every morning, I was used to waking up to Kol’s arms wrapped around my waist and his breath on my ears but now, for the second time in a row, Kol wasn’t here. His spot was free.I slipped my feet in to my slippers and went out into the hall. I went by Emory’s, glancing in his room. He lay curled up in his blanket, where he held the carved wood wolf in his arms. He slept still, peacefully and innocently.I smiled faintly, then moved on.But something lingered. Off-kilter. Like the floor had tilted and only I had noticed. I felt it in the air, this subtle, invisible tension. Like the moment before

KolThe whiskey sat untouched on the desk. A useless offering to a man too hollow to drink.It was already getting dark and I still sat there, still in the chair of my study. I curled my fingers around the rim of the glass, but I wasn’t holding it for comfort. I was holding it because if I let go, I might fall apart.The stared at the wooden wolf sat in front of me. It reminded me of the one my mother gave him when I was a boy. I brushed my fingers against it now like it could forgive me. Like it could fix the fracture I’d just carved into the only life I’d wanted since this chaos began.I closed my eyes and saw it all again. Aria’s voice filled with pain and heartbreak. The slap. Her hurt. Her rage. And then Emory. The way he looked at the both us, disappointed. The sound of his steps running away.I swallowed hard. I’d failed them both.I should have walked away. I should have pulled away like I always did when Agatha leaned too close, when the air got too heavy, when I felt temptat

Aria Kol spent the morning trying to win me back.It started with fresh flowers arranged in a mason jar on the table, moonflowers, of course. My favourite. Then breakfast was brought to the garden, where a tiny “waiter” appeared in a red scarf tied around his neck like a bowtie.“Hello! Welcome to Café Emory!” our son grinned, voice squeaky and proud as he waved a napkin like a menu.Kol watched from behind him with folded arms and a soft smile on his face. A smile that said “please see this, please remember how we used to laugh.”And I did laugh. I laughed because Emory was perfect and innocent and eager to bring us together.But none of it could erase what Kol did.Later that afternoon, he took me to the courtyard where he’d set up a table for two under the arbor. He had hung soft string of lights above us like stars. On the chair, was a book I had once told him I loved. It sat there with a red ribbon around it. He didn’t just plan this. He remembered.“I thought we could start ove

AriaI opened the door just before I heard the second knock. Emory’s home school teacher stood before me, in her usual soft brown shawl and low-heeled shoes and with a curious smile on her face as she clutched the handle of her satchel bag.“Good morning,” she said , tilting her head slightly. “I hope I’m still welcome here?”“Of course, come in,” I replied, stepping aside. She stared at me for too long before she finally stepped in.As she went about the house, she scanned every inch of Uncle Jarek’s home. “I wasn’t informed of the change in location. Is everything alright at the estate?”I forced a smile. “We’re just visiting my uncle’s for a week. A little change of scenery.”She didn’t say anything at first, she just nodded. But I knew she could smell the lie, or at least the pieces I was leaving out. While she settled Emory at the dining table, I went away into the adjoining room where Jarek sat by the fireplace. He read the newspaper with a glass of tea in his hand.He looked u

EmoryFifteen years later….The smell of paint was my comfort. It wasn’t moonflowers anymore. It wasn’t hearing distant laughters echoing down the halls. And it definitely wasn’t quality time with my father. Paint. Oil and canvas. That was mine.I ran the brush slowly across the paper, my painting already taking its shape. Painting was really the only way I could take a breather these days. It wasn’t about beauty, not anymore. It was survival.I ditched the moonflowers when I was thirteen, when I decided they weren’t manly enough. My mother used to tell me they were my symbol, that they represented purity and resilience. But what purity was left when your own father split your family apart for a woman who used to be your mother’s closest and only friend?Painting was better. Painting was real. And these days, ever since my father married his second mate, Agatha, I’ve needed it more than oxygen.The worst part wasn’t just her. It was living with her twins, Mina and Gina, the daughter