Chapter 441

Olivia

As I pulled back into the villa’s driveway a little while later, I felt a sense of defeat wash over me. Dianna Miller, the famous artist who I had thought might just be the key to making this ill-fated auction a success, had refused to see me.

“I guess I should have known it would wind up like this,” I muttered as I pulled the key out of the ignition and headed inside, where Clint was waiting for me with the twins in the living room.

As I entered the house, Clint looked up from where he was comfortably reading a book in a plush armchair. The twins were happily playing in their playpen with a new set of blocks that I had just bought for them.

“Hey there, young lady,” Clint said as he climbed to his feet, using his cane for support. “You look exhausted.”

“That’s putting it lightly.” I scoffed. “It’s been a long day. How were the twins?”

“Angels, as usual.” Clint cocked his head. “Want to talk about it?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but then shut it again and shook my head, offering Clint a warm smile instead. I didn’t want to bother him with my problems, not when he was already practically a live-in nanny for me and Nathan. “That’s alright, Clint. It’s not that big of a deal. Just… work stuff.”

Clint shot me with a knowing look, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he just planted a warm kiss on my cheek and began to hobble toward the door. I offered him dinner, but he said that he had a slow cooker of stew waiting for him back at his cottage. We said our goodbyes and I watched him make his way back across the lawn to his cottage, and once he was inside the door, I sank down onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

I wasn’t there long, though, before I heard the front door open again.

A few moments later, Nathan walked into the room, his face etched with exhaustion. I could see the toll our efforts were taking on him, the strain of trying to meet the Alpha association’s unreasonable demands. He sat beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“You okay?” he asked through a yawn.

“I’m alright, I guess,” I replied. “You?”

He shrugged. “Been better. Busy. Any progress today, or…?”

I let out a heavy sigh. “Not really,” I admitted. “Vanessa walked out, and we tried to contact the artist Dianna Miller to see if she’d be willing to donate a piece or two for the auction, but it was a dead end.”

Nathan raised an eyebrow and shot me a quizzical look. “Why did Vanessa walk out?” he asked softly.

“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” I muttered.

For a moment, Nathan just looked at me before he finally nodded and passed a hand over his weary face. “Well, we’ll figure something out,” he said. “It’s what we do.”

I looked up at him, the worry in his eyes mirroring my own. “I just want to help you, Nathan. You’ve been working so hard for this. But…”

“But?” he asked.

I swallowed. “I want you to be prepared if the Alpha association winds up not working out.”

He smiled, a tired but genuine smile. “I know, love,” he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Whatever happens, happens. And for the record, no matter what happens with the association, I promise we’ll still go on that honeymoon. Just you, me, and a break from all this craziness.”

A small laugh escaped me, despite the situation. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

The sound of the twins, who had been happily playing in their playpen, interrupted our conversation. They had begun to fuss. “I guess it’s dinnertime,” I said with a soft laugh.

Nathan laughed along with me and stood, taking my hand and helping me to my feet. “I guess so.”

The evening passed in a blur of diapers, baby food, and soft lullabies. We moved around the kitchen, preparing dinner amidst the occasional cries and coos of the twins. The aroma of the food filled the room, a comforting feeling despite everything.

As we sat down to eat, the conversation drifted to lighter topics—stories from our shared past, plans for the future, anything but the looming auction and the stress it brought. It was a much-needed reprieve, a moment of normalcy in the midst of all the recent chaos.

After dinner, with the twins finally asleep, Nathan and I settled back onto the couch, a shared sense of exhaustion between us. He pulled me close, and I rested my head on his shoulder, the steady beat of his heart a reassuring rhythm in my ears.

I glanced up at the painting hanging on the wall, a piece I had seen a thousand times but never really looked at. It caught my eye now, though; it was a soothing seascape on an overcast day, and I actually recognized the view. It was a view from the pier in town.

And for some reason, something about it made me furrow that brow.

“Nathan, where did you get that painting?”

He followed my gaze, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Oh, that old thing? Picked it up at a yard sale a few years back. Why?”

I frowned, studying the painting more closely. It really was a beautiful landscape, the brushstrokes skilled and deliberate. “It just seems... out of place. Like it’s too good for a yard sale find.”

Nathan chuckled. “What, you think I don’t have an eye for art?”

“No. That’s not what I meant.” I stood up, crossing the room to examine the painting more closely. The colors were more vibrant up close, the details of the landscape meticulously crafted. There was an outline of a tiny seagull standing in the sand, highly detailed despite the side. It felt as though I could see every feather perfectly.

My fingers traced the frame then, moving to the back of the painting.

There, in the corner, were the initials: ‘D.M.’

My heart skipped a beat. “Nathan, come look at this.”

He joined me, his curiosity piqued. “What is it?”

I pointed to the initials. “D.M.—Dianna Miller. Could it be?”

He squinted at the signature. “That’s quite a coincidence, if it’s her. But Dianna Miller’s work is worth a fortune. No way someone would sell it at a yard sale.”

“But what if?” I said, the wheels in my mind turning. “What if it’s really one of her paintings?”

Nathan looked at me, a mixture of skepticism and hope in his eyes. “Liv, if that’s a genuine Dianna Miller…”

The implications hung in the air between us, the potential of what this discovery could mean for our auction, for the pack, for everything we were striving for. The weight of my earlier defeat began to lift, replaced by a flicker of hope.

“Let’s get it appraised first thing tomorrow,” I said, excitement creeping into my voice. “This could be it, Nathan. This could be our chance.”

He nodded, the fatigue in his eyes giving way to a spark of optimism. “Let’s do it. Let’s find out if our luck’s about to change.”

As we sat back down on the couch, the painting looming above us, the possibilities seemed endless. The sense of defeat that had clouded my day was slowly dissipating, replaced by a cautious optimism. Maybe, just maybe, our luck was turning around.