Chapter Nineteen: Carol's POV
A knock came at the door again.
"Miss Carol," Samuel said, his voice was warm. "Mr. Volkov has returned and would like to see you in his study."
"Did he say what it was about?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"I'm afraid not, miss." Samuel's expression softened with sympathy.
"But he seemed... concerned. Not angry, just concerned. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about."
I didn't respond. I knew exactly what—or rather, who—Simon was concerned about.
Maurice. The power outage. The storm outside, Leon waiting in the car, and me alone with a vampire in his office. Simon must already know. He must be furious—that I'd put myself in danger without taking any precautions.
"I'll go down now," I said, trying to keep my voice steady and failing completely. "Thank you, Samuel."
I walked down the hallway toward the stairs, my mind racing, desperately trying to construct an explanation for the power outage—one that wouldn't make Simon even more convinced that "being around Maurice is too dangerous."
The problem was, Simon wasn't wrong: it was dangerous, just not in the way he thought. Maurice's threat to me wasn't physical—it was what he represented, a reminder of what I'd lost that night at the hotel and still couldn't understand.
The study door was half-open, warm light spilling into the hallway.
I pushed it open and walked in. Simon stood with his back to me by the window, one hand braced against the frame, looking out at the storm.
Even just his silhouette conveyed that sense of restraint and power—the line of his shoulders, utterly still, and that feeling he had of occupying an entire room without needing to move.
The study was filled with his scent—cedarwood, and something deeper, more primal.
Whenever I was near him, the air felt charged with electricity.
"I assume you're angry about today," I began, trying to keep my voice steady, proactively addressing what I thought was bothering him.
"About Maurice. About the power outage. I know being alone with him in his office during a storm wasn't ideal, but nothing happened. The lights were only out for about five minutes, then Leon arrived right on time to pick me up. Just bad timing meeting worse weather."
I'd practiced this explanation on the drive back, rehearsed how to defuse Simon's concerns before he could escalate them into another lecture about "staying vigilant."
But he didn't respond immediately.
The silence stretched on.
Then he finally turned to face me, looking at me with those gold eyes that made it hard to breathe.
"It's not about St. Claire," he said calmly.
Though his tone suggested we'd be discussing Maurice later. "Leon told me what happened a few days ago. What Seraphina said to you in front of the entire student council."
I froze.
Leon had already told Simon? Of course he had.
Simon's Beta couldn't let something like that slide—someone publicly humiliating the person under an Alpha's protection wasn't some minor incident that could be ignored.
Pack rules mattered more than personal feelings.
Leon's first loyalty was to his Alpha, not to sparing my pride or my preference for "handling things quietly myself."
"It was nothing," I said reflexively.
I forced myself to relax my shoulders, attempting a casual shrug, even managing a dismissive smile.
But the smile felt brittle on my lips, like it would shatter at a touch.
"Just Seraphina being Seraphina. You know what she's like—always performing for an audience, always finding her worth by putting others down. I'm used to it. Her little provocations really don't affect me anymore."
I was lying. But I'd perfected this eight years ago.
Every time Seraphina made a cutting remark, every time she looked at me with that contempt, every time she reminded everyone in earshot that I didn't belong—I pretended not to hear, pretended not to care.
Because I'd learned early on: if she knew it hurt, she'd only do it more.
So I'd learned to act like nothing could wound me.
But Simon's expression didn't change.
Something just flickered in his eyes—the kind of look that told me he'd seen through this performance.
He saw beneath the casual dismissal, saw the wounds I was desperately trying to hide.
"Public humiliation is 'nothing'?"
His voice was quiet, but every word carried the weight of an Alpha's displeasure, sharp enough to cut.
"She told your classmates you're here on charity, Carol. She said your very existence is some kind of shame to the Valodin family, that you're occupying a position you have no right to. You think that's something to just accept? Unimportant?"
My face burned. Embarrassment and anger lodged in my chest.
"Then what should I do?" I blurted out, my voice sharper than I'd intended.
The facade of indifference was crumbling. "Go up and argue with her? Let everyone watch the drama? Or get physical?"
"You shouldn't have engaged with her at all," Simon said. He finally voiced what was really bothering him.
He moved away from the window, walking toward me. His gait was graceful, predatory—always reminding me what lay beneath that tailored suit and polished manners.
"The moment she approached you, you should have turned and walked away, let Leon handle it. That's why he's there with you, Carol. That's what protection means."
His words came one after another, each one puncturing the illusion I'd tried to maintain—that I could handle everything myself.
"I didn't ask Leon to babysit me on campus," I said, defensive. My hands clenched into fists at my sides. "I can deal with Seraphina myself. I've been dealing with her for years."
"And how's that working out?" Simon's voice remained quiet, but now it had an edge—sharp and unsparing. "Eight years of 'dealing with her,' and she still thinks she can publicly humiliate you without consequence. Eight years of handling it alone, and you're still letting her walk all over you in front of everyone. That's not dealing with it, Carol. That's enduring it. There's a difference."
I knew he was right. I knew my strategy all along—enduring, hiding, pretending not to care—had changed nothing.
It hadn't earned Seraphina's respect or made her back off, it had only taught her that attacking me carried no consequences.
But admitting that felt like admitting defeat, admitting I couldn't survive in this world without Simon's intervention.
Something inside me refused to concede that, even unto death.
"She's not worth the energy," I said. "Having Leon step in would only make it into a bigger scene than necessary."
"Is that so?" Simon stopped directly in front of me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "You should remember that you're still human, and she's not. No matter how clever your words, you cannot win a battle against a wolf daughter who has an entire family's resources behind her and years of resentment in her heart."
His words stung me.
Not because they were cruel, but because they were true.
I wanted to argue, to push back against him—against his constant treatment of me as someone who needed protection.
But I couldn't argue. Because he was right.
In any direct confrontation with Seraphina, I had nothing.
No cards, no power. She was a wolf—not particularly formidable, but ten thousand times more dangerous than me.
She had her mother's position in the pack, connections, resources, and the inherent advantage of being a wolf while I wasn't.
My only card was Simon's protection. And I was too proud to use it, too stubborn to admit I needed it.
"I know I'm weak," I said quietly. "That I need you to handle things for me like a useless child who can't do anything herself. I understand, Simon. You don't need to keep reminding me."
The words came out more bitter than I'd expected.
I knew what I was—a human, fragile, someone who had no business living in a wolf's world.
But having Simon say it so directly, reducing me to someone who couldn't even handle a squabble with a juvenile wolf, just made me feel humiliated.
"That's not what I—" Simon began, but I wasn't finished.
"What do you want me to do?" My emotions finally erupted.
All the frustration came pouring out, beyond my control. "You want me to be grateful for this cage? Every time you remind me how weak I am, that I'm still human, that I need you to fight for me because I can't—should I smile and say thank you? I know I'm not like you, Simon. I know I don't have claws, fangs, or pack status. I know I'm just—"
I choked on the words, stopping. "I know what I am. You don't need to keep reminding me."
The silence was heavy, suffocating.
I knew I'd gone too far, regretted it the moment the words left my mouth. I shouldn't have spoken to an Alpha like that, especially not Simon.
He didn't tolerate disrespect, didn't tolerate being challenged.
I waited for him to get angry. Waited for him to send me away, or order me to shut up, or use some other method to remind me of my place.
My hands were shaking, my heart pounding so loud he must have been able to hear it. But I wouldn't lower my head, wouldn't look away, even though every instinct was screaming at me to submit, to take back those words while I still could.
But Simon didn't respond with anger.
He didn't move, didn't speak, just stood there, looking at me with those golden eyes—eyes that seemed to see through every wall I'd built.
The silence spread between us until I finally couldn't hold out anymore.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. The fight drained out of me as quickly as it had come, leaving only exhaustion. "I didn't mean to—I shouldn't have said—"
I couldn't finish the apology.
Simon crossed the distance between us in three strides, then his arms came around me, pulling me against his chest.