Chapter 151 Lydia’s Apology, Surprising.
Malia's POV
The air on the balcony of the Alpha suite was cool, a sharp contrast to the heated discussions happening inside. For three days, Mooncrest had been a hive of activity. Tables were overturned in the library to make room for tactical maps; students moved in tight, wary groups; and the council’s presence felt like a ghost hanging over every conversation.
I leaned against the stone balustrade, my fingers tracing the ancient carvings. My wolf was quiet, but her presence was a constant weight in my chest—a steady, golden hum that grounded me. I was the Sovereign. I was the heir. But in the quiet moments, when the Alphas were busy coordinating defenses, I was still just Malia. And Malia was exhausted.
A soft scuff of a shoe against the stone floor made me stiffen. My wolf’s ears pricked forward in my mind, sensing a presence that wasn't Aiden, Cian, or Rowan. This scent was familiar, but it lacked the sharp, predatory edge of an attacker. It smelled of expensive perfume and, strangely, of damp earth and sweat.
"Malia?"
I didn't turn around immediately. I knew that voice. It had haunted my nightmares during my first few months at Mooncrest. It was the voice that had led the choruses of "hybrid," the one that had orchestrated the "accidents" in the locker rooms, the one that had made me feel like a stain on the pristine reputation of this college.
Lydia.
I finally turned. She was standing in the shadows of the doorway, halfway between the light of the suite and the darkness of the balcony. She looked different. The perfectly coiffed hair was pulled back into a messy, practical ponytail. The designer clothes had been replaced by a standard training track-suit, smeared with dirt at the knees.
But it was her face that stopped me. The arrogance that usually defined her features—the high-tilted chin, the mocking curve of her lips—was gone. She looked small. She looked
. . . I can't describe.
"Lydia," I said, my voice neutral. I didn't let the Sovereign’s power leak into my tone, though my wolf was pacing, wary of a trap. "What are you doing here?"
"Malia, I—” Her voice shaking slightly. "I asked Rowan. He... he let me through. He said if I tried anything, he’d bury me in the garden, and I believe him."
I felt a small flicker of amusement at Rowan’s protectiveness, but it died quickly. "What do you want?"
Lydia took a tentative step forward into the moonlight. She wouldn't look me in the eye. Her gaze was fixed somewhere near my boots. "I saw you," she whispered. "In the courtyard. When the light hit you. And I saw Vesper being dragged away."
She swallowed hard, her throat working. "I spent my whole life being told that the bloodline was everything. That we had to be pure. That the 'weak' were a threat to the pack’s survival. Vesper... she was the one who reinforced that. She told me I was doing the school a favor by making your life difficult. She said you were a 'glitch' that needed to be erased."
I stayed silent, watching the way her hands trembled at her sides.
"I'm sorry," Lydia said.
The words were so quiet I almost missed them. She finally looked up, and for the first time, I saw the truth in her eyes. There were no hidden daggers, no calculated schemes. There was only raw, bleeding vulnerability.
"I'm sorry for everything," she said, her voice growing stronger even as it cracked. "For the preserve. For the whispers. For the way I treated you like you were less than human when you were... you were everything we were supposed to be."
I studied her for a long moment. The Sovereign in me wanted to dismiss her, to tell her that an apology didn't fix the months of psychological warfare. My wolf remembered the smell of my own fear when Lydia and her clique had cornered me in the halls.
"Why now, Lydia?" I asked. "Is it because you heard what happened? Because I have three Alphas at my back? Because you're afraid of what I'll do to you now that I'm the Sovereign?"
Lydia flinched as if I’d struck her. She let out a short, hollow laugh that turned into a sob she quickly suppressed. "Yes. I am afraid. I'm terrified. I saw what you did to those manacles, Malia. I know you could snap me like a twig."
She took another step, closing the distance until she was only a few feet away.
"But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I was jealous."
She confessed it like it was a sin.
"I saw the way Aiden looked at you, even when you were 'nothing.' I saw the way Cian, who doesn't even talk to people, stayed in your orbit. I saw Rowan’s kindness. And I hated you for it. I hated you because I did everything right. I followed the rules, I kept my blood pure, I excelled in every class... and I felt empty. I felt like I was a puppet being moved by Vesper and my parents."
She looked out at the campus, the same view I had been staring at. "Then I saw you. You were 'weak,' you were 'broken,' but you were real. You were fighting for every inch of space you occupied. And when the truth came out... when I realized you were the daughter of Aurora... it shattered me. Not because of your power, but because it meant everything I believed in—everything I used to justify my cruelty—was a lie."
The silence stretched between us. A cool breeze ruffled the hem of my robe. Inside the suite, I could hear the low murmur of Aiden and Cian arguing over perimeter logistics.
"I was afraid," Lydia continued, her voice a mere whisper now. "I thought if you were bonded to them, it meant I was irrelevant. And I’d rather be a villain than be nothing."
I looked at her—really looked at her. I didn't see the mean girl of Mooncrest anymore. I saw a girl who had been raised in a cage of expectations, taught to bite anything that looked like freedom.
"You weren't irrelevant, Lydia," I said. "You were a catalyst. You made me realize that I couldn't rely on the 'order' of this school. You made me find my own strength because the world you represented offered me no place to rest."
Lydia’s lip trembled. She looked like she wanted to say more, but the weight of her past actions seemed to choke her. She bowed her head, waiting for my judgment.
I thought about Vesper. I thought about the Council. I thought about the war that was coming to our gates.
If I was to be a Sovereign, I couldn't lead a pack built on old grudges. A Sovereign doesn't just conquer; she heals. She gathers the scattered pieces and makes them whole.
"I can't erase what happened," I said quietly. "I still remember the way you looked at me in the locker room. I still remember the feeling of the way you and your your friends treated me."
Lydia winced, her eyes closing tight.
"But," I continued, "Mooncrest is changing. The world is changing. And I don't have time to look backward while I'm trying to build a future."
I stepped forward and placed a hand on her arm. She jumped at the contact, her eyes snapping open. My touch was warm, pulsing with the steady light of the Sovereign.
"I accept your apology, Lydia."
She let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for years. A single tear escaped, tracking through the dirt on her cheek.
"I don't expect you to trust me," she whispered.
"I don't," I said, and my honesty made her flinch again, though she nodded in understanding. "Trust is earned. Forgiveness is a gift. I'm giving you the gift of a clean slate. What you do with it is up to you."
Lydia wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, a messy, uncharacteristic gesture. "I want to help. My family... they have connections to the Southern packs. They’re hearing things. The Council is trying to frame this as a 'hostile takeover' by a rogue hybrid. I can talk to them. I can tell them the truth."
"Then do it," I said. "Be the voice that contradicts the lies. That’s how you start."
She looked at me for a long moment, a new kind of respect in her eyes—one that wasn't born of fear, but of a dawning realization of what a true leader looked like.
"Thank you, Malia," she said.
She turned to leave, but stopped at the doorway. She looked back at me, the moonlight catching the tears in her eyes. "For what it's worth... you look like her. Your mother. I saw a picture once in a forbidden archive. You have her eyes."
Then, she was gone, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway.
I stood on the balcony for a long time after she left. The encounter had drained me in a way the battle hadn't. It was easy to fight an enemy who was trying to kill you. It was much harder to look at someone who had hurt you and see the broken parts that drove them to do it.
Aiden stepped out onto the balcony, his presence a warm, solid weight behind me. He wrapped his arms around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder.
"She’s gone?" he asked.
"She's gone," I said.
The bond hummed between us, and I felt Cian and Rowan’s awareness join us, a silent circle of support. Lydia’s apology hadn't fixed everything. There were still scars. There were still memories that stung.
But as the wind picked up, carrying the scent of a changing season, I knew that a beginning was exactly what we needed.
The past was a weight. The future was a fire.
And I was finally ready to walk through it.