Morning in the Alpha's House

Morning in the Alpha's House
Chapter 52:

Ivy’s POV

Morning came slowly, sunlight crawling across the floorboards in pale gold strips that warmed the edge of the bed. For a brief, blurry second, I lay there for a few seconds, half tangled in the sheets, trying to remember where I was before reality settled over me like a heavy blanket.

Right. The packhouse. Damian’s world. Again.

It still didn’t feel real—this place, this life, the silence that was never quite meant alone. There were no cars horning at 2am, no traffic, no neighbor’s dog barking loudly, no hum of the city. Just birds, trees, and the occasional thud of boots on wooden floors somewhere below.

I sat up, dragging a hand through my hair and trying to gather the pieces of myself that felt scattered since yesterday. I’d survived a confrontation with a very angry Alpha, embarrassed myself in front of his sister, and somehow still managed to keep my head attached. That counted as progress… right?

I rolled out of bed, wincing when my feet hit the cold floor. Someone had already replaced the clothes I wore yesterday with another neat pile on the chair. Dark jeans, a soft gray sweater, and boots that looked expensive enough to make me sweat. The woman who ran this house, ‘the steel-eyed one’ clearly believed in efficiency.

After dressing, I ran a brush through my hair and tied it back. The mirror showed someone who looked like me but didn’t quite feel like me… someone living in a story she didn’t ask to be part of. But starting from today, I would try to live on my own terms.

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand. No new messages. Not that I expected any. I’d hadn't been gone too long for anyone from my old life to still think I wasn’t okay, but it still stung.

By the time I opened my door, the scent of coffee hit me, strong, dark and perfectly roasted. My stomach growled heavily in response. I followed the smell down the stairs and into the kitchen, each step creaking faintly beneath my feet.

The kitchen was unexpectedly warm. Sunlight filtered in through tall windows, glinting off copper pots that hung above the counter. The air smelled like coffee, maple syrup, and fresh bread. For a place run by wolves, it felt surprisingly… homey.

And right there, at the marble counter, sat the last person I expected to see this early in the morning.

Damian’s sister. Elsa, I had later learned.

She was perched on one of the stools, wearing a loose sweater, nursing a cup of tea and looking entirely too pleased with herself. Her dark auburn hair was pulled into a low knot, wisps framing her face, she was already staring at me, her lips curved into that same knowing smile.

“Well, good morning to you, human trouble,” she said, her tone light with amusement. “You survived your second night in captivity. Congratulations!” She yippeed.

I blinked. “Barely. Though I didn’t see any guard dogs outside my door, so that’s progress.”

The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. “Jason’s too busy patrolling the grounds to babysit you. You’re safe from supervision… for now.”

“Good,” I said, walking toward the counter. “Because I’m starving.”

From the stove, a familiar voice answered dryly, “At least someone has manners this morning.”

At the voice, I turned to see who had spoken, finally noticing the other woman in the room. The one I met on my first day. She was standing by the stove, sleeves rolled to her elbows, flipping something that smelled dangerously good on a skillet. Her dark hair was pulled back, and her steel-gray eyes flicked toward me briefly before she turned back to her cooking.

“Morning,” I said quickly, because somehow, she seemed like the kind of person that didn't ask but demanded politeness.

She glanced back at me once, sharp as always, and gave a curt nod. “Good morning, Miss Ivy,” she replied.

“You've met Maren before, right?” Damian’s sister interjected. “She runs this house, and the rest of us run around trying not to upset her.”

“Ivy’s fine,” I said to her.

“I’ll decide that later,” she replied.

Lena burst out laughing, nearly spilling her tea. “Don’t mind Maren. She was born without the ability to sugarcoat things.”

“Someone has to keep this house running,” Maren said, without turning around. “And since neither of you can cook to save your lives, that someone is me.”

“She’s not wrong,” Lena admitted, lifting her cup in surrender. “I almost set the kitchen on fire last time I tried toast.”

“You put a metal fork in the toaster,” Maren reminded her.

“I was improvising!”

I grinned, already feeling more at ease. “This is oddly comforting. Like watching a sitcom, except everyone could kill me if they wanted to.”

Maren actually smiled at that, just barely. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

She set a plate of pancakes in front of me, still warm and glistening with syrup. My stomach growled audibly, earning a smirk from Lena.

“Oh, you’ve won her over,” she said to Maren. “Food is the way to her heart.”

“Food is the way to everyone’s heart,” Maren replied, already cleaning the pan.

I took a bite, and my eyes nearly rolled back. “Holy!! these are incredible.”

Maren didn’t look up. “Don’t try to flatter me. I don’t cook for praise.”

“Noted,” I said through another mouthful. “Still amazing.”

Lena chuckled softly. “See? She’s a keeper.”

“Don’t start,” Maren said, but I caught the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of her mouth. “Someone has to keep the Alpha from starving, and it's definitely not either of you,” she said, her voice firm.

“I heard that,” came a deep voice from the hall.

I froze, heartbeat skipping.

Damian appeared in the doorway, sleeves rolled up, hair damp like he’d just come from training. His gaze flicked toward me briefly before moving to Maren. “You’re making that thing again?”

“Pancakes,” Maren said flatly.