Chapter 10

Chapter 10:

Adelia

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the unfamiliar room in hues of gold and amber. For the first time in a decade, I didn’t wake to the sound of shouting or the suffocating dread that had been my constant companion at the Hyde pack house. I woke to silence.

But it was a heavy silence, loaded with questions I was too afraid to ask.

I dressed quickly, my fingers fumbling with the buttons of a simple sundress Azalea had left for me. Downstairs, the house hummed with low activity, but I avoided the main corridors and slipped out through the back terrace doors where Azalea was already waiting.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” she chirped, her energy a stark contrast to my quiet unease. She held a heavy, rusted iron key in her hand, twirling it idly around her finger. “Dad’s wrapped up in a Mind-Link meeting with the Beta and Gamma—something about dismantling Braydon’s offshore accounts. Boring stuff. But he told me to show you something p>

“Show me what?” I asked, falling into step beside her.

She led me away from the modern glass fortress and down a cobblestone path that wound toward the edge of the forest. There, nestled against the treeline, stood a high stone wall blanketed in thick moss—ancient looking, a relic that had somehow survived the fire that consumed everything else.

“He bought the land six years ago,” Azalea said casually, stopping before a weathered wooden door set into the stone wall. “Everyone thought he was crazy. Why buy a graveyard? But he brought in botanists from the south. Specialists.” She slid the key into the lock. It turned with a heavy, resonant clunk.

“Why?” I whispered, my heart hammering.

“See for yourself p>

She pushed the door open.

𝖳𝘩𝖾 𝗯𝘦𝘀𝘁 re𝗏𝗂𝗲𝗐𝘀 𝘰n

The scent hit me first—a wave of nostalgia so potent it nearly dropped me to my knees. A fragrance I hadn’t encountered since childhood: moonflowers and rain-washed grass, delicate and achingly familiar.

I stepped inside, and my breath caught.

Hundreds of white roses filled the enclosure, their petals almost translucent in the morning light. They weren’t just any flowers. They were Moonpetal Roses—my mother’s favorites. The ones that were supposed to be extinct, burned to ash along with her garden.

“He planted them?” My voice broke on the last word.

“He restored them,” a deep, unhurried voice answered from behind me.

I turned. Dallas stood in the archway, his dark suit softened by the gentle garden light. He looked tired, but his eyes—intense and storm-grey—were fixed on me with a focus that stole what little breath I had left. Azalea took one look at us and began backing away with a barely concealed smirk.

“I think I hear my phone ringing. Probably a boy. Don’t wait up.” She disappeared, leaving us alone in the sea of white petals.

Dallas walked toward me with movements that were predatory yet carefully restrained—a wolf approaching a wounded deer. The scent of ozone and cedar drifted from him, weaving through the fragrance of the roses in a combination that was almost unbearably intoxicating.

“You did this?” I gestured helplessly at the garden, tears pricking at my eyes. “Six years ago? I was still engaged to Braydon then. I was nobody p>

“You were never nobody, Adelia,” Dallas said, his voice dropping an octave, the words resonating in my chest. He stopped inches from me, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his frame. “I watched you. I watched that bastard parade you around like a trophy while he broke you piece by piece. I couldn’t interfere—Pack law is complicated. But I knew p>

He reached out, his rough thumb grazing my cheek to catch a falling tear. The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight through me, stirring something deep and dormant.

“I knew that one day, you would come home,” he said. “I built this for the future Luna of this land. I built it for you p>

The realization crashed through me, shattering what remained of my defenses. This wasn’t a business arrangement. He hadn’t married me to secure a border or irritate a rival. He had been waiting. Planning. Hoping.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I choked out.

“Because words are cheap,” Dallas murmured. “And you have been lied to enough p>

He leaned down, and for one heart-stopping moment I was certain he would claim my lips. Instead, he pressed a firm, lingering kiss to my forehead. It wasn’t desire—it was something far more dangerous. It was reverence.

I felt his inner wolf, Ragnar, brush against the edges of my consciousness. Not with aggression. With a deep, purring contentment, like a beast finally settling after years of restless waiting. Mine, the presence seemed to exhale.

I didn’t pull away. For the first time, I had no instinct to run. I leaned into him instead, my hands closing around the lapels of his jacket, anchoring myself to the only solid thing in my world.

“Thank you,” I whispered against his chest.

Dallas wrapped his arms around me and drew me close, surrounding me entirely in his warmth and his scent. Over his shoulder, my gaze drifted up toward the main house.

In a second-story window, a figure stood watching. An older woman with graying hair and a simple apron—Hara, my mother’s Omega servant, whom I had believed lost to the fire years ago. She wasn’t weeping, but her hand was pressed flat against the glass, and even from this distance I could see the expression on her face clearly.

It was a smile of peace.

I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of roses and the Alpha who had spent six years bringing them back to life. The contract was still ink on paper—but the bond quietly taking root between my soul and his was becoming, with every passing moment, the only truth that felt real.