Chapter 440

Olivia

The atmosphere in the conference room was still charged with the remnants of Vanessa’s outburst, but there were other, bigger fish to fry today. With the date of the auction looming close and a seemingly impossible feat waiting just around the corner, there was no time to be worrying about petty arguments and hurt feelings.

There was a long silence in the room as I considered the short-lived suggestion about Dianna Miller, the local artist. The others were skeptical and had mentioned that she was a recluse, but the idea still intrigued me.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that reaching out to Dianna might be our only shot at success if we were going to earn enough money to impress the Alpha association.

“Look, I know it’s a long shot,” I began, addressing the team, “but selling one of Dianna Miller’s paintings at this auction could actually be a huge help when it comes to helping us reach our goal. I really think we should at least try to reach out to her.”

Laurie shook her head almost immediately, a sense of defeat in her expression. “Olivia, she’s been a recluse since her husband died,” she said. “Honestly, people think she’s gone insane.”

“But isn’t that just speculation?” I countered, feeling a spark of determination despite everything. “She’s a brilliant artist, isn’t she?” The others nodded. “Well,” I continued, “Maybe she’s just... lost her connection with the outside world. Lost her spark. Maybe we can be the ones to bring her back.”

“But even if she is just reclusive, she’s turned down every interview, every photo op for the past ten years,” Joshua chimed in. “She’s like a ghost. It would take a hell of a lot of effort to get her to even open her door.”

That was all I needed to hear. If there was one thing I was good at, it was being tenacious.

I stood up, pushing back my chair. “I’m going to pay her a visit,” I said. “Maybe she just needs to hear how important this is to our pack, to our community.”

“You’re going to go to her house?” Benjamin asked, looking around incredulously. “Just like that?”

“Yes,” I said firmly as I gathered my things. “Sometimes the direct approach is the only way.”

The others exchanged looks, but said nothing. They were still reeling from Vanessa’s outburst, I could tell. And as I grabbed my bag and began walking toward the door, I paused, biting my lip for a moment before I turned around to face them one last time.

“I may be your Luna, but I’m not here to punish anyone who disagrees with me,” I said. “I want you to vote honestly, that’s all. If you felt as though Vanessa would have made a better leader, then… I won’t hold that against you.”

My little speech was met with silence and the exchange of more glances. But there was no more time to waste.

And so, turning on my heel, I pushed through the door and made my way out into the cold winter air.

…

Later that day, I found myself driving up the narrow, winding road to Dianna Miller’s secluded mansion.

The old Victorian house stood majestically on the top of a lonesome hill; or at least, it used to be majestic. The closer I came to it, though, the more I realized just how dilapidated it was.

The paint, once a clean white color with soft green and blue accents, had peeled over time. The windows seemed to rattle in the wind, and the lawn was overgrown with grass and weeds. There was a large oak tree in the front yard, thick and gnarled and devoid of leaves now that winter had arrived. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the overgrown garden that surrounded the property.

All in all, the house looked like something out of a scary movie; maybe a movie in which an old hag who lives at the end of the street terrorizes some local children, or perhaps a movie about a haunted home that swallows its new owners whole.

But I knew better. There were lights glowing through the curtains, a warm amber color that made the home feel alive. There was smoke puffing out of the chimney, filling the air with the sweet scent of a wood fire.

This wasn’t a creepy, haunted old house. It was a home, and I was certain that the woman inside was just waiting for the right visitor.

I parked my car at the end of the gravel driveway. Taking one last deep breath to steady my nerves, I walked up the path, the gravel crunching under my boots. The house seemed to watch me approach, its windows like watchful eyes.

When I reached the creaky front porch, I raised my hand and knocked on the heavy wooden door. The sound echoed slightly in the stillness. I waited, but there was no answer. I knocked again, a bit louder this time.

Peering toward the window, I caught a glimpse of movement—the curtains fluttered, and a hand disappeared from view. Someone was definitely home.

“Ms. Miller?” I called out. “My name is Olivia. I’m the Luna of the local pack. I was hoping to speak with you.”

Silence greeted me once again, but I wouldn’t be deterred. Not yet. “We’re organizing a fundraiser and we really need your help,” I continued. “Please. Your art could make all the difference.”

There was another long silence, one that was punctuated only by the whistling of the wind. I raised my hand to knock again, but before I could, a voice, faint and wary, finally came from the other side of the door.

“I’m not interested. Please leave.”

Dianna’s demand should have deterred me, but it didn’t. I pressed on, hoping to break through her defenses. “Ms. Miller, I know you don’t usually take visitors, but this is for a good cause,” I said gently. “It’s for the future of our pack. Please, just a few minutes of your time is all I ask.”

The voice responded, firmer this time. “I said leave. I won’t help you.”

Feeling a mixture of disappointment and frustration, I leaned against the door frame. “I understand you value your privacy, Ms. Miller. But if you could just hear me out. The pack needs help. We’ve been given this insurmountable task, but it might be surmountable if you’d only be willing to help us. Please.”

There was a brief silence, then, “Go away.”

I took a step back, looking up at the imposing structure of the house. The curtains twitched slightly, and I thought I saw someone peering out once again, but they quickly withdrew before I could get a good look.

Realizing that I wasn’t going to get through to her, I sighed deeply. “Alright, Ms. Miller. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” My words felt heavy in the cool evening air, and I was met with more silence.

I walked back down the path to my car, the weight of defeat settling over my shoulders. As I drove away, the house receded into the distance, its windows still watching, a silent sentinel on the hill.

The drive back was quiet, my mind replaying the encounter over and over. I had hoped to convince Dianna Miller to help us, to believe in our cause.

But some barriers, it seemed, were not meant to be broken.