Chapter 111: The good and the ugly

Lena POV

Adam didn’t leave. He just moved to lean against the dresser, watching me like I might shatter if he looked away too long.

It was irritating. It was also the only reason I didn’t throw the cup at the wall.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a while.

“So are you,” I shot back.

His mouth twitched. It felt like a smile but it wasn't.

“I’m giving you space to think without yelling at me,” he stated “It’s new for both of us.”

I huffed a laugh despite myself. It hurt my chest.

“Don’t get used to it,” I muttered. “I still think you’re an insufferable alpha.”

“And I still think you’re the most stubborn omega I’ve ever met,” he said. “Which is why you’re going to make it through tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. The games.

The weight of it hit me again, heavier now that the adrenaline was gone.

If I walked into that arena with my head still split between rage and doubt, the rival packs would tear me apart.

Adam saw it on my face and I really wanted my wolf to resurface but it felt like she was quiet or scared of the man who was staring at us

“Hey,” he said, crouching in front of me again. His voice dropped. “Listen to me. You don’t have to decide about your mom tonight. You just have to decide not to let the rival team win.”

I met his eyes. Gold, steady, frustratingly certain.

“You make it sound simple.”

“It isn’t,” he whispered. “But you’re not alone in it. Not anymore.”

The words stuck somewhere under my ribs.

I wanted to tell him to stop saying things like that.

It made it too easy to forget that he’d been the one who dragged me into this mess in the first place. That he was still an alpha with his own agenda.

But he was here. In the middle of the night, after I’d screamed at him, after I’d accused him.

He was here, and he wasn’t leaving.

That had to mean something.

“I can’t sleep,” I admitted, staring down at my hands. They were shaking.

“Then don’t,” he snapped. “Talk.”

“About what?”

“Anything. About why you hate rain. About what you’re afraid of tomorrow. About why you still look at me like you want to punch me and kiss me at the same time.”

I shot him a glare. “That last one isn’t true.”

“Liar,” he said, and this time it was a real smile. Small, crooked. It made something in my chest loosen.

I sighed and leaned back against the headboard. The ceiling was still too low, too close.

“I hate rain because it reminds me of the night my dad died,” I said before I could stop myself. “It was pouring. Mom said it was an accident. I don’t believe her anymore.”

Adam didn’t interrupt. He just listened.

“I was twelve,” I continued. “She sent me to my room and told me not to come out. I heard screaming. Then silence. When I came out, he was gone. And she never explained.”

“You think she had something to do with it,” Adam said quietly.

“I think everyone has something to do with everything,” I said bitterly. “And I’m tired of being the last one to know.”

Silence stretched between us.

“Tomorrow,” Adam said finally, “you get your answers. All of them. But you have to be standing when you ask for them.”

I nodded. I didn’t trust my voice.

He stood, brushing his hands on his pants. “Sleep. I’ll be in the next room. If you need anything, knock.”

I almost told him to stay. The words were right there.

I swallowed them.

“Adam.”

He paused at the door.

“Thanks,” I said. It felt foreign on my tongue.

He nodded once. “Get some rest, Luna.”

When the door clicked shut, the room felt too quiet. Too big.

I lay back, staring at the ceiling. Mom’s face kept flashing behind my eyes. Crying. Pleading.

If she was lying, I’d know.

If she wasn’t…

I didn’t know what I’d do if I found out she’d carried that guilt alone for years because of me.

Sleep didn’t come easy. But for the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel impossible either.

Morning came fast and wrong.

Sunlight cut through the curtains, too bright, too loud.

My head still throbbed, but the fever had broken. I sat up slowly, testing my limbs. Sore, but functional.

Adam’s shirt still hung off me. I folded it neatly and set it on the chair. I’d give it back. With interest.

When I stepped into the hallway, I heard voices from the kitchen. Low, tense.

Adam’s voice. And another.

Mom.

I stopped breathing.

“—not ready to see her yet,” Adam was saying.

“She needs to know I’m here,” Mom replied, voice hoarse. “Please, Adam. Just five minutes.”

“You’ll get five minutes,” Adam said. “But only if she asks for it.”

My heart kicked against my ribs.

I stepped into the kitchen doorway.

Both of them turned.

Mom looked like hell. Eyes red, hair a mess, like she hadn’t slept either. When she saw me, her breath hitched.

“Lena,” she whispered.

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t.

Adam stepped back, giving us space. His eyes never left me, like he was ready to pull me back if I broke.

Mom took a hesitant step forward.

“I’m sorry,” she said. The words cracked. “I know it doesn’t mean anything now. But I’m sorry.”

I stared at her. At the woman who’d raised me, lied to me, sacrificed me.

And for the first time, I saw the weight she’d been carrying.

I didn’t forgive her. Not yet.

But I didn’t walk away either.

“Talk,” I said. My voice was steady. “Now.”

Adam’s shoulders dropped half an inch, like he’d been holding his breath.

Mom nodded, tears spilling over.

And just like that, the war inside me switches.

The kitchen felt too small but then I knew if mom really wanted to apologize, she'd bring over my favorite and she isn't this dramatic over tears.