Chapter 18

Elara

Throughout the rest of the evening, Alaric stayed close to me and the children, his presence a silent shield against any further incidents. He maintained a calm, stoic demeanor, but it was clear he was deep in thought about everything that had transpired at the banquet.

And I couldn’t blame him. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, either—Olivia and Mason, Asher’s comment about Alaric’s late wife, and then, of course… There was the kiss.

I kept telling myself that it was just a kiss, that there was nothing more to it. It had only happened out of pure necessity, the only way to get the onlookers off our backs.

But when we had pulled back, and I had seen that look in Alaric’s eyes…

A tiny, hopeful part of me couldn’t help but imagine what my life—what our lives, the girls included—would be like if that kiss had been real.

Zoe and Ella were blissfully unaware of the tension, happily nibbling on pastries and dancing together. I spent most of the night focusing on them, playing hide-and-seek in the ballroom and twirling with them on the dance floor.

Alaric never stopped watching us the entire time, although he didn’t join in the fun.

As we made our way back to the car at the end of the night, Alaric opened the door for us. “Thank you,” I murmured, helping the girls settle into the back seat. I climbed in beside them, and Alaric closed the door gently before rounding to the driver’s side.

The ride home was eerily silent, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine. The girls, having used up all of their energy, were already nodding off in their car seats. Streetlights cast fleeting shadows across Alaric’s face, highlighting the sharp set to his jaw.

I glanced at him through the rearview mirror, debating whether I should say anything. I couldn’t get Asher’s words out of my mind—the subtle, or perhaps not-so-subtle, implication that whatever had happened to Alaric’s wife wasn’t what we were led to believe.

I recalled the news headlines from that day all too well: “Alpha Alaric’s Wife Lost in Fire,” they had read.

Apparently, a mysterious fire had enveloped their home in the middle of the night. Alaric and Ella had survived, but Alaric’s wife didn’t make it. It caused such a media frenzy that practically every werewolf in the country knew about the incident.

But Asher had made it out like there was more to the story.

“Alaric,” I began softly.

He didn’t turn his head, but I saw his eyes shift briefly toward the mirror. “Yes?”

I hesitated. “Your former wife... what happened to her, exactly?”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened almost imperceptibly. “She went missing in a fire six years ago,” he replied, his voice colder than before.

Missing. Not dead.

I felt a pang in my chest at that word. Alaric always put up a tough front, but I could tell that his wife’s death affected him. It affected him so much, apparently, that he didn’t seem entirely convinced that she was dead.

Just… missing.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, immediately regretting my question. “I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine,” he cut me off curtly.

An uncomfortable silence settled between us after that. I leaned back in my seat, pressing my lips together. For the first time, I saw a similarity between us—both carrying scars from the past, haunted by the loss of someone we once loved.

Perhaps his cold and distant nature was shaped by this grief. And maybe, in turn, Ella had been shaped not only by her mother’s loss, but also her father’s grief.

Soon enough, we pulled into the long driveway leading up to the house. As the car came to a stop, the girls began to stir, the familiar turn into the driveway and the sound of the pebbles crunching under the tires alerting them to the fact that we were home.

They yawned and stretched, rubbing their eyes. Alaric opened the door for us, and I helped them out of the car.

“Time for bed, girls,” I said, taking their hands.

“Can we stay up a little longer?” Zoe pleaded.

“Not tonight,” I replied with a gentle smile. “You’ve both had a very long day.”

As we entered the foyer, I realized that I wanted to avoid a repeat of last night’s incident when the children had burst into my bedroom, wanting to sleep with us. An idea sparked in my mind then.

“Wait here for just a moment,” I told them.

I hurried upstairs to my room and retrieved two handmade plush toys from my suitcase—small bears I’d sewn long ago, each with a tiny heart embroidered on the chest. I’d intended to save them for Christmas, but I decided not to wait.

Returning to the foyer, I knelt down in front of Zoe and Ella. “I have something for you,” I said, holding out the plush bears. “I made them myself.”

Their eyes lit up. “You made these?” Ella asked softly.

“Yes,” I nodded. “I made them a while ago, but I want you both to have them now.”

Zoe hugged hers tightly. “Thank you, Mommy! I love it!”

Standing nearby, Alaric watched us with a faint frown of confusion. “Why not just buy toys from a store?” he asked quietly as the housekeeper led the girls away.

I looked up at him. “Some things money can’t buy,” I replied. “Didn’t your mother ever make you something with her own hands when you were little?”

He froze for a moment, a flicker of sadness passing through his eyes before he said quietly, “No.”

Without another word, he turned and walked down the hallway, his footsteps echoing against the marble floors. I watched his retreating figure, a heaviness settling in my chest.

When I slipped into the bathroom to shower a little while later, I was relieved. The evening had been emotionally draining, and I was eager to shower and get ready for bed. But, having indulged in pastries and wine more than usual at the banquet, the dress felt just a little bit tighter than before, and it took some effort to loosen the hidden clasps.

“Come on,” I muttered to myself, struggling with the last stubborn hook. Finally, it came free, allowing me to breathe properly.

Just as the gown slipped to the floor, leaving me in my undergarments, the door suddenly opened. I whirled around to see Alaric standing in the doorway.

And he wasn’t moving away.

I gasped in shock, instinctively crossing my arms over my chest to cover myself. “Alaric!” I exclaimed, my face turning bright red.

He stood frozen in the doorway for a split second before stepping inside and closing the door quietly behind him. Before I could even utter a word, he rushed forward and clamped a cool, smooth hand over my mouth.

“Shh,” he whispered.

I stiffened, staring up at him in shock from behind his hand. My heart was pounding a mile a minute as I looked up at him, too frozen to even pull away from his grip.

And then I saw it.

His gaze drifted down to my exposed skin, right where my breasts spilled out ever so slightly across the top of my balconette bra. His eyes dipped lower, languidly wandering the curve of my waist, the swell of my hips, my trembling thighs.

I could see the desire in his eyes. Perhaps he tried to hide it, but it was there, a dark fire flickering behind his gaze. He took a step closer, his free hand stretching out to touch my waist. I shivered slightly as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of my hips and tugged me closer.

His hand was still clamped over my mouth, but no words would come anyway.

All I could do was stare up at him like a deer in headlights.