My fingers tighten around the phone 71

Aria’s POV
The morning light streamed through the tall windows of Shadow Fang’s ancestral home as Ethan’s mother and
grandmother led me away from the main sitting room. I could feel Emma’s eyes burning into my back as we left. We wandered through corridors adorned with paintings of stern-faced alphas from generations past.
Luna eventually excused herself to attend to pack business, while Ethan’s grandmother gently guided me into what
appeared to be a private study. The room smelled of old books and sandalwood, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and
comfortable leather chairs positioned near a large stone fireplace.
She gestured for me to sit in one of the chairs, then settled herself opposite me. Her hands—delicate yet strong—
reached out to clasp mine, her touch warm and reassuring.
“Child,” she began, her voice carrying the weight of years and wisdom, “you must have endured so much these past
years.” Her thumb traced small circles on the back of my hand, the gesture so motherly it made my throat tighten
unexpectedly. “You have just few family left.” The bluntness of her words startled me, but there was no judgment in her
tone—only understanding.
“Would you allow me to be a grandmother to you?” Her eyes held mine steadily, filled with such genuine warmth that I
found myself momentarily speechless. “Consider me your grandmother. Come see me whenever you wish.”
The unexpected kindness from this woman I’d just met broke through defenses I didn’t realize I still maintained. After
years of fighting alone, of protecting Lucas with nothing but my own strength, the simple offer of familial connection felt
like a hand reaching into dark waters to pull me to shore.
I swallowed hard against the knot forming in my throat. “Thank you, Grandmother,” I replied softly, the title feeling
foreign yet somehow right on my tongue.
Her face brightened at my words, the lines around her eyes crinkling with genuine pleasure. She squeezed my hands
once more before releasing them, looking as though she wanted to say more. But before she could continue, a soft
knock interrupted us.
A petite Omega house servant appeared at the doorway, her head bowed respectfully. “Excuse me, Madam,” she murmured, “it’s time for your medication.”
Grandmother sighed with good-natured exasperation. “The tyranny of old age,” she confided to me with a conspiratorial
wink. Rising from her chair with surprising grace, she patted my shoulder. “Explore the house if you’d like, dear. This old
place has many interesting corners. We’ll talk more later.”
Once alone, I found myself reluctant to return to the sitting room where Emma undoubtedly waited. The thought of
enduring more of her sugary-sweet pretense made my stomach turn.
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The hallway outside the study stretched in both directions, lined with even more portraits. I wandered slowly, studying
the faces of Ethan’s ancestors. The resemblance was striking in some—the same strong jaw, the same piercing green eyes.
I turned down another corridor, my boots sinking into thick carpet that muffled every step. Movement flickered at the
corner of my vision—a half-open door at the hallway’s end, hushed voices spilling through the gap. One voice rose above
the others, distinctly female, carrying a plaintive quality that made my skin prickle with recognition.
Emma.
Every instinct screamed at me to walk away, but something in Emma’s voice—a fragility I’d never heard from this
manipulative snake before—froze me in place. Like witnessing a car crash, I couldn’t tear myself away from the unfolding
disaster. My feet moved of their own accord as I crept closer, slipping into the shadow of a massive antique armoire near
the doorway. I pressed my back against the cool wood, heart hammering so loudly I feared they might hear it.
“You were my first, Ethan,” Emma’s voice dripped with synthetic vulnerability, each syllable carefully crafted for maximum
emotional impact. “I fell in love with you that night. I need you.” Her words turned breathier, more intimate. “Remember
how it felt? You above me, inside me… we were so happy…”
My stomach lurched violently, acid burning up my esophagus. The calculated intimacy of her performance made my skin
crawl.
“Emma—” Ethan’s voice cut through the room, deep and measured, but whatever he intended to say evaporated into the
tension-filled air.
A beat of silence followed, heavy and suffocating. Then, with horrifying certainty, I felt rather than saw Emma’s attention
shift. Her head turned slowly, deliberately, her gaze sliding past Ethan’s shoulder to lock with mine. Our eyes met across
the space, and in that frozen moment, I saw what no one else could—the flash of triumph lighting her eyes from within,
the corner of her mouth twitching with satisfaction before she expertly rearranged her features.
In one fluid, calculated movement, she threw herself against Ethan’s chest, her manicured fingers clutching at his shirt. Her body molded against his with practiced precision, like a parasite finding its host.
“Please don’t leave me,” she sobbed, her voice cracking with such perfectly timed fragility it could have won an award. A
single tear slid down her cheek. “You’re all I have.”
I stumbled backward, my throat constricting painfully as if all the oxygen had suddenly been sucked from the room. Bile
rose sharp and bitter at the back of my throat, the acid burn of it matching the volcanic churn in my stomach. My ears
buzzed with the rush of blood, and waves of nausea crashed through me as a peculiar hollowness spread through my
chest.