Page 121 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

I was silent for a moment, then spoke, voice hoarser than expected. "We'd fight. We'd have cold wars. We'd both cry like idiots the first time she called 'Mommy and Daddy.' We'd both rush to pick her up when she fell, crash into each other, forehead to forehead, then sit on the ground laughing."

I paused.

"We'd be ordinary. Ordinary to the point of boring. Ordinary to the point where sometimes we'd think life was too bland, bland enough to want some waves." I looked into her eyes. "But that's what I wanted. What I've always wanted."

She looked at me and didn't speak for a long, long time. Then she lowered her head, looking at her wine glass, lips curving into a very small arc—not a brilliant smile, but something quieter, like finally making a decision about something she'd wrestled with for a long time.

"You know," she said, "I used to think that if I ever forgave you, it would be because I made a carefully considered decision."

"And now?"

"Now I realize," she looked up at me, "forgiving you doesn't need my brain's permission at all."

I felt my heart pound hard in my chest.

"Mia—"

"Shut up," she said, but her tone held no real annoyance. "You talk too much."

Then she did something that stuck all my words in my throat—

She leaned over and rested her head on my shoulder.

Just like that, lightly, quietly, like a bird finally finding its perch, she rested on my shoulder.

I froze. I didn't dare move, didn't dare breathe, didn't even dare let my heartbeat be too loud, afraid of startling her. I froze there like a statue under a petrification spell, the only thing I could feel was the weight and warmth of her hair, and that familiar, faint jasmine scent.

"Your shoulder's still as hard as ever," she said, voice muffled.

"Because I'm tense," I said, voice hoarse and unlike my own. "I'm afraid if I move, you'll run."

"I won't run anymore," she said, voice so light it was almost blown away by the night wind. "I'm tired of running."

Slowly, carefully, I raised my arm, wrapped it around her shoulder, and pulled her into my embrace. She didn't resist. She leaned closer, burying her face in the crook of my shoulder, making a soft sound like a sigh.

We sat like that. The fountain's water murmured in the night, moonlight spreading a silvery-white path at our feet. From distant hills came occasional wolf howls, long and gentle, like singing a lullaby for this night.

I don't know how long we sat there. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour. Time lost meaning this night. I only knew her body heat transmitted through our clothes, warm, like a fire burning in my chest. I only knew her breathing gradually became steady, like she'd finally let down all her guard in a safe place.

"Zane," she suddenly spoke, voice muffled in my shoulder.

"Mm?"

"Have you ever thought that the problem between us isn't just about trust?"

I was silent for a second. "What else?"

She lifted her head, looking at me. Moonlight illuminated her face, making her features clear and soft. Her eyes held a seriousness I'd never seen—not anger, not sadness, but an expression like finally deciding to take something she'd hidden for a long time out to air in the sun.

"Pride," she said. "You're too proud. So am I. We're both too proud. We'd lose each other rather than bow first."

I looked at her, said nothing, because every word she said was right.

"If there's a next time—" she began.

"There won't be a next time," I cut her off, voice hoarse but firm. "I promise you. Next time, no matter what happens, I'll come to you first. I'll bow first. I'll throw my damned pride in the trash, then kneel before you and beg you to hear my explanation."

She looked at me, lips curving into a tiny arc. "Sounds like a good plan."