Paxton’s gaze drifted to the swing and softened. “Your father built that himself, you know. Said it was for his little wolf. Even after you… left, he’d come here often. Stand there, just looking at it.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “My father?”
He nodded. “He never said a word to anyone, but I knew. He missed you. We all did.”
My chest constricted. “You must be mistaken,” I said lightly, forcing a smile. “You probably mean Celeste.” Celeste was the one people missed.
How could you miss what you never noticed?
His brows furrowed. “No, Miss Sera. I know who I mean. Your sister hated these swings, remember?”
I blinked, unsure what to say.
I wanted to dismiss the old butler, to scoff and walk away-but his eyes held a conviction that made my chest ache.
“He visited your room often, too,” he continued softly. “Always alone. I’d find the lamp lit in there at night, even when he was supposed to be asleep.”
My voice cracked. “My…my room?”
He smiled faintly. “It’s just as you left it. If you’d like to see.”
My stomach twisted. “That’s not possible.”
He shook his head. “Your father never allowed anyone to change it.”
“That’s not possible,” I repeated. Did Paxton have dementia? Shouldn’t he have retired anyway?
He chuckled a little patronizingly. “Would you like to see?”
I hesitated. And then hopped off the swing.
“Fine,” I mumbled. “If only to prove you wrong.”
I heard Daniel and my mother chattering away animatedly as Paxton led me up the grand stairs to the second floor.
The corridors felt smaller than I remembered. Childhood had a way of enlarging everything-ceilings, doorways, the distance between rooms. Now everything seemed narrower, heavier with silence.
The one leading to my old room was lined with portraits. My mother’s serene face. My father’s stern, imposing gaze. Celeste’s perfect smile. Ethan’s smug grin.
And tucked near the end-mine.
I paused in front of it. My younger self looked back at me-barely thirteen, uncertain, but hopeful. She still had the light in her eyes that the coming years would eventually dim.
I wanted to reach into the frame and warn her. Tell her how cruel the world would be to her. Tell her that her heart would break in more ways than she could count.
Paxton stopped at my room door and opened it quietly. “Here we are.”
When he opened the door, a faint scent of lavender and old paper wafted out.
I stepped inside and froze.
It was exactly as it had been the day I left. The bed neatly made, the pale curtains fluttering in the breeze, the bookshelf lined with old fairy tales, adventure, and romance novels.
Even the framed drawing I’d made at seven-a crude wolf under a crescent moon-still hung crookedly on the wall.
Paxton’s voice was soft behind me. “Before your father passed, this was one of the places he visited most often. The garden swing, and this room. He’d sit right there by the bed for hours sometimes.”
I turned. “You’re sure?”
He nodded, eyes kind. “He missed you, Miss Seraphina. More than you know.”
The words struck deep, splitting something open inside me. I wanted to reject them, to insist he was wrong. But my lips refused to shape the denial.
“Thank you,” I whispered finally.
He inclined his head and quietly excused herself, leaving me alone with the ghosts of my childhood.
I walked slowly across the room, my fingers brushing the familiar textures. The bedspread. The carved edges of the dresser. The faint scratches on the desk where I’d once tried to carve my initials with a hairpin.
A single tear slipped down before I could stop it. Then another.
And then a flood.
My father had kept my room intact? He’d sat here every day, missing me?
Why?
The answer was too improbable to consider. Yet, it was the only one that made sense.
Could it be possible that the dream had been a memory? That my father, in his own deeply flawed way, had loved me?
But then…why?
Why would he treat me so terribly? Why did he disown me? Abandon me?
“Sera?”
I turned sharply. My mother stood in the doorway, one hand pressed against the frame, her eyes wide and glistening.
For a long moment, neither of us moved.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” she whispered. “I just came to tell you the cookies are ready.”
Her gaze dropped to the tears on my cheeks. I saw her flinch, as though each one cut her open.
Then, hesitantly, she stepped forward. “Oh, my love,” she murmured. “I should have brought you home sooner.”
Before I could react, she wrapped her arms around me.
I went rigid.
It had been years-decades, maybe-since my mother had held me. Her scent was faintly citrusy, the same perfume she’d worn when I was a child. Her body trembled against mine.
For a heartbeat, I considered pulling away. But I didn’t.
I stood still and let her hold me, unsure if I was forgiving her or simply too tired to resist the warmth.
When she finally pulled back, her eyes shone wet and weary. “Welcome home, Seraphina.”
The words landed softly, painfully.
Home. It still didn’t quite fit.
How could I be welcomed to a place I’d never really belonged in?
Before I could answer, a sharp sound echoed from downstairs-a clatter, followed by Daniel’s startled exclamation.
My blood ran cold.
I was already moving before my mother could react, the thud of my rushed footsteps echoing through the hall as I bolted down the staircase.
The smell of burnt sugar and butter hit me first, then the sight-
Cookies scattered across the marble floor, an upturned tray, Daniel standing rigid and wide-eyed.
And Celeste.
She towered over him, fury etched into every elegant line of her face.
I didn’t breathe as my vision tunneled, narrowing on the scene before me: my son, my sister, and the storm gathering between them.
CELESTE’S POV
The Lockwood manor had never felt so suffocating.
More Kickass Werewolf Reads
Dive into our collection of free werewolf romance novels—where fierce Alphas, daring heroines, and heart-stopping twists await. Every story burns with forbidden desire, loyalty, and destiny. Don’t wait—here’s a world where love bites hard and nothing is stronger than the call of the mate.
Leave a Reply