"I don't know how to do this," she whispered.
"Do what?"
"Need people. Trust them. Let them close enough to hurt me when they leave. I handle everything on my own. I’m the one who gives advice." She set her mug down, liquid sloshing. "I've been alone since I left the pride. Built this tavern alone. Ran it alone. Proved I was strong enough to handle anything. And the moment I let someone in, let Dante matter, everything fell apart."
"Not because you let him in." Twyla's voice carried certainty. "Because Hector saw you getting stronger. Saw you building alliances and partnerships that threatened his plans. He attacked when you started becoming more than a lone lioness running a tavern. When you started becoming a force."
"I don't feel like a force. I feel like a failure."
"You feel scared." Twyla reached across the bar, catching Maeve's hand. "Scared that loving Dante made you weak. That needing him gave Hector power. That opening yourself up cost you everything you built."
"Didn't it?"
"No." Twyla squeezed her hand. "Loving someone doesn't make you smaller, Maeve. It makes you bigger. Stronger. More capable of handling what comes. But hiding from love? Running from connection? That's what makes you small. That's what gives men like Hector power."
Maeve wanted to pull away. Wanted to reject the truth that sat too heavy in her chest. But Twyla's grip stayed firm, fae strength wrapped in human warmth.
"You've already been hurt." Twyla's thumb stroked across her knuckles. "Walking away from Dante after you chose him twice and ran both times? That hurt. Sitting here alone in your closed tavern convinced you failed? That hurts. The question isn't whether you'll hurt. It's whether you'll let that hurt make you smaller or use it to become stronger."
"How?"
"By stopping." Twyla released her hand, picking up her mug. "Stop running from what scares you and hiding behind walls and independence and the lie that you're better off alone."
"I've pushed him away at every turn. Accused him of manipulation when he was just being honest. Ran after he confessed. After we—" She stopped, heat flooding her cheeks.
"After you made love and it felt too real?" Twyla's smile turned gentle. "Your lioness recognized its mate and you got scared because you've never let anyone that close."
"Yes."
"That's not unforgivable. That's human. Or lioness. Whatever." Twyla sipped her wine. "The point is you're scared. That's allowed. What's not allowed is letting fear steal yourstrength. Letting it convince you that being alone is safer than being loved."
Maeve stared into her mug, watching steam curl and dissipate. "What if I trust him and he chooses duty over me again?"
"Then you survive it." Twyla's voice carried hard truth. "Same as you survived the first time. Same as you've survived everything else life threw at you. But Maeve? I've watched that lion for two weeks. Watched him break protocol to tell you the truth. Fight rogues to protect your territory and look at you like you're the reason the sun rises. He's not leaving. Not unless you make him."
She gathered her basket, preparing to leave. Twyla paused at the door. "You're a lioness who built a business from nothing in a town that wasn't hers. Who faced down her uncle in front of half the market. Who's been holding this community together for years through strength and stubbornness and sheer force of will. You're strong enough for anything. The question is whether you're brave enough to stop proving it."
She left, the door closing softly.
Maeve sat in the dark tavern, mulled wine warming her hands and truth settling into her bones like stones.
She'd been so focused on proving she didn't need anyone that she'd forgotten what it meant to choose to need someone. To actively decide that having them in her life was worth the risk of losing them.
Maeve looked around her empty tavern. Her pride. Her proof that she could build something that mattered without anyone's help.
But sitting here alone in the dark, she understood what Twyla had been trying to tell her.
She hadn't built this alone. The community had supported her. Callum had vouched for her. Customers had chosen tospend their time and money here instead of elsewhere. Even Dante, in his own frustrating way, had been trying to stand with her instead of control her.
She'd never been as alone as she'd convinced herself she was.
Maybe admitting she needed people, needed him, wasn't surrender. It was just honesty. The same honesty Dante had shown when he'd confessed why he'd stayed behind. When he'd admitted he'd been wrong.
Maeve finished her wine and stood. Her tavern was closed. Her license suspended. Her pride wounded.
But she wasn't broken.
And she was done hiding.
