Chapter 64 64
ARIELLE'S POV
The front door of our house had never felt so heavy. I closed it behind me with a soft, final click, leaning my back against the cool wood and letting out a breath I felt like I’d been holding for hours. The grand foyer was dark and silent, thank the moon. I could hear the distant murmur of voices from the kitchen wing—probably the staff cleaning up after dinner. No sign of her.
I slipped off my shoes and padded up the sweeping staircase, a ghost in my own home. My room was as I’d left it, a too-perfect capsule of a life that was about to be packed away. But that could wait.
My skin felt tight, itchy, like it was crawling with the memory of Logan. His hands on my arms, the heat of his body crowding me against the tree, the possessive, sickening hunger in his eyes. I needed to wash it off. Now.
The ensuite bathroom was a sanctuary of white marble. I turned the shower on full, steam billowing to fog the mirrors, hiding my reflection. I didn’t want to see my face. Under the scalding spray, I scrubbed until my skin was raw and pink, but the feeling lingered, a phantom imprint. It wasn’t dirt; it was a violation.
Later, sunk deep into the clawfoot tub, the hot water lapping at my chin, I finally let myself think. Not just feel, but think. For three years, Logan had played the part. The charming, patient, perfect boyfriend. He’d brought me flowers, remembered anniversaries, held my hand at pack gatherings. He’d pressed for more, sure, with whispered promises and soft touches, but he’d always backed off when I said to wait. I’d thought it was respect. Chivalry, even.
Now I saw it for what it was. A long game. A performance. And the moment the curtain fell, the moment I ended it, the actor dropped the mask. The real Logan didn’t want me; he wanted to conquer me. To take what he felt I’d withheld. He didn’t spare a day to ambush me in the woods, not to talk, not to plead, but to try and force his way between my legs like I was some prize he’d been denied.
A bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat, echoing in the tiled room. Three fucking years. I’d shared my secrets, my dreams, my quiet fears about being the Alpha’s wolfless daughter with a boy who was just biding his time. Damn his rotten dick.
Damn him to hell.
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The next afternoon, the last of my resolve was bundled into a single, sturdy luggage box. It wasn’t much. A life condensed into one container. I’d just dragged it to the doorway of my room when heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs.
“Miss Arielle,” a gentle voice rumbled. It was Borin, one of the older Gammas, his face etched with kind lines. “Let me.” He didn’t ask, just hefted the box as if it weighed nothing and started back down.
I followed him, my heart doing a strange, fluttery dance against my ribs. This was it. The descent from my old life.
The scene in the sun-drenched foyer stopped me halfway down. A small council had gathered. Quinta, arms crossed, tapping her foot. Grandma Agatha, a knitted shawl around her shoulders, her hands worrying the fringe. Aunt Everly, the formidable Female Gammas General, standing at parade rest, her expression unreadable. And Sheila, leaning against the newel post, giving me a look that was pure, unadulterated long face.
They all turned to me as one. Four pairs of eyes, a whirlpool of expectation, concern, and love. I reached the bottom step, forcing a bright smile onto my face as I looked around. “I’m ready to head off.”
My eyes scanned past them, searching the archway to the living room, the hall to the study. No sign of my mother.
It was Grandma who broke the silence first, shuffling forward to take my hands. Hers were papery and warm. “You listen to your body, darling. Eat properly. None of that skipping meals because you’re busy. You need your strength, wolf or no wolf.”
“I will, Grandma.”
Quinta stepped in, her practical old tone a comfort. “Keep your wits about you. Seal College draws all sorts. Strong packs, ambitious loners. Be polite, but don’t make yourself an easy target. Confidence is your first defense.”
“Understood, Oldie.”
Aunt Everly’s voice cut through next, low and carrying the weight of authority. She didn’t move, but her gaze pinned me to the spot. “Quinta’s right, but remember, it’s no normal college. The lessons aren’t just in books. It’s a proving ground. Put both feet on the ground, girl. Be solid. And be quick to assimilate. Watch, learn, and understand the hierarchy before you make a move.”
I straightened my spine instinctively, bringing my hand up in a crisp salute, the respect due to her rank and station. “Noted, General.”
The stern line of her mouth softened, just a fraction. She stepped forward and slapped my cheek, a gentle, almost affectionate tap. Then she patted my back, a firm, grounding thump. “Make us proud.”
Sheila hadn’t moved, her arms still crossed, her bottom lip pushed out in a spectacular pout. I walked over to her. “I thought you wouldn’t hug me like this,” I jested, bumping her shoulder with mine.
That broke the dam. “You!” she exploded, pulling me into a bone-crushing hug that smelled of her vanilla perfume and stubborn loyalty. “You absolute pain, leaving me here with all these serious people!” She pulled back, holding my shoulders, ready to deliver the full earful, but the laughter from Quinta and Grandma died in our throats.
A presence filled the foyer, cool and dense as fog.
My mother stood at the entrance to her study. She was still in her daytime leathers, her caramel hair swept back in its usual severe knot. She didn’t speak, just looked at me. Her gaze was a physical thing, traveling from my face down to my worn travel boots and back up, settling on the lone luggage box by the front door, Borin standing dutifully beside it.
“You’re leaving now?” Her voice was flat.
I nodded, my throat tight. “Yes.”
Her eyes flicked to the ornate wall clock above the fireplace. It was past 3 p.m. She made a soft, dismissive sound in the back of her throat. “In such a hurry. Couldn’t manage a final dinner with your family before rushing off.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an indictment. “It’s not going to be the last dinner,” I said, fighting to keep my voice even. “I’ll visit after each semester. Weekends, maybe.”
She gave a single, shallow nod. “Stay well, then. If you need money for anything—supplies, books, decent food—I’ll send it.”
The offer, delivered like a business transaction, stung. “Don’t worry,” I said, the words coming out sharper than I intended. “I won’t bother you.”