Chapter 50 Chapter 50
The plane's wheels touched down on Canadian soil with a gentle thud that made Zarlia's stomach lurch. Or maybe that was just the nausea—the constant companion she'd had for the past few weeks. She pressed a hand to her abdomen discreetly as passengers began standing, reaching for overhead compartments.
"You okay?" Caroline asked, her honey-brown eyes scanning Zarlia's face with concern.
"Yeah, just tired," Zarlia managed a smile, grabbing her carry-on. The lie came easier now, after so many days of practice.
The airport was a blur of announcements in French and English, the scent of Tim Hortons coffee making her stomach flip again. Caroline chattered beside her about how much Vancouver had changed since she'd left, but Zarlia only half-listened. Her mind kept drifting back to Stetson—his dark eyes, the way his hand had felt on her cheek that last morning, the weight of the secret she now carried.
He's better off with Stacy, she told herself for the hundredth time. She knows the pack. She understands the system. She wants to be Luna. She definitely wasn’t scared like she was.
The taxi ride into the city was quieter. Caroline's phone started buzzing insistently, the screen lighting up with "Mom" over and over. Caroline declined the call each time without even looking at it.
"Everything alright?" Zarlia asked, watching the familiar yet foreign landscape pass by—mountains in the distance, streets lined with maple trees showing off their late autumn colors.
"Oh, it's nothing," Caroline waved her hand dismissively, but her jaw was tight. "Just... family stuff. You know how it is."
Zarlia did know, though not in the way Caroline probably meant. She thought of pack dynamics, of hierarchies and ancient laws about bloodlines and legitimacy. Of what they would say when they found out the Alpha's child was being carried by a human who'd fled in the night like a thief.
She pushed the thoughts away. "So, your apartment," she said, changing the subject. "You said it wasn't much?"
Caroline laughed, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "I mean, it's not huge or anything. Very modest. You know me—simple tastes. I only come here one in a blue moon"
The taxi pulled up to a sleek high-rise building in Yaletown, all glass and modern architecture. Zarlia raised an eyebrow but said nothing as they took the elevator to the fifteenth floor. Caroline fumbled with her keys, still trying to silence her relentlessly buzzing phone.
"Welcome to my humble abode," Caroline said, pushing open the door.
Zarlia stepped inside and froze.
The apartment stretched out before her like something from a magazine spread. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of False Creek, the water glittering gold in the late afternoon sun. The open-concept living space flowed seamlessly into a chef's kitchen with marble countertops. And was that—
"Is that a swimming pool?" Zarlia walked toward the glass door leading to what appeared to be an indoor pool area, complete with mood lighting.
"Well, yeah, it's shared with the penthouse above, but—"
"And a wine room?" Zarlia spotted the temperature-controlled glass enclosure displaying at least fifty bottles.
Caroline set down her suitcase, looking sheepish. "Okay, so maybe I downplayed it a little."
Zarlia burst out laughing, the first genuine laugh she'd had in weeks. It felt good, like oxygen after holding her breath underwater. "Caroline, you're always funny. 'Not big,' she says. This place is huge!"
"I didn't want you to feel weird about staying here," Caroline admitted. "After everything you've been through, I just wanted you to feel comfortable, not like you were imposing on some fancy setup."
The kindness in her friend's voice made Zarlia's eyes prick with tears. She blinked them back quickly. "Thank you," she said softly. "Really. For all of this."
Caroline pulled her into a hug, and for a moment, Zarlia let herself feel safe.
They ordered pizza—pepperoni and mushroom, extra cheese—and Caroline pulled up Titanic on her massive TV. "Nothing says 'fresh start' like watching Leonardo DiCaprio freeze to death," she declared, grabbing wine glasses before pausing. "Oh, do you want wine? Or are you still feeling sick from the flight?"
"Just water for me," Zarlia said quickly. "My stomach's still a bit off."
They settled onto the plush sectional, the smell of pizza filling the apartment. Caroline's phone buzzed again on the coffee table, the screen lighting up. Zarlia caught a glimpse of the messages before Caroline flipped it face-down.
How could you do this to your sister?
You're a disgrace to this family.
Answer your phone RIGHT NOW.
Something cold settled in Zarlia's chest. She remembered now—Caroline had told her about this months ago, during one of their late-night calls. The step-sister's fiancé, the terrible misunderstanding, the step-mother's wrath. In her own chaos with Stetson and the pack and discovering she was pregnant, Zarlia had let it slip from her mind.
"Caroline," she started.
"Don't," Caroline said, eyes fixed on the TV where young Rose was boarding the ship. "Not tonight. Tonight we eat overpriced pizza and watch sad movies and pretend the world outside doesn't exist. Deal?"
Zarlia nodded, understanding the need to escape better than anyone.
By the time Jack was drawing Rose like one of his French girls, they'd finished the entire pizza. By the time the ship was sinking, Caroline was crying into her third glass of wine. By the time the credits rolled, they were both exhausted.
"Guest room is the second door on the left," Caroline said, stretching. "Bathroom's stocked with everything. Help yourself to anything."
The guest room was beautiful—soft gray walls, a queen bed with what felt like a thousand thread count sheets, and its own en-suite bathroom. Zarlia changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth, catching her reflection in the mirror. She didn't look different yet. No visible sign of the life growing inside her.
She placed a hand on her stomach. "We're safe here," she whispered. "For now."
But sleep didn't come easily. She lay in the unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing. Was Stetson looking for her? Did he think she'd just abandoned him? Would he understand if he knew the truth—that she was terrified of what the pack would do, how they'd see her human weakness, how they'd take this child and raise it in a world of violence and hierarchy she didn't understand?
Maybe Stacy is better for him, she thought again, forcing the idea into her mind like a mantra. She wanted to be Luna so badly. She knows what she's getting into. She'd be perfect.
The thought should have been comforting. Instead, it felt like swallowing glass.
Unable to settle, Zarlia rolled over, looking across the room. Caroline had insisted they keep the doors open—"So you don't feel alone in a strange place," she'd said—and Zarlia could see into Caroline's room across the hall.
Her friend was sprawled across her bed like a starfish, one arm dangling off the side, mouth slightly open. She was snoring softly, completely dead to the world. Even in sleep, Caroline was beautiful—her blonde hair fanned across the pillow, her features relaxed and peaceful in a way they hadn't been while awake.
Zarlia smiled despite herself, remembering their first meeting at that dingy bar in New york. Two crying messes who'd somehow found each other in their lowest moments. Zarlia had been sobbing into her whiskey sour about Romero cheating with her coworker, mascara running down her face. Caroline had been one stool over, equally destroyed, muttering about step-mothers and family betrayal and "I didn't even know he was engaged!"
They'd started talking, then laughing through tears, then laughing harder at how ridiculous they must look. They'd exchanged numbers, and somehow that drunken night of shared misery had turned into a real friendship.
Looking at Caroline now—this beautiful, complicated person who'd opened her home without question, who'd held Zarlia while she cried about leaving someone she couldn't explain—Zarlia felt overwhelmed with gratitude and guilt in equal measure.
Caroline shifted in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent, and Zarlia let out a quiet laugh.
Finally, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling over her like a blanket, Zarlia closed her eyes. Tomorrow would bring new worries, new questions, new fears. But tonight, in this borrowed haven, with her best friend sleeping soundly across the hall, she could rest—even if it’s just for a moment
Even if her dreams were filled with dark eyes and the ghost of a touch she'd left behind.