Chapter 65

Elara

The girls lingered by the kitchen doorway, nervously twisting their hands. An awkward silence fell over the room, and Ella and Zoe glanced up at me with uncertainty written across their faces.

“Mommy, I thought we were having chicken cutlets…”

That word—Mommy—seemed to shift something in Sarah. For the briefest moment, there was something in her gaze that was dark and cold. But she caught herself, seeming to force warmth into the curve of her lips as she stirred the pot.

“Well, I’m making soup,” she said lightly. “Don’t you want to try it?”

“That’s very nice of you, Sarah,” I said, hoping that my words would encourage the girls. I figured they were just being shy, that was all. “Go on, take a look at what Sarah made.”

At my encouragement, the girls shuffled forward and peered cautiously into the pot. I followed, offering Sarah a warm and slightly apologetic smile as I passed, hoping to convey the words “They’re just kids,” into my gaze.

But I stopped short when I looked into the pot.

It looked… gray. Like she had somehow chopped every ingredient into a mush, then tossed it into unseasoned water. I tried to be understanding, I really did; but it sort of looked like vomit. In fact, I had to press my knuckles to my lips just to keep from gagging at the rancid smell.

Zoe wrinkled her nose. “It smells funny…”

I pressed my lips together and shot Zoe a warning glare, but it was too late. Sarah had heard t.

Sarah’s fingers tightened around the spoon. “What was that, sweetheart?” Her voice was still sweet, but there was an underlying hint of anger in it now that was hard not to notice.

Zoe hesitated, suddenly more interested in the floor. “It’s… not like the food we usually eat,” Ella admitted, her gaze flitting up to me for backup.

“It looks yucky,” Zoe added under her breath.

Sarah looked like she’d been shot. Her knuckles turned white around the spoon, and her jaw quivered a little with anger as she hissed, “Why must children raised by Omegas always be so—”

“They’re just going through a picky period,” I cut Sarah off quickly before I could finish, offering her a bright, practiced smile even though her words stung like hell. “Kids go through phases, you know? I can show you what they’ve been liking lately, if you’d like.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the corners of her mouth twitching. For a moment, I thought she might refuse to let me help just so she could prove a point. But then she exhaled softly and shrugged.

“Sure,” she said with a graciousness that felt as rotten as the soup smelled. She gestured to the counter with a lazy flick of her hand. “Why don’t you cut the potatoes?”

It wasn’t really a question. It was more of a command, and I could sense the annoyance simmering beneath her skin, the words she so badly wanted to say.

“Children raised by Omegas,” she had said with enough acid in her voice to burn through metal.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. And honestly, I really wasn’t. Most higher-class wolves looked at Omegas like we were trash, and there was no doubt in my mind that Sarah held a certain level of disdain in her heart over the fact that Zoe—her biological child—had been raised by one.

And now the child who had been raised by an Omega was not only insulting Sarah’s food, but the Omega who had raised her was stepping in to save the day.

Still, despite the stinging sensation in my chest, I nodded, sliding past the girls to the counter. As I worked, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being patronized. Like I was a child given a plastic tool just to keep me occupied.

Thankfully, not long after I’d begun working, Alaric’s voice drifted down the hall.

I didn’t look up right away, but I felt Sarah straighten as his footsteps echoed toward the kitchen, her posture suddenly turning more poised and elegant. Her hair caught the fading sunlight streaming in through the window, and for a fleeting second, I wondered if I should have done more with mine today.

“Alaric,” Sarah greeted as he stepped into the kitchen. Her tone had shifted—lighter, softer, almost too casual. She took a step toward him, her hand rising as if to touch his cheek, but she let it fall just short.

I kept my head down and sliced through another potato, but the faint tremble in my wrist betrayed me.

Old habits die hard, I suppose, I thought bitterly.

Was that really all this was, though? An old habit?

“You’re cooking together?” Alaric’s gaze swept between us, settling on the pot before flicking to the pile of chopped potatoes on the counter. His eyes sparkled slightly, and he looked pleased, which admittedly softened some of my earlier tension. “I’m glad to see everyone getting along.”

Sarah’s eyes lingered on him for a moment before she glanced at me.

“Yes,” she said, a trace of something unreadable in her voice. “She’s a dear.”

I clenched the knife just a little tighter at that patronizing tone, but I smiled, letting it brush past me like it hadn’t bothered me at all. Alaric leaned down, pressing a kiss to my cheek, and Sarah’s shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly before she turned and continued stirring the soup.

By the time we sat down to eat a little while later, the soup was still unfortunately the main course—although even Alaric had complained about the smell of it and had insisted on making some roast chicken on the side, if only to make sure the girls actually ate something.

Of course, Sarah took Alaric’s comments with a warm smile and no complaints. A luxury that she hadn’t afforded me or the girls.

Still, I decided to give it a try, just to be nice. I figured it wasn’t fair for Sarah to have everyone attacking her cooking, and that she deserved a chance.

But the first spoonful sent a rolling wave of nausea through me. The spices she had added as an afterthought didn’t mix well together, and the texture was akin to chunky mud.

I barely made it to the bathroom before my stomach was emptying.

Once I was finished retching, I staggered to the sink and rinsed out my mouth. I heard footsteps a moment later, followed by the calm yet concerned presence of Alaric in the doorway.

“Elara, are you alright?”

I straightened and wiped my mouth on a towel. Truthfully, this was caused by the pregnancy—my stomach had been more sensitive lately, and just that morning the scent of eggs had nearly set me off as well.

Maybe now was the time to tell him, since our wedding night was a long ways away.

But just as I opened my mouth to tell Alaric about the pregnancy, Sarah’s shadow fell across the doorway.

“Everything okay?” she asked lightly. Her gaze flicked to Alaric more than me.

I forced a nod. “I’m fine. Just…” I hesitated, glancing between her and Alaric. Should I tell him now, I wondered? But I decided not to—not in front of her. It was a discussion I’d wanted to have in private. So instead, I finished, “Just a stomach bug.”

Alaric’s gaze lingered on me, as if he didn’t fully believe me. But he nodded.. “Maybe you should go lie down. I’ll put the girls to bed tonight.”

Sarah’s eyes lit up. “I’ll help,” she cut in, a bit too quickly—a bit too gleefully.

I nodded again, the words I had really wanted to say dissolving on my tongue. Tonight, I figured. I would tell him tonight, when it was just the two of us.

But that night, Alaric didn’t come to bed.

The sheets were cold beside me when I woke around midnight, indicating that he hadn’t come to bed at all. Figuring that he was overworking himself in his office again, I slipped out quietly, padding down the hall to his study. But he wasn’t there.

That was when I heard the faint sound of voices—and Sarah’s laughter—drifting up from downstairs.

I should have gone back to bed, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Curiosity got the better of me, and I quietly crept down the stairs, peering around the corner to the living room.

Alaric was sitting by the fire, a half-empty glass in his hand. Sarah was sitting next to him, leaning close. Not too close. But just enough to send a pang through my chest. The fingers of her free hand idly traced the seam of the sofa cushion, and in the firelight, I swore I could see them inching closer to his shoulder when he made her giggle again.

They spoke in low voices, saying words I couldn’t quite make out, but the way she held Alaric’s gaze made my back stiffen painfully.

It had been years since they last saw each other. Alaric thought she was dead, and Sarah thought she would never see him again.

That was what I told myself as I watched them. I told myself that they were just catching up, making up for lost time. She was still the mother of his child, after all, and it wasn’t as if they’d had a cruel divorce or a bad falling-out.

They needed this.

Maybe more than I needed peace.

I watched for a moment longer, then turned back toward the hallway, the ache in my chest deepening as their voices faded away.

But by the time I reached the bedroom, the tears had come. And they didn’t stop coming all night.