“Miss Violet,” he says with a slight bow. “Welcome home. I’m James, head butler. I apologize for the…inconvenience.”
“It’s fine,” I lie.
He gives the guards a look that could freeze fire. “The Alpha will hear about this treatment of his family.”
The scarred guard at least has the decency to look uncomfortable. “We were only following protocol.”
“You were following your own prejudices,” James says coldly. “There’s a difference.” He turns to me, his expression softening. “Please, allow me to take your luggage.”
“I can manage.”
But he’s already picking up my suitcase, handling it with far more care than the young guard did. “This way, miss.”
I follow him through the gate, refusing to look back at the guards. But I can feel their eyes on me, their judgment like a physical weight.
The walk up to the main house is longer than I remembered. The driveway curves through manicured gardens, past fountains and sculptures that probably cost more than most people’s houses. Everything is perfect.Pristine. Cold.
“I apologize again for the guards,” James says quietly. “They should have shown more respect.”
“They didn’t believe I belonged here.” I glance at him. “Can you blame them?”
He doesn’t respond to that, which is answer enough.
We reach the front steps: marble, gleaming in the afternoon sun. The house looms above us, three stories of wealth and power and everything I’m not.
I tighten my grip on my purse. Here we go.
James opens the front door, and I step inside. My shoes click against marble floors that shine like mirrors. The entryway is exactly as I recall: vaulted ceiling, enormous chandelier, fresh flowers arranged in a crystal vase on the center table.
“Please wait here, miss,” James says, setting my suitcase down gently. “I’ll inform the Madam of your arrival.”
He disappears down a hallway, leaving me standing alone in the massive foyer. The silence presses against my eardrums, broken only by the ticking of an antique clock somewhere down the hall.
Five minutes pass. Then ten.
I should have expected this. No one’s rushing to greet me.
Footsteps finally echo from deeper in the house. Heels clicking against marble.
My mother appears at the top of the grand staircase. She’s wearing a deep green, silk dress that probably cost thousands. It matches the emeralds at her throat, wrists, and ears, and it flows around her as she descends. Her hair is swept up in an elaborate style, not a strand out of place. Her makeup is applied flawlessly.
She looks like she’s about to attend a gala, not greet her daughter. But it’s the expression on her face that makes my chest tighten. Cool. Assessing. Like I’m a problem she needs to solve rather than a loved one she hasn’t seen in six years.
“Violet.” She reaches the bottom of the stairs, and her eyes sweep over me. “You look exhausted.”
“The flight was long,” I say, keeping my voice level. Controlled.
“I see.” She moves past me, and I catch the scent of her perfume: expensive, floral, overwhelming. “When did you arrive?”
“I landed at the airport a few hours ago.”
She pauses, turning back to look at me. A look of guilt crosses her face—or maybe it’s annoyance. It’s gone too quickly to tell. “You should have called. I would have sent someone.”
My nails dig into my palms. “I did message you. The flight details. Everything.”
“Hmm.” She waves a hand dismissively. “I’ve been so busy with the alliance preparations. You know how it is.” She doesn’t wait for a response. “Come. Sit.”
I follow her into the living room. The furniture is fancy: cream-colored sofas that look like they’ve never been sat on, abstract art on the walls, fresh flowers everywhere. She settles onto one of the sofas with practiced grace. I lower myself onto the edge of the opposite one, perched as if I may need to bolt at any moment.
