Where Do I Belong Book Novels & Stories

For a few moments, neither of us spoke; the comfort between us no longer required constant conversation. Eventually, he glanced toward the notebook. “What is bothering you?” I hesitated, then answered honestly. “I am trying to figure out where I belong.” His eyebrows lifted slightly. “That sounds serious.” “It feels serious.” I closed the notebook. “Sometimes I feel like I exist between two different worlds.” He remained quiet, listening, the way he always did now. “The people outside the club trust me.” I tapped the notebook lightly. “The people inside the club trust me too.”

But none of that mattered. Right now, all that existed was Christian’s hands on my body and the fierce, overwhelming need to lose myself in him completely. Tonight, in this quiet corner of the library, I was going to let him remind me exactly who I belonged to. And I was going to remind him right back.

He said softly as he planted a kiss on my lips and I felt fireworks went off in my head. My dream of standing on stage has led me right into Robin’s arms and he was right all along. I belong to him and no one else. The End.

I am no one's property. The End♡

Because whatever tomorrow brought… I knew where I belonged. With him. THE END

I whispered, sadness threading through my voice. He seemed almost confused by the emotion on my face. “Why does that matter?” “Because names are important,” I said softly. “Someone gives them to you. It means you were claimed. Or loved. It means you belong somewhere.” “I belong to no one.” “That’s the sad part.” Something shifted inside him, subtle but real, like the faintest fracture in old stone. “I have never required belonging,” he said carefully. “You say that like you’ve never even thought about it.”

I couldn’t turn away from him even though I felt embarrassed. But only slightly…I was getting used to him. "I want you here." He said again. Not a lot of people told me that. Belonging was something I struggled with after living my childhood years in abandonment. But somehow, Nicholas had made me feel like I belonged somewhere in just one night more than anyone had done. “Besides we already have a maid,” Nicholas pulled away. There was a knock on the door and Kayla walked in with two cups of coffee. My eyes fell on her every movement and the way she avoided them was suspicious but I shook it off. It couldn’t be her.

“You say sorry all the time. You try so hard to prove you belong here. Like you have to earn it. But Freya, you already belong.” The tears came again. “Because I don’t! I never have! I’m not like everyone else...” “Nobody is exactly like everyone else,” he said. “That’s the point. I was a rogue since I was eight. Twelve years living on my own, never belonging anywhere. You know what I learned?” “What?” “Belonging isn’t about being the same. It’s about people accepting you, even the weird, different parts.” He looked at me. “And this pack accepts you. They love you. The only person who doesn’t believe you belong here… is you.”

*You don't belong here. The phrase had settled into the marrow of my bones, heavy, cold, and irrefutable. I looked down at the box in my arms. This was my boundary line. These white pages, the cheap toner scent, the stiff fabric of my mass-market blazer—this was my actual coordinates on the map. Jordan could talk about wanting the glitch when the doors were locked on the forty-second floor, but the second the sun came up, his life belonged to a shipping heiress who wore emerald silk like a birthright.

But it was personal, and it said something louder than any gift wrapped in ribbon ever could. You belong here. My throat tightened, and I had to blink hard to keep from embarrassing myself in front of a woman I’d known for less than three hours. Nobody in my own family had made room for me like this in years, and a stranger had done it without trying. “You didn’t have to do that,” I said quietly once we reached the front door, the book still warm in my hands. Damien glanced at it. “Yes, I did.” “Why?” He looked at me for a moment, the way he always did, like he was choosing his words from somewhere careful and certain. “Because she chose you.”