Home Restored

Home Restored
POV Sage Winters

"The caller you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please leave a message—"

She tried again immediately. Same result. Her breathing grew more ragged. A third time, her whole body tense as she waited.

Voicemail again.

"Where is he?" The question came out strangled, almost a whimper. "What did you do to him?"

"We haven't done anything to him," I said. "He made his choices this afternoon when he signed those documents."

"But the documents say—" Lydia looked down at the papers again, her voice rising toward hysteria. "Criminal charges! Illegal acquisition of assets, falsification of trust documents, child endangerment—you're trying to send him to prison!"

"Tomorrow morning, a full case will be submitted to Greywood District Court," Thorne confirmed. "The evidence is comprehensive."

Lydia's face went from pale to flushed red. She tried calling again, her movements growing frantic. Still no answer. She stared at her phone like it had betrayed her, then looked back at us with fear creeping into her expression.

"He wouldn't just leave me to deal with this alone. He wouldn't—we've been together for sixteen years..."

"Perhaps he's already running," Thorne said matter-of-factly. "Fleeing before the charges are officially filed. It wouldn't be the first time someone chose to disappear rather than face justice."

Lydia's phone clattered onto the coffee table. "No. He wouldn't abandon me. He wouldn't—"

She tried again with shaking hands. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail. The fear in her eyes transformed into something uglier—rage mixed with desperation.

"This is your fault!" She suddenly surged to her feet, pointing a shaking finger at me. "You and your fancy lawyers and your Alpha—you forced him to sign those papers! You threatened him!"

"We presented him with evidence of his crimes," Thorne said calmly. "He chose to cooperate rather than face immediate arrest."

"And now he's left me!" Lydia's voice cracked. "Left me to lose everything, to deal with this mess—"

She dropped to her knees in front of me, grabbing at my legs with trembling, desperate hands. "Please, Sage. Please, you have to understand. We took you in after your mother died. We tried to help you. Do you know how hard it was? How expensive it was to raise a child?"

I looked down at her coldly, feeling nothing but contempt. "You fed me scraps while you and Celeste ate proper meals. You sent me away to relatives who beat me and locked me in sheds. All while living in my mother's house and spending my mother's money."

"We did our best!" Tears streamed down her face, cutting tracks through her makeup. "We had our own struggles. Celeste needed things. The house needed maintenance—"

"This house was fully paid off," Thorne interrupted. "Silverpine Global was profitable and generated steady income. There were no debts. You had more than enough resources. You simply chose not to spend them on Sage."

Lydia's face crumpled, but I felt no sympathy. Only satisfaction at finally speaking the truth she'd buried under years of excuses.

Her expression twisted with bitter resentment. "So that's it? After everything we did for you? You're just throwing us out onto the street?"

"You have one hour to pack your personal belongings," I said, my voice steady and cold. "Then you need to leave."

"Where am I supposed to go?" Her voice climbed toward hysteria again. "I have nothing! No money, no job—Ronan controlled everything!"

"That's not my concern," I said flatly.

Lydia's expression turned vicious. She surged to her feet, all pretense gone. "You ungrateful bitch! We gave you everything and this is how you repay us?"

"This was never your home," I said. "It was my mother's. Now it's mine."

She lunged forward like she might actually hit me, but Thorne stepped between us smoothly. He didn't touch her, didn't need to. The subtle shift in his posture and the flash of gold in his eyes stopped her cold.

"You need to leave," he said, his voice soft and infinitely more dangerous for it. "Now."

But Lydia was too far gone to care about self-preservation. "I won't! This is my home! I've lived here for fourteen years!"

I pulled out my phone with steady hands and dialed 911.

"Yes, I need police assistance at 847 Maple Drive. I have legal documentation showing ownership of this property, and the current occupant is refusing to vacate." I kept my eyes on Lydia as I spoke. "Yes, I'll wait for officers to arrive."

"You called the police on me?" Lydia shrieked.

The police arrived twelve minutes later—two officers, one older woman with graying hair and a younger male partner. The woman read through our documentation carefully while her partner tried to calm Lydia's increasingly hysterical protests.

"These are in order," the officer said finally, looking at Lydia with professional neutrality. "Ma'am, you need to gather your belongings and leave the premises."

"I have nowhere to go! You can't just throw me out!"

"That's not our concern, ma'am. You need to comply with the legal order."

Lydia grabbed the doorframe as they tried to guide her out. "No! I won't leave!"

Thorne's eyes flashed gold again, and he let a thread of Alpha presence leak out. Not much, but enough that Lydia's wolf instincts screamed at her to submit. She flinched, her grip loosening just enough.

The officers took advantage and guided her firmly toward the door. She fought them every step, screaming and cursing, her words becoming increasingly vicious.

"Thief! Liar! You're stealing from us! You'll regret this! You'll end up alone and miserable just like your pathetic mother!"

I stood in the doorway, unmoved, until the police car's taillights disappeared down the street. Neighbors had gathered to watch, but I barely registered their stares.

When the street was finally quiet, I stepped back inside and closed the door. The silence felt heavy but cleansing.

Thorne's arm came around my waist, pulling me against him. "You okay?"

"Better than okay," I said honestly. "I want all this gone. Every stick of furniture, every decoration, every reminder that they lived here."

"I'll have a team here tomorrow," Thorne promised. "We'll strip it to the bones and rebuild it the way you want."

My feet carried me upstairs without conscious thought. Down the familiar hallway to my old room—the smallest bedroom, barely bigger than a closet. I pushed open the door.

The room was being used for storage now, boxes stacked everywhere, but my old narrow bed was still there. Same scarred dresser. Same crack in the ceiling I'd stared at during sleepless nights.

I sat on the bed, springs creaking under my weight, and reached under the pillow without thinking. My fingers closed around something soft and familiar.

A small stuffed bear, threadbare and faded, one eye missing. Mom had given it to me for my third birthday. I'd hidden it here the night before Ronan sent me away, terrified he'd throw it out.

The tears came then—hot and fierce and unexpected. Not for Lydia, not for what I'd just done. For my mother. For everything stolen from us. For the little girl who'd hidden her only treasure under a pillow and run away into the forest alone.

Thorne sat beside me without a word, pulling me close and letting me cry against his shoulder. His hand stroked my hair, steady and grounding, while I clutched that worn bear and let fourteen years of grief pour out.

When the tears finally stopped, I looked up at him with swollen eyes. "I want to keep my mother's things. Her jewelry box, her journals, anything that was hers. Everything else goes."

"Then that's what you'll have," Thorne said, cupping my face and wiping away the remaining tears with his thumbs. "We'll make this place yours again. Truly yours."

I leaned into his touch, drawing strength from our bond. The mate pull between us intensified, thrumming with need and comfort and fierce protectiveness.

"Make love to me," I said suddenly. "Here. In this room where I spent so many nights alone and afraid. I want to replace every bad memory with something good. Something ours."

Thorne's eyes flashed gold with heat and desire. He cupped my face in both hands, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "Are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything," I whispered.

He kissed me then, slow and deep and claiming, and I melted into him. We undressed each other with trembling hands, desperate and reverent all at once, until we were skin to skin on my childhood bed.

When Thorne finally pushed inside me, I gasped at the intensity of it—not just the physical pleasure, but the emotional weight of this moment. Reclaiming this space, this piece of my stolen past, and transforming it into something beautiful and ours.

"I love you," he said, looking down at me with such fierce intensity it stole my breath. "I love you, Sage Winters."

"I love you too," I whispered back, pulling him down into another kiss.