Chapter 51

Chapter 51


Dominic’s POV

Sometimes, I missed the days when things were predictable.

Lately, it felt like I was juggling ten roles at once. Son. Alpha-to-be. Businessman. Fake fiancé. And somewhere under all of that, still just a man trying to figure out if he had any time left to be himself.

But today was a little different.

I’d cleared my schedule. No meetings. No reports. No council discussions. No phone calls. Just a day to breathe.

Eva didn’t know yet—I hadn’t told her this morning when I saw her quietly packing her bag and heading off to the club. She thought I had a full day ahead. And I did. But I canceled it.

For something that had been on my mind for a while now.

\---

I drove out to the edge of the city, toward the older part of the territory. The land here was quieter, less developed, filled with tall pines and crumbling stone houses that once belonged to the original pack members.

My grandfather had owned a small hunting cabin here. It wasn’t much—just a single room with a fireplace, a porch, and a roof that groaned whenever it rained. But it was his sanctuary. A place where he taught my father about the old ways, the unspoken values of being an Alpha before titles started coming with ceremony and politics.

I hadn’t been there in years.

But I needed to go back.

I pulled up near the gate. The metal creaked when I pushed it open. The grass was overgrown, brushing against my boots as I walked up the narrow path. The cabin was just as I remembered it—aged but sturdy, like it refused to fall apart out of sheer pride.

The door stuck a little before it gave way.

Dust danced in the light spilling through the cracked window.

Everything was still where we had left it.

A framed photo of my grandfather on the mantel. His knife, still tucked in the wooden block by the sink. An old blanket draped over the arm of the single worn armchair.

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, letting the silence wrap around me like a cloak.

Here, there was no Alpha. No wedding. No pretense. Just me.

I lit a fire, opened a window for some air, and settled into the chair, resting my head back.

And for the first time in days… I let myself think.

Not about Eva. Not about the pack. Not about my father’s expectations.

Just… about the past.

\---

I remembered the time I came here as a boy—barely twelve, scrawny and full of questions. My grandfather had brought me out here to teach me how to set traps, how to track through the forest, how to listen with my instincts instead of just my ears.

“You want to lead someday?” he’d asked, handing me a wooden staff. “Then learn how to walk without making noise. Learn how to speak without using words. Know your land better than you know your own face.”

Back then, I thought it was just his way of being old-fashioned.

But now? I understood.

The world had changed, but the weight of responsibility hadn’t.

Leadership wasn’t about speeches. It wasn’t about dominance or flair. It was about awareness. About knowing what your people needed—even if they never said it.

That’s what my father wanted me to learn before he stepped down.

But sometimes, I wondered if he remembered how overwhelming it was when it first started for him. Or if he ever felt like I did now, half-sure, half-lost, and always balancing between who you want to be and who you’re expected to become.

I stayed there until the sun began to shift, casting longer shadows across the floorboards.

Eventually, I stood, dusted off my jacket, and stepped outside.

Before I left, I scribbled something in the guest book kept by the door. It was something my grandfather always made us do whenever we visited.

"Still learning. But I’m trying. – D.V."

I left the cabin with that single message. It felt right.

\---

On the drive back into the city, I took a longer route, through the hills that curved along the edge of the skyline. From up there, I could see everything—the towers, the bridges, the fading sun turning the buildings orange and gold.

I parked the car at a small overlook spot and sat on the hood, watching the city breathe below me.

Then my phone buzzed.

Eva: Everything okay?

I smiled at the message.

Me: I’m fine. Just took a drive.
Eva: A drive?
Me: Needed to think. You back from the club?
Eva: Yeah. Been home for an hour. Thought you might’ve drowned in paperwork.
Me: No paperwork today. Want me to bring dinner?

A few seconds passed.

Eva: Only if you’re cooking it yourself.

I laughed.

Me: Don’t tempt me. I made lunch the other day, remember?
Eva: I still think you hire someone and kicked them out before I notice.
Me: Rude. I’ll see you soon.

\---

When I walked into the penthouse, the lights were low and the city view stretched wide across the glass walls. Eva was on the couch, her legs tucked under her, reading the same book she’d been hooked on all week.

She looked up and gave me a curious smile. “You look like someone who went on a spiritual retreat.”

“Something like that,” I said, setting down the bag of takeout I’d picked up after all. “Didn’t think I’d risk your judgment in the kitchen again.”

“Smart man,” she teased.

We ate dinner together on the couch, plates balanced on our laps. Nothing fancy. Just noodles, spicy chicken, and quiet conversation.

“Where’d you go?” she asked softly after a while.

“My grandfather’s old cabin,” I said. “Just needed to remember where I come from.”

She nodded thoughtfully, not asking too many questions. That’s something I liked about her, she gave me space without ever making me feel like I had to fight for it.

“Did it help?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said, resting my head briefly against the back of the couch. “It reminded me I’m allowed to take a breath sometimes.”

“Good,” she said simply.

We finished dinner without rush, and when I offered to clean up, she just nodded.