My usual happiness has drained away completely. I feel so stupid to have believed, even for just a moment, that this could last. That I was safe. That I could justbe. Here with Darhg, in this small town where people care about each other.
I was a fool. A child. But I’m not fooling myself anymore. There’s no happy ending for me, no world where I can exist outside of the made-up shell of a woman that is Rona Quinn, daughter to the famous Senator Melissa Quinn.
I keep seeing Gribble Nix's confident smirk, the way he talked about his sources like he had an entire network feeding him information about my life. I’ve realized that he does. There’s someone out there who sold me out.
Someone I trust. Someone who betrayed me.
For money, for fame, for power or influence. It doesn’t matter. It’s someone who used me, like I’ve been used all my life.
The sound of a car pulling up the long driveway makes my heart jump like a startled rabbit. Darhg left an hour ago, and I'm alone in the cabin for the first time since we arrived. The enginenoise cuts through the peaceful quiet of our snowy sanctuary, foreign and unwelcome.
It's too early for him to be back.
Could this be that awful reporter, Gribble Nix?
I pad to the frost-etched window in my stocking feet, peering through the crystalline patterns that winter has painted on the glass. Relief floods through me when I see Jennifer's mittened wave and reassuring smile as she climbs out of a small blue sedan.
I hurry to open the door, and winter air whooshes through the warmth like a blade before I can usher her inside and close the door behind us.
"Elga sent me over to check up on you! But I’m not coming empty-handed. Her shortbread cookies are to die for," Jennifer says, unwinding her scarf and lifting a paper sack that smells like butter and sugar and everything good in the world.
I may not know her well, but Jennifer’s presence is warm and familiar in the cabin, making the space feel less isolated, less like I'm hiding and more like I'm simply home, welcoming a friend. I set the kettle on the stove while Jennifer settles at the small kitchen table, chatting about the upcoming snowfall forecasted for tonight.
Soon we're sitting with steaming mugs between our hands while the fireplace ticks like a contented metronome. The shortbread Jennifer brought is crumbly and sweet, clearly home-baked, the kind that tastes like love is on the ingredientlist. I find myself relaxing completely for the first time since my entire life was put on display for the whole world to see. For the whole world to judge.
"What is it like," I ask directly, wrapping my fingers around my mug for warmth, "to be the mate of an ogre?"
“Loud. Warm.” Jennifer's laugh is light and genuine, her hazel eyes twinkling. "And overwhelmingly well fed."
Her expression softens as she considers the question more seriously.
"Honestly, it's the best thing I could have hoped for. Elga is attentive and utterly devoted to my happiness. I never dreamed I’d find someone like her."
Something in my chest loosens at her words. I lean forward, hungry for details.
"How did you two meet?" I prompt, taking another bite of the perfect shortbread.
“I went into her shop for a bouquet when my brother’s wife had their first baby.” Jennifer's smile turns fond and distant. “I left with the most beautiful arrangement of peonies and eucalyptus and her phone number.”
"Who fell first?" I ask, genuinely curious. "Was Elga immediately on board, or did you have to convince her?"
"Oh, she knew we were right for each other well before I did." Jennifer taps her simple gold wedding band with one finger. "At our wedding, Elga confessed she bought this ring the day afterour first date. She said she knew and that waiting to tell me was the hardest part."
I absorb that certainty with a small, awed smile, my thumb circling my mug's rim as if I could memorize the idea of being chosen with that much confidence. What would it feel like to inspire that kind of instant, unshakeable devotion?
"But what about…" I hesitate, then forge ahead. "The ogre nature. The possessiveness and territoriality. Doesn't that ever feel overwhelming?"
Jennifer considers this thoughtfully, her expression almost contemplative. "Ogres can be jealous, possessive, and, yes, controlling. The difference is what they do with that impulse. The good ones channel it into loyalty, protection, and attention. The bad ones turn it into cages." She pauses, meeting my eyes directly. "But humans can be those things too."
Her words settle something anxious in my chest while also sharpening what I need to understand about Darhg. About the fears he carries and the man he's determined not to become.
"He told me he's afraid of becoming a monster like his father," I confess, my voice thinning on the word 'monster.'
Jennifer nods knowingly, no surprise in her expression. "Fear of a thing is not the thing itself. Elga's protectiveness could have become control; instead, it became devotion. You'll know the difference. Trust your instincts."
The simple wisdom of it makes my eyes sting with unexpected tears. I blink them back and take a steadying sip of coffee.
"I've been swallowed by other people's choices my whole life," I admit quietly. "My mother's career, the campaign trails, always being what other people needed me to be. I don't want to be swallowed by this too."
