Aria’s POV
I looked at Nathan, at the man I had once loved with the whole, uncomplicated faith of soone who had not yet learned that love was not the sa as safety. At the man who had stood and watched be led away. At the man who had cried in the hallway outside my door and signed divorce papers with a shaking hand.
At the man who had helped as much as he could in my quest to clear my na and make my father pay fof his cris.
He was all of those n at once. People were not simple. I knew that, but I was done, completely done with the man standing in front of .
"No, I can’t do that." I said.
He closed his eyes briefly.
"Nathan." My voice was not unkind. "It’s not that I don’t believe you. I think sothing in you has genuinely changed and will continue to change."
I held his gaze. "But change doesn’t erase what was. And I can’t unlearn what it felt like to be in that cell and know help wasn’t coming. I can’t undo what my wolf learned about what it felt like to need you and have nothing." I shook my head. "I have forgiven you. That’s real. But I am never coming back. And you need to build your life knowing that, instead of building it around hoping I’ll change my mind."
He stood very still.
"I an that kindly," I said. "I genuinely do."
"I know," he said. His voice was rough. "I know you do."
There was a sound behind . Rowland had co to stand in the fra of the door. I saw Nathan’s eyes go to him, and sothing moved across his face. He breathed in through his nose and his hands ca out of his pockets and clenched.
"Why do you keep hanging around her? Why can’t you just let her be?" he asked Raymond.
"Aria and I go way back, Uncle," Rowland said, his tone carefully controlled, "I am never leaving her side. A woman like her is many n’s dream. I know her worth. Which is sothing you know too. You just learned it too late."
Nathan’s jaw tightened. "You were my nephew before you were her—"
"I’m still your nephew," Rowland said. "That doesn’t change what I feel for her."
"Stay away from—"
"Nathan." My voice was flat and final. "Stop."
The punch ca before I had finished the sentence.
I moved imdiately. My wolf pushed forward, fast, and I was between them before either of them fully knew it had happened. My hand was against Nathan’s chest, my voice cutting through the snarl that was rising from Rowland’s throat.
"Enough," I said.
Logan appeared in the doorway, having clearly been waiting for an excuse, and started toward Nathan.
"Logan, don’t," I said sharply.
He stopped.
I turned. I looked at all three of them. Nathan, breathing hard, his fist still half-raised. Rowland, coiled and ready, his eyes gold. Logan, barely contained.
"Look at this," I said quietly. "Look at what you’re doing."
None of them spoke.
"I am not a territory," I said. "I am not a decision that gets made by whoever throws the last punch. I am a person. My daughter is sleeping inside that house. And the three of you are standing on my step behaving like wolves who have never learned to walk upright."
There was silence.
"You will all go ho," I said. "Tonight. Right now."
Nathan lowered his hand. Sothing in him deflated.
Rowland said nothing, which from him was more controlled than I had expected.
Logan raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and took a step back.
"Go," I said.
They all went.
I stood on the step and watched the night close around their retreating shapes. Then I went back inside, closed the door, leaned against it, and breathed.
Chloe handed my wine glass.
"That," she said, "is why you are the most intimidating person I have ever t."
I took the glass. "The cake is excessive," I told Williams.
He bead. "Thank you."
Nathan’s POV
I did not go ho. I went to a bar instead.
The bar was quiet at that hour. I went to the private lounge, a place where Alphas went when they needed to be anonymous, where the staff understood that the first rule of service was not to rember faces. I took a booth and I drank.
Collins found at the second hour. He had been worried, he said. He was always worried. Collins was a better man than I deserved as a witness to the worst versions of myself.
"Alpha Nathan—"
"Sit down," I said. He sat. "Don’t tell to stop drinking. I’m not drunk. I’m just not sober."
He looked at the glass in my hand and then at my face and appeared to make a calculated decision.
"Alright," he said.
I looked at the wood grain of the table.
"She said no," I said.
Collins was quiet.
"She didn’t say it with anger," I said. "That would almost have been easier. She said it like hwr mind was completely made up and she was just making sure I knew." I turned the glass in my hands. "She’s right, Collins. I know she’s right. That’s the worst part. Every single thing she said to tonight was right."
"She usually is," Collins said carefully.
I let out a short, humourless sound. "My grandmother tried to warn . She asked — if you were Aria, would you take yourself back? And I knew then. I knew what the answer was." I set the glass down. "I just couldn’t stop."
"It takes ti," Collins said, "to stop wanting sothing you’ve wanted for years."
"I’m not going to stop wanting it," I said flatly. "That’s not what’s going to happen. I’m going to want it for the rest of my life and I’m going to have to figure out how to live in a way that doesn’t inflict that on her." I looked at him.
"She has built sothing real. She has a life. She has Lana. She has—" I stopped. Pushed the thought of Rowland aside, because that particular thought still made my wolf lunge. "She has people around her who actually deserve to be there."
Collins looked at steadily.
"I wasted it," I said. "I had a woman who loved from the beginning. She loved for who I was not what I had and I punished her for it because I was afraid of needing soone." I shook my head slowly. "Don’t do that, Collins. If you have soone who looks at you the way Aria used to look at , don’t waste that. Don’t make them earn what they already gave you freely."
"I know," Collins said quietly.
"Don’t take it for granted." I picked up the glass again. "Don’t wait until you’ve destroyed it to understand what it was."
Collins sat with for a long ti after that, saying nothing. It was, I thought, the most useful thing he had ever done.
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