Chapter 34 Chapter Thirty-Four
Julian stood in front of the full-length mirror, silent as the tailor circled him, adjusting the jacket seams with careful precision.
The room smelled faintly of pressed wool, starch, and his mother’s wine.
She sat across from him on a velvet chair, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of red in her hand. “You look handsome,” she said lightly, though her eyes didn’t quite meet his in the mirror.
He didn’t respond.
Didn’t nod.
Didn’t smile.
He just stared at his reflection — at the man in the mirror dressed for a life that he was not ready to accept. The collar felt too high, too stiff. He tugged at it, his fingers slipping against the smooth lining.
“Is it supposed to be this tight?” he asked, voice flat. “This suffocating?”
The tailor didn’t look up. “It’s the same fit as all your other suits, Alpha.”
Julian exhaled through his nose, muscles tightening.
Of course it was.
The door opened sharply behind them, and Elara strode into the room like a woman on a mission, a tablet clutched in one hand. Her heels clicked against the marble as she approached — and the second her eyes landed on Julian, she froze.
Then flared.
“Are you kidding me?” she barked, eyes cutting to the tailor. “The trim is all wrong. It’s supposed to be burgundy.”
“It is burgundy,” the tailor said carefully, already going pale.
“That’s not burgundy, you numbskull,” Elara snapped. “That’s maroon.”
Julian’s head turned, eyes cold. “You need to calm down.”
Her eyes narrowed. “The ceremony is in two days, and your suit is wrong. You want me to calm down?”
“I want you to remember basic decency,” he said, voice low. “A color being slightly off is no excuse to talk to people like they’re beneath you.”
She looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “I’m going to be your Luna. I can talk to him — or anyone else — however I please.”
Julian just stared at her.
For a long, tense moment, he said nothing.
Because all he could think was: How did I not see it before?
How had she hidden this side of herself from him so completely?
The tailor cleared his throat. “Lady Elara, it’s a simple fix. I can resew the trim at the hem and collar to your exact shade. It won’t take more than a few hours.”
“See?” Julian’s mother finally said, swirling her wine. “A simple fix. You’re getting all riled up over nothing.”
Elara didn’t answer. She just glanced at her — then offered a smug little smile.
She turned back to the tailor, her tone sharp and dismissive.
“Well? Get to it. Time is of the essence.”
The man gave a tight nod and quietly excused himself, gathering the necessary swatches as he slipped out of the room.
Julian watched him go, teeth clenched.
Without missing a beat, Elara refocused on her tablet, tapping rapidly before holding it out toward Julian.
“We need to finalize our mating retreat.”
Not would you like to or what do you think — just a cold, executive statement.
“I like this one,” she continued, scrolling through images with a satisfied smile. “Lunaris Vale — it’s Lycan-owned. Private. Coastal cliffs. The consummation suite is supposed to be divine.”
She turned the tablet so he could see: velvet-draped beds, silver-etched mating chalices, rose-petaled bathtubs.
Julian didn’t move.
His wolf stirred — not with interest, but with instinctive disgust.
She wasn’t his. And he sure as hell wasn’t hers.
“I’m thinking two weeks,” she went on. “Most she-wolves go into heat after being marked, and I’ve heard some Alphas hit their rut hard. Better to let it run its course uninterrupted.”
Julian’s stomach churned.
The idea of rutting her — of touching her, of branding her — made his skin crawl. The very thought of it scraped against every instinct he had.
And his wolf?
The beast inside recoiled, baring its teeth.
Not her. Never her.
Elara tapped decisively on the screen. “Perfect. I’m booking it.”
Julian didn’t respond. She hadn’t actually asked for his opinion — how fitting that she was making the decision on her own.
She lifted the tablet again and angled it toward him. “Now I need a good headshot. The stylist and I need to go over options for your new haircut.”
Julian’s eyes narrowed. “I never agreed to cutting my hair.”
She waved a hand at him like he was being dramatic. “Oh, please. This shaggy look works for an unmated bachelor wolf, but you’re going to be a mated man very soon.” Her voice dropped an octave, falsely sweet. “And not too long after that, I’ll be bearing you some pups.”
His wolf, already seething, exploded with fury — jaws snapping beneath Julian’s skin.
Even Julian cringed. The very thought of her pregnant with his children made his head spin. He could practically see them — spoiled, entitled, carbon copies of their mother in both bite and arrogance.
Elara moved around him slowly, angling the tablet and snapping pictures like he was some living mannequin. She hummed under her breath, clearly pleased with herself.
Then her phone rang.
She set the tablet down on the nearby table and fished her phone from her blazer pocket.
“What do you mean you have twenty dozen pink roses ready for delivery?” she shrieked, voice rising immediately. “Who the hell ordered pink? I said red.”
She pulled the phone away from her ear, shouting, “Clarissa? Clarissa!”
Her muttering turned venomous. “Where’s that idiot event planner?”
With a huff, she stormed out of the room, her heels stabbing into the floor with every step.
Julian stared off into nothingness for a moment, the echo of the door slamming shut was still ringing in his ears.
Disbelief curled in his gut.
It was like she wasn’t even pretending anymore. No more charm. No more polished facade. Just raw, entitled arrogance—like she knew she had the upper hand now. Like she was certain he wouldn’t back out. Not with the ceremony looming. Not with duty clawing at his throat.
He turned toward the sideboard, hands tight at his sides. The liquor collection was well-stocked — high-end, curated by his mother — and he reached for the first bottle that promised fire. He poured a generous glass, tossed it back without a word, then poured another.
This one he held.
Crossing the room, he sank into the velvet chair beside his mother and stared at the swirling amber in his glass.
After a beat, he muttered, “She’s a horrible person.”
His mother didn’t flinch. She gave a faint, knowing smile and nodded once. “I was beginning to think you’d never say it out loud.”
“How didn’t I see it?” he asked, shaking his head. “How did I miss it for so long?”
She took a sip of wine, then said lightly, “A pretty face, long legs, and big breasts can blind even the most promising Alpha.”
Julian huffed out a hollow laugh. “Who am I kidding? I wasn’t much better. I was arrogant. Self-absorbed. Obsessed with image and superficial bullshit.”
His mother studied him quietly, her voice soft when she finally answered. “Perhaps a tad, yes. But I wouldn’t group you with the likes of her. I always knew my boy had a heart… a conscience. I just never expected you to evolve so… abruptly.”
His mother sat quietly beside him, swirling the last of her wine as if the movement could stir clarity into the air between them.
Then, softly, she asked, “Is it the other woman who’s caused this change in you?”
Julian didn’t answer right away.
His gaze dropped to the drink in his hand, thumb tracing the rim of the glass. The silence stretched — not out of defiance, but caution. Hesitation. He wasn’t ready to speak the truth out loud, not even to her. Not yet.
She set her wineglass down and reached over, taking his hand in both of hers — her touch warm, grounding.
“Since you were a little boy,” she said gently, “you always came to me when the world felt too heavy. When something was eating you up inside, you trusted me with it. With all your heart.”
She squeezed his hand. “Why should that be any different now?”
Julian met her eyes then.
And gods, they were tired. Not just physically — but soul-deep tired. Burdened. Heavy with truths he hadn’t spoken, and the weight of a future he hadn’t chosen.
He tossed back the rest of his drink, the burn doing nothing to dull what churned inside him.
Then, quietly, he asked, “Do you remember about a month ago… when I was away for work? For a few days?”
She nodded. “I remember. You came back carrying another female’s scent.”
His grip tightened around the glass. “It wasn’t just a hookup.”
She leaned in, eyes fixed on his.
“It wasn’t… just sex,” he said, slower this time. “This… woman, she went into heat. My wolf caught her scent. Tracked her. Followed her back to her home.”
His voice dropped to a whisper — like he was confessing a prayer. “Her heat triggered my rut. And for three days… we mated.”
His mother’s breath hitched — a soft, startled intake that cracked the quiet like a splintered chord.