I stopped listening and let her talk without interrupting or arguing. Or we would have been there all day.
There’s a long history behind why the families agreed to a contract binding future generations to a pack before they were even born. The reasoning itself isn’t ground-breaking—it was a way to shift the founding families from rivalry to unity, forcing them to work together instead of against each other. The concept was adopted eons ago when life was completely different—not that I would have accepted it back then either. Yet, despite its archaic nature, the Alphas in charge of each family today remain committed to it. Including mine.
Everything about the founding families—their views, ideology, the way they live so ‘agreeably’, the money each of them hoard, their businesses—is so deeply interwoven. When you deal with one person, you quickly realise they are a voice piece for the collective.
“Simona,” she said, pressing her hand on my shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Sorry, I was just thinking about what you said.” I don’t lie, but it’s not entirely the truth either.
“I think we have shared enough. And now I have made you late,” she said quietly.
Wren is always quiet. Muted by design. And if I’m to believe her, all I have to do is look at her to see my own future. A life full of parties and friends, opportunities and great wealth—as long as I play the part. So long as I accept being owned by people I didn’t choose, all for the so-called greater good.
An offering almost.
I took a step away, getting ready to leave for school, but she stopped me.
“We all find our own peace, Simona. Some of us elect to embrace what the founding fathers have provided for us. If you would like that, there’s many businesses for you to workwithin. Or you might prefer to stay at home and tend to your pack with warm meals and a clean house being your only motivation for happiness. What you choose is up to you.” She takes a breath, and her voice crescendos. “Your place, however, is not to buck the system or to whine about how unfortunate you are. You are a part of this world, Simona. In case you also forgot, you are a Vanderling. Our status as one of the most respected among the founding families will not be undermined because you ‘do not like’ Brody Henderson.” She hooked her fingers to emphasise her words without raising her voice, but it was effective, and exactly like she intended.
I’m surprised neither of us flinched as the maternal bond between us finally snapped.
Our relationship was always tenuous. I grew up chasing a minute of her time, but I finally understand why she never gave it. I may be her child but my mother’s first love—her devotion—belongs to the life she and the others live.
“I will see you after school. And please remember we are dining with the Hendersons, celebrating the announcement of your union. Perhaps by then your mood will have improved.”
Her words were loaded with her expected obedience.
I rub my eyes, the memories still hurtful, even knowing Wren is but a puppet.
My heart races as my focus narrows in on the real source of much of my sorrow.
The afternoon sunlight streams into my father’s office, casting a warm glow over the rich cherry wood making it more welcoming and safer —two feelings I’d always associated with Lawson.
He had a habit of keeping the door wide open—not just to see everyone as they arrived home, but so we’d always see him there too.
I’m sure that’s part of my guilt—because I walked into his room on purpose. If I had seen myself in a mirror, I mighthave fixed myself before visiting him. But a part of me wanted him to see me like this too.
I've always been, and still am, defenceless against his pull. Lawson was impossible to stay away from - no one in my life was fuller of love and light than him. I could also trust him. He'd tell me if I was overreacting.
“Simona Vanderling, get in my office and tell me how your day went.”
When Lawson spoke, it was music to your ears. Even though he hadn’t infused a drop of his designation, I was instantly under his spell.
I moved as if I was drawn to him by a pulley.
He was distracted, but the second he saw me, whatever he was holding clattered onto the desk, completely forgotten. And when he stood fell into absolute silence, as if the noise has been sucked away.
Everything came to a pause. It was like time stopped as he took it all in. My clothes were ripped. I stunk of pain and embarrassment. And then there were the bruises.
I made sure not to look in his eyes as he registered it all. I didn’t need to see the emotions flit in his eyes in order to feel how angry he was. It was like standing next to a fire, watching it ignite from a flickering spark to a raging inferno. There was no middle ground, and I remember squeezing my eyes shut and breathing through the onslaught.
Lawson growled, clearing his throat and talking with his usual control. “Come here”.
Despite his storming emotions, my feet didn’t stop moving until I was safe in his arms. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, like the haven of his embrace.
I buried myself there, soaking in his strength. And once I was safe in his arms, he no longer held back, letting the rage pour out. In Lawson’s mind, every experience was anopportunity for me to learn, and for us to uncover truths together. He saw it as a way for me to toughen up.
“Tell me what happened,” he said. His words were clipped, lost under a rumbling growl.
