Chapter 26 Lia apology
Rain locked the door behind her and leaned her forehead against it for a second longer than necessary.
Her hands were still shaking.
Behind her, the twins sat stiffly on the edge of her bed, their small bodies curled inward like they were bracing for another blow. Noah’s palms were red and swollen. Lia’s knees were scraped where she must have dropped when she cried. Their tears had quieted, but the guilt hung thick in the room—heavy, sour, unmistakable.
Rain inhaled slowly, then turned to face them.
“Shoes off,” she said gently.
They blinked at her.
“What?” Noah whispered.
“You heard me,” Rain said, softer now. “Shoes. Both of you. On the rug.”
They obeyed immediately.
Rain crossed the room and knelt in front of her first-aid kit, pulling it open. The familiar smell of antiseptic filled the air. It grounded her. Helped her focus on something tangible instead of the ache in her chest.
Lia watched her carefully. “Are you… angry?”
Rain didn’t answer right away. She soaked cotton in antiseptic, then turned back to Noah.
“Hands,” she said.
He held them out slowly, like he expected her to scold him any second.
“This might sting,” Rain warned.
He nodded. “I deserve it.”
That stopped her.
Rain looked up sharply. “Hey. No.”
Noah’s lower lip trembled. “Daddy said—”
“I don’t care what anyone said,” Rain interrupted firmly. “You don’t deserve pain. You made a mistake. There’s a difference.”
She dabbed gently at his palms. Noah hissed quietly but didn’t pull away.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he blurted out. “I swear. I just—Lia said it would be funny. She said adults lie all the time anyway.”
Lia’s head snapped up. “I didn’t say that!”
“Yes, you did,” Noah shot back weakly. “You said grown-ups pretend.”
Rain raised a hand. “Enough. One at a time.”
They both went silent instantly.
Rain finished wrapping Noah’s hands, then turned to Lia, motioning for her to come closer. “Your knees.”
Lia slid off the bed reluctantly. “Daddy hates when I make messes.”
Rain’s fingers paused. “Does he?”
Lia nodded. “He hates surprises.”
Rain cleaned the scrape carefully. “Sometimes surprises aren’t the problem,” she said quietly. “Sometimes people just don’t know how to handle fear.”
Lia frowned. “Fear of what?”
Rain hesitated. “Of losing control.”
When she finished, Rain leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Noah’s forehead.
He froze.
Then she kissed Lia’s too.
Both twins stared at her like she’d grown wings.
“You’re not mad?” Lia asked, stunned.
Rain exhaled. “I was hurt. And confused. And scared.” She met their eyes. “But I don’t hate you.”
Noah’s eyes filled again. “Even though I hacked you?”
Rain blinked. “You hacked me?”
He winced. “I mean… yes.”
She stared at him for a long moment.
Then burst out laughing.
A real laugh. Shocked. Disbelieving.
“You?” she said, incredulous. “You’re not even ten.”
Noah sniffed. “I’ll be ten in four months.”
Rain laughed harder, covering her mouth. “You sent messages. Changed contacts. Spoofed numbers?”
Noah nodded shyly. “Daddy’s security is bad. He thinks no one would dare.”
Rain sat back on the bed slowly. “You realize you nearly ruined my life, right?”
Noah’s face crumpled. “I’m sorry.”
Lia scrambled off the bed and ran to her drawer, rummaging wildly. “Wait!”
She came back holding a small compact. “This is mine,” she said earnestly. “Foundation powder. It’s really expensive.”
Rain blinked. “Why are you giving me makeup?”
Lia shoved it into her hands. “As an apology. And because I told him to do it.”
Noah gasped. “Lia—”
“It’s my fault,” Lia said quickly, eyes glossy. “I didn’t like you at first. You changed things. Daddy looked at you more. He stopped shouting sometimes. I didn’t want that.”
Rain’s chest tightened.
“So you wanted to scare me away?” Rain asked gently.
Lia nodded, ashamed. “But then he yelled at us. And hit us. And you still protected us.”
Rain didn’t speak for a long moment.
Then she set the compact aside and pulled Lia into a hug.
“I don’t want your gifts,” Rain murmured. “I want honesty.”
Lia clung to her, crying quietly. “We’re sorry.”
Rain hugged them both, holding them close until their shaking slowed.
For the first time since she entered that mansion, she felt something shift.
Trust.
Or the fragile beginning of it.
Later, when the twins had fallen asleep curled against her, Rain lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Her phone buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
She didn’t look.
A cold feeling crept into her stomach.
Because this time…
The number wasn’t unfamiliar.
And the message was short.
We need to talk. Now.
Rain swallowed.
Slowly, she reached for the phone.
And somewhere deep inside her chest, her wolf stirred—uneasy, alert, whispering a warning she could not yet understand.