And now I am home. And really, I am expecting to be wowed the moment I get here with any difference or whatever, but everything is still the same way I left it.

The beautiful gates of the Steele family villa open with the same calmness they always have, like they have all the time in the world that no one else possesses.

The observant me sits at the back of the hired chair and watches them part, and deep down in my chest, it feels like a hand is opening me the same way the gates open, pulling me apart without asking. I notice that split right down the middle between my breasts, that line that never requests my permission before action. Yes, I know I have not been here for seven years, but is that enough reason for invisible hands to begin splitting me open from the center of my chest like gates?

Seven years though… A full seven years of building walls, building a career, building a life that has no business with this place and its inhabitants. But Richard has brought me back because he is heavy in my hands, and I cannot let him slip off simply because I am avoiding coming home. And here I am, back at my genesis.

The villa rises into view and my throat tightens, like my mouth just dumps a disturbing bone that sits horizontally in between, one that even water would have struggled to push through.

It is just exactly as I remember it in my head. Like, do you know how your head sweeps memories down your eyes while you are still confirming what you are seeing? That is the same way I feel. The place is grand, cold and beautiful, and it feels like it was never built for warmth. The stone facade spreads wide in width and tall in height, and you need to see how this structure makes me feel small just by staying inside it. And what about the manicured hedges that line the driveway, just really stunning the way I love them. And around, not a single leaf is out of place. Yes of course, appearance matters to the Steeles even in mourning.

I smooth my black dress and breathe a little. And about my boy Ethan. That young promising man is safe. He is back in LA with Miriam, my personal assistant, who has worked for me long enough to cherish him like her own child. I kissed his forehead this morning while he was still half asleep and he had somniloquy, something about me getting him waffles when I got back. I love my boy so much and that memory is the only thing keeping me alive, hale and hearty right now. And I cannot just wait to go back to my Ethan. I miss him already.

÷÷÷÷

The car stops.

The door opens.

I step out.

“Here we go.”

The reception is already filled when I walk in, all its inhabitants dressed in black, a fitting symbolism for what we are marking today. The death of Richard Steele. Besides that, quiet voices and focused faces turn toward me like I am Santa Claus. The grief that settles here is so intense and it almost blocks my nostrils from breathing. A chandelier hangs overhead, spreading soft gold light across an ocean of people I do not recognize, made up of extended family, business partners, and old friends of Richard who perhaps have no idea that his second wife had a daughter she brought into the house.

And the fact that I am more of a stranger than a homie here makes it more weird. No one remembers me here, really. I was always in the background, I have always been the quiet girl standing slightly to the left of the real picture itself.

But then I am relieved when an older woman clasps my hands and tells me Richard spoke fondly of me. I smile at the compliment and I appreciate her. A man with grey hair in a grey suit offers his condolences and I nod and thank him. I think I am good at appreciating little gestures. It is one of the few skills my mother’s house taught me that I am actually grateful for, a good moral I'll also instill in my son.

And as I am moving through the room consciously, keeping my composure intact as that’s the only thing I would not risk here, then something unexpected happens.

My wolf stills within me.

The wolf within me is not calm at all. It goes completely still. You know that way an animal freezes when it catches the scent of its predator nearby? That is exactly how my wolf stills within me. Everything in me locks in place at once in a blink.

Then the scent hits me like a sniper shot.

It comes close before I even see him. And my brain jolts awake in remembrance. I know this smell. I know this scent, dark and overwhelming to the core.

My body reacts to the data before my mind can catch up and processes it into information. My pulse shifts gear at once, my skin prickles from my arms to the back of my neck, and a suffocating heat rises from beneath my collar, draining every strength I have left to control it.

“No.” I think firmly. “No, this must be a prank.”

My wolf has other alternatives opinions.

I roll my head slowly because an assumption in my chest has already shifted from its assumed position into confirmation… And there he is.

Dominic Steele stands at the far end of the room, discussing with two men in suits, his posture alone sending a message of authority. He looks like nothing has stripped anything from him in seven years. Seven years have not been unkind to him at all. If anything, they have done the opposite. He is broader now, sharper in the jaw, more mature, extremely handsome and fully grown. What a wonder he is!

He is not looking at me. And then, he is not….

What I expect on his face is recognition, but what crosses it is far from recognition or even surprise. I do not know the right word for the look he gives me from across the room. He says nothing to me, yet his eyes carry a message I cannot read but can feel pressing through the space between us. I do not say anything to him as well. We just look at each other, locked in a moment that spans longer than it should.

Fuck!

He looks at me like I'm nothing, like a tool he once destroyed and still wants badly. I looked away first as usual. I'm always the first to look away in every context. I spent the next hour composed and completely fine. People keep sending their condolences, and I welcome them with calmness that holds everything in place. His personal assistant is also around and I ask if she needs my help with anything. I drink one glass of water and I promise myself I am not going to track Dominic’s movement through the room.

I tell myself I will not, but I am absolutely tracking Dominic’s movements through the room.

Evening comes fast like the clock is running a race it refuses to lose. The guests begin to thin out and I am finally directed to my old room. I am so exhausted, like the world has been placed on my body, and this has nothing to do with the flight.

One thing that strikes me most is the room is still the same as I left it, its pale walls and high ceiling remain unchanged. I look at the window and I am back in those old good days, sitting on the ledge as a teenager, pretending I am somewhere else. And the dresser, I see fresh flowers on it, I guess someone bought them and placed them there. White roses. I stare at them for a while and look away before I find myself pulled back into the beauty they radiate effortlessly.

Then.

I sit on the side of the bed to calculate my decision clearly.

I will simply be civil. I will be distant, composed and formal. I will attend the final funeral burial tomorrow, and I will pay my last respects to the only Steele who was ever sincerely kind to me. Afterwards, I will get into the car and go back to my life, the real life I left before coming here to stir memories of the life I have buried in my mind. The real life I constructed from scratch with my own two hands.

My wolf makes a sound at the back of my mind to get my attention. A low, unimpressed sound.

I ignore it immediately and lie down.

To sleep feels like war. Sleep feels so distant from my eyes, miles away, as though I have to struggle just to take part in the natural blessing given to the living. My body wants it, but my wolf resists it, restless and awake when I should be slipping under the soft arms of sleep, singing its warmth in my ears.I drift in and out of a thin imagination, very aware of the house around me. The sounds, the creaks, the silences. And the way the corridor outside my door carries footsteps if one listens closely enough. Even then, I am not sure I am the only one listening.

And I think that is why, at a time I am sure is past midnight, I hear them.

One step at a time, moving slowly like a snail, creating the rhythm of a gentle walker who is not lost, a walker who knows exactly where they are heading.I know those footsteps like a hunter knows the walk of their prey.

My wolf is already vigilant, standing on its feet inside me, and my heart rate climbs like the wolf within has pushed the gear to a very high speed. I sit up in the dark, waiting, until the footsteps stop outside my door, and what follows next is…

Silence.

And immediately, I get up like I am conditioned to act rather than by my own will. I do not know why I get up or what I am meant to do, or if I am simply refusing to admit it out loud. My hand finds the door handle in the dark and I pull it open.The corridor is dark, and the only source of light comes from a wall lamp burning at the far end, casting everything in an amber shadow. And there he is, Dominic Steele standing close enough for my nostrils to catch his scent again immediately, cedar and a warmer aroma underneath. His jaw is tight, alongside his unpredictable eyes. From the way he is looking, I would not be wrong to say he has been standing outside that door for a while, arguing with himself, and now he has finally lost.

He opens his mouth.

And pronounces my name.

That's all.Just, “Sophie.”

“I needed to be sure you were real.”

That is what he utters next after pronouncing my name like he is the priest in charge when I was christened, standing in my doorway at midnight like he has lost an argument with himself. The sentence falls from his mouth, gentle and flat, with no iota of explanation attached, no apology. And he makes it seem like it is the most normal thing in the world to show up outside my door at midnight after a good seven years of nothing and express himself here like it is supposed to wow me.I stare at him.

He holds my look in his eyes for a while. Then he suddenly deviates from what I expect from him. He turns and walks away without saying goodbye. I am about to respond to his statement, but as it stands, he is leaving without a dramatic exit. I hear his footsteps moving back down the dark corridor. The darkness swallows his visibility. I am standing all by myself in my doorway, holding the door handle like it is the only thing I have got to survive what just happened right now.I shut the door behind me. .Then. I stand with my back against the door, using it as support, resting into it. I press my palm flat on my breasts, trying to calm this restless breathing of my heart.

Regardless, it does not stop.

I find sleep, but sleep does not find me. While I am searching for it, I lie on top of the covers, stare at the ceiling, watch the hours run.

wolf walks within me throughout the whole night, back and forth, unrelenting, cool to a degree I have no patience to manage. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. I imagine the way he looked at me in the doorway like I am a prodigal wife who left him, whom he has been searching for, and now that he has found me, he is quite amazed he did.

“I needed to be sure you were real.” What does that even mean in the first place? What is a man of high calibre like Dominic Steele doing with a thought like that for seven years?I forced myself to bury the thoughts in the grave of my mind.

And exactly at 6am in the morning, I give up on sleep totally. I sit up, run my hands through my hair and breathe in and out. The burial is today. The plan is simple: I get through today, I get into the car and go home to my beloved Ethan.

Then.

I grab my wash bag and move before I can think too hard about it.

The east wing family bathroom is still at the exact spot I left it in my memory. It is seated at the end of the corridor, past the linen cupboard and the narrow window that overlooks the garden. I remember I used to come here as a teen because it had the best water pressure in the whole house and because nobody noticed or ever used it. The Steeles had their own en suites, and the east wing bathroom was always my possession by default, a corner of the house I had owned to myself.

Childhood old habits.

Well, I do not think much of it, I just go on.

The door opens like it is expecting me. The room is cool, still, and smells faintly of old stone and a floral soap someone left on the ledge. I turn the shower on and wait for it to warm up, leaning on the sink and watching my own face in the mirror. I look tired. And I am about to feel a bit relieved in this bath..

And like a flash, the dream replays in my head repeatedly, the one I had two nights ago in my studio, making my whole body heavy. I think briefly of the dream, then I think of the steam, the shower curtain, and the way everything here feels unavoidable.

I dismissed it. It was a dream. Dreams can be foolish, or dangerous.

I step in.

The water is hot and the pressure remains exactly as I remember it. I feel my shoulders come down gradually. I raise my face to the water and allow it to soak me while I am breathing in and out. The steam thickens around me. The rest of the house and everything within it feels distant from where I am.I have been here for five minutes when I hear it.Or should I say I do not hear? That is the problem. I am not even sure. But I know I do not hear the door. I do not hear footsteps. I do not hear anything at all until the curtain shifts.I spin around with the rapidity of a fan, nearly slipping.And I nearly scream at what I see…Dominic stands at the edge of the shower, one hand still holding the curtain back.

Did he miss his way here? Or has he been stalking me around, because how do I explain this, that an adult man follows me into the bathroom? To see what exactly? Is it my breasts he has not seen before, because I do not understand. He is staring at me, and I am staring back at him. Neither of us speaks for a long while.And that's when it happens….The steam circulates between us. He looks the same way he did seven years ago in this bathroom and nothing like it at the same time. Yes, he is broader and harder now, alongside the sharper line of his jaw. His chest rises and falls like a steady rush, and his grey eyes that Ethan inherited, which I have spent a good seven years avoiding, are fixed on mine with such depth that my skin itches and feels two sizes too small.. “Get the hell out of here right now,” I almost scream. My voice comes out sharper than the dissatisfaction building within me.But his reaction wastes the effort I put into the shout.He does not move an inch. “I did not know you were in here actually.”

“Whatever. Just get your ass out, Dominic.” I look at him. “Please just go. Do not let me do something both of us will regret. You have seen my nakedness again, have you not? I think that should make the rest of your day. Now please move out.”

“Sophie.”

“Do not Sophie me. I said, get out.”He still does not move, and I detest him for it. I have been screaming here since, and none of it matters to him. He just remains here without flinching, like I am only a noise maker. He says my name like it costs him a lot to pronounce, which I really do hate. I detest that his eyes have not stopped looking at me, though I notice it is only my face he has been focused on, like it is the only part he is interested in, because that makes it harder for me to stay mad at him, or whatever.

My wolf crawls within me, hitting my whole body like a punch against a wall.The sensation hits violently, suddenly. I flinch, I will not lie. It presses through me with a heat I have not felt in years, pushing and pressing like it wants to dissolve the boundary between my skin and his. It feels senseless, because how can my wolf sense him with such intimacy, like the seven years, the silence, and every careful wall I built mean absolutely nothing to it.

The mate bond. I had managed to curb it and silence it. I had also managed to reduce it to a distant ache I could schedule around. It had become a feeling I felt occasionally at three in the morning, then buried under work, routine, and the everyday act of raising Ethan. I was so good at burying it, and I had become an expert.But I am not burying anything at this moment. Dominic’s eyes shift slightly, a spark moving behind them, and I know his wolf is already active, doing what mine is doing within me.

The recognition, the pull, the quiet roaring at him the same way mine is roaring at me. “Do not,” I mutter, meaning it as a caution, but it comes out like a plea.He takes one more step forward. The water bounces off his chest and he does not even blink. He keeps moving slowly in my direction. The steam closes around both of us.

My back finds the tiles and I press against them uselessly because there is nowhere to run from this man in front of me, coming close like I am his prey. But then, an embarrassingly sincere part of me is not even sure I want to go anywhere at this point. The fuck.“You know we shouldn't, right?” I whisper. “I know,” he responds. “This is a very terrible idea.” “I know that too.” “Dominic.” He stops right in front of me, close enough that the warmth coming off him is inseparable from the heat of the water. He raises one hand and I go completely still as his fingers brush my jaw, just the tips of them. It feels like he is checking again that I am real, like he is answering a question that has been bothering him through this examination.My wolf goes mute.And I know it is not because it is satisfied. It is just because it has already won and it knows it.. I close my eyes, and I feel him lean in immediately. And then his mouth finds mine and seven years of conscious distance collapse in a blink and I stop arguing.And…What comes next is not like the dream.

The dream was a memory inspired by longing, softened at the edges. But this is nothing like that.This is fast and immediate, intentional in a way that embarrasses me and undoes me all at once. His hands are in my hair and on my waist, and mine are pressed flat on his chest like I am trying to push him away and pull him closer at the same time. I do not even know what I am thinking right now.There are no words, no gentleness. Just the two of us, the steam and the water, and the mate bond burning through every nerve ending I have, like it has been waiting for seven years to finally do exactly this.And suddenly.His palms slide up my sides, and he knows exactly where they are, not missing a single inch, cupping my breasts. He lifts them as he sucks my nipples hard, drawing a gasp I cannot hold anymore from my throat, and he swallows it with an intense kiss.I cannot understand why this is so consuming, but I cannot deny that I am not enjoying it.I arch into him, my legs parting automatically as he presses his cock against my thigh, and I feel the thickness of him. He lifts me slightly, pinning me to the tile, the head of his cock nudging at my entrance, slick and ready, almost slipping in as I whimper against his mouth. “It is everything I have spent seven good years trying to forget.” Then a sharp sound emerges from the sink, a bird, I think, perched on the bathroom sink, its wings flapping wildly. We freeze, our hearts pounding like they are about to burst, thinking footsteps are approaching, someone is coming.

Meanwhile, it is just a bird.And afterwards, the water runs cold.I come back to myself in pieces. The cold is even helpful in the way it cuts through the heat and the haze, landing me firmly back in reality, which is that I am standing in the east wing bathroom of the Steele family villa on the morning of my stepfather’s funeral, having just made the worst decision of my adult life.. And for a good three seconds, I first press my head against the tile. Then I straighten up.. On the other hand…

Dominic is leaning against the opposite wall, watching me. His chest still rises and falls like a tide. His grey eyes track every movement I make like I am his concern. I do not risk looking at him longer than a second because I cannot afford to.I walk past him and grab my towel off the rail. I reach for my clothes. Then. His hand closes around my wrist softly. I stop.

The bathroom is completely quiet except for the last drops of water falling slowly from the showerhead. I stare at his hand around my wrist while I wait for him to speak. His voice comes out low, like a mutter, but not soft at the same time. A heavy mutter.

“Where is he, Sophie?”

I don't breathe…“Where is my son?”