Chapter 65 Olivia

Chapter 65 Olivia


​Harriet poured herself a cup of black tea, taking a measured sip before looking Olivia directly in the eye. "Not at all. This estate is vast, and hospitality is second nature to this family. However, to save you any future confusion with the staff, all household decisions, pack management, and security protocols remain under my direct authority. Mrs. Gable takes orders only from me."
​Olivia’s throat bobbed softly, but she found no room to push back against Harriet’s absolute composure.
​"Enjoy your breakfast," Harriet added softly, before turning on her heel and gliding out toward the estate grounds.
​While Harriet maintained a front of absolute iron control, Charles was drowning.
​The Alpha spent almost no time in the main house over the next three days. He was consumed by a suffocating, violent mix of rage, guilt, and lingering doubt. The mere presence of Olivia in his home felt like an insult to Harriet, a physical mark of his past failures tainting the sanctuary they had built together. Unable to look Harriet in the eye without feeling an overwhelming sense of unworthiness, Charles buried himself in work.
​He left the estate before dawn and returned long after midnight. He spent eighteen hours a day trapped between city council budget crises, emergency pack border disputes, and endless meetings with Godwin to scrutinize the legitimacy of the DNA report. He threw himself into labor, using exhaustion as a shield to keep from confronting the emotional devastation brewing inside his own walls.
​By mid-afternoon, the heavy clouds over the estate gave way to a gentle, crisp autumn breeze.
​Harriet sat in the shaded pavilion of the private courtyard, an opened leather-bound book resting in her lap. A few yards away, four-year-old Leo was running through the manicured grass, tossing a red rubber ball into the air and chasing after it with clumsy, energetic bursts.
​Seraphina stood silently near the stone pillar, her sharp eyes scanning the high estate walls, her hand resting casually near her waist. The Beta took a step closer, looking down at Harriet with quiet concern.
​"You don't have to stay out here, Luna," Seraphina murmured softly. "I can have the guards watch the boy if his presence displeases you."
​Harriet looked up from her page, her expression softening as she watched the little boy laugh while chasing a butterfly. "The child has done nothing wrong, Seraphina. He didn't ask to be born into a war of pack politics, nor did he ask to be brought here as a bargaining chip. I will not punish a four-year-old for the sins of his mother."
​As if on cue, Leo threw the rubber ball a little too hard. The red ball bounced across the stone path and rolled directly to a stop against Harriet’s leather shoe.
​Leo froze instantly. He looked at the tall, elegant human woman sitting on the bench, his wide, dark gold eyes filling with sudden apprehension. He had been warned by his mother to stay away from the Mayor’s wife, but his innocent curiosity fought against the instruction.
​Harriet didn't move suddenly. She closed her book, setting it aside on the stone table, and bent down to pick up the ball. She held it out in the palm of her hand, offering him a gentle, reassuring smile.
​"It's a very good bounce," Harriet said, her voice soft and inviting. "Would you like it back, Leo?"
​The little boy hesitated, looking back toward the west wing windows, before slowly walking over. He reached out with his small hand, taking the ball from her palm. "Thank you, ma'am," he whispered politely, his voice carrying the faint, rhythmic undertone of a young wolf.
​"You don't have to call me ma'am," Harriet said gently, shifting on the bench to make room. "My name is Harriet. Are you enjoying the gardens?"
​Leo looked around the vast green estate, his golden eyes lighting up slightly. "It's really big. My old house didn't have flowers like these."
​"Well, there are even bigger trees near the lily pond in the back," Harriet replied smoothly. She picked up a sketchpad and a set of colored pencils from her bag—tools she often used for her fashion designs. "Do you like to draw, Leo?"
​The boy nodded eagerly, his initial fear completely evaporating under her calm, motherly grace. Within minutes, Leo was sitting on the edge of the stone bench beside Harriet, scribbling enthusiastically on a sheet of paper while Harriet drew the outlines of birds for him to color in.
​Seraphina watched the scene from a few feet away, her breath catching in her throat. She saw how Harriet treated the child—not with fake, political affection, but with genuine, dignified warmth. There was no hatred in Harriet’s heart for the boy, only a quiet, regal maternal strength that completely elevated her above Olivia's cheap schemes.
​Seraphina folded her arms, her respect for the human Luna deepening into something fierce and unshakable. This, Seraphina thought silently, is a true Alpha's female. She holds power without ever needing to growl.
​It was nearly two in the morning when the quiet heavy click of the study door signaled Charles’s return.
​Harriet walked down the dimly lit hallway, slipping quietly into the private office. The large room was dark, illuminated only by the faint silver moonlight streaming through the high arched windows and the dying embers of the fireplace.
​Charles sat behind his heavy mahogany desk. He had pulled off his jacket and tie, his dark dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing his thick, corded neck muscles. A half-empty crystal glass of scotch rested near his hand, but he wasn't drinking. He was simply staring into the dark, his broad chest rising and falling in shallow, heavy breaths.
​"Charles," Harriet called out softly, her voice breaking the heavy silence.
​Charles flinched slightly, his dark gold eyes snapping toward her in the gloom. The exhaustion on his face was staggering—dark shadows rested beneath his eyes, his hard jaw covered in a rough stubble he hadn't bothered to shave.
​"Harriet," he rasped, his voice rough and completely worn out. He cleared his throat, setting the glass down. "What are you doing up? It's late. You should be sleeping."
​"I was waiting for my husband," Harriet said, stepping further into the room until she reached the front of his desk. "You haven't been to our bed in three days, Charles. You leave before I wake and return long after I have gone to sleep."
​Charles closed his eyes, leaning back against his leather chair as if the words physically pained him. "There is... a lot of business at the council. The territorial boundaries need securing, and the elders are—"
​"Do not lie to me," Harriet interrupted quietly, her voice devoid of anger, filled only with a deep, piercing clarity. "This has nothing to do with the city council, and you know it."
​Charles opened his eyes, staring up at her. The agony in his golden gaze was raw, exposed, and visceral. Slowly, he pushed himself up from his chair and walked around the desk, stopping a few feet away from her.
​Harriet reached out, her hand rising to touch his cheek, wanting nothing more than to soothe the tension knotting his jaw.
​But as her fingers brushed his skin, Charles flinched and took a subtle step backward, pulling away from her touch.
​Harriet’s hand hovered in the empty air for a painful second before she slowly let it fall to her side. The rejection cut deep, a cold blade slicing through the warmth of their recent intimacy.
​"Do not touch me, Harriet," Charles whispered, his voice shaking with a dark, suffocating guilt that broke her heart. "Please... don't."
​"Why?" Harriet asked softly, her eyes locking onto his. "Why are you shutting me out?"
​"Because I brought a plague into your life!" Charles suddenly roared out, his voice cracking with a terrifying mixture of rage and despair. He slammed his fist against the corner of the wooden desk, the impact echoing like a gunshot through the quiet room. "Look at what my past has done to you! I promised to protect you, Harriet! I swore that under my name, no one would ever disrespect you or put you in danger again! And now... now there is a woman in my west wing claiming my blood, an old man threatening my crown, and a child that bears my eyes sitting in your home!"
​He covered his face with his hands, his massive shoulders shaking under the weight of his torment.
​"Every time I look at you," Charles rasped, his voice dropping into a broken whisper, "I see the burden I have forced you to carry. I feel disgust at myself. I am staying away because if I touch you... if I pull you into my bed while this filth surrounds us... I feel like I am destroying the only pure, beautiful thing I have ever owned."
​Harriet stood frozen, watching the formidable, lethal Mayor—the terrifying Alpha who commanded millions—crumble under the weight of his own guilt. He wasn't pulling away because he didn't love her or because he wanted Olivia back. He was pulling away because he believed he was a monster whose baggage was ruining her life.
​"You think you are protecting me by hiding in the dark, Charles?" Harriet asked softly, taking a step closer to him, refusing to let him retreat this time.
​Charles looked up, his golden eyes filled with a desperate, tortured light. "Harriet—"
​"I did not accept this marriage because I expected a simple, quiet life," Harriet said, her voice rising with a firm, absolute strength that cut through his despair. "I stood on that balcony at the gala as your wife. I stood in that foyer three days ago as your Luna. I do not need you to hide yourself in this study to spare my feelings."
​She reached out again, and this time, she didn't give him the chance to pull away. She cupped his rough, stubbled jaw in both of her hands, forcing him to look directly into her eyes.
​"You are pulling away to protect my dignity, Charles, but your absence in our bed is the only thing that actually hurts me," Harriet whispered fiercely, her thumb caressing his cheekbone. "If we are going to face your past, we face it together. As one. Do you understand me?"
​Charles stared into her dark eyes, feeling the absolute, unyielding strength of her spirit washing over his tortured soul. He let out a low, shuddering breath, his large hands rising to grip her wrists, his forehead coming down to rest heavily against hers.
​"I am sorry," Charles breathed dark against her lips, his fingers tightening around her arms as if she were his only anchor in a storm. "God, Harriet... I am so sorry."
​Harriet closed her eyes, holding him tight against her in the dark study. But as she rested her head against his chest, listening to his erratic heartbeat, she knew the battle was far from over. Charles was still consumed by guilt, the mansion was still divided, and the quiet void in their master suite remained unhealed.