Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Leila’s POV
“Ollie!” I shouted from the living room. “Come on now, I'm going to be late for my meeting.”
I hopped on one foot, bouncing around the room like a frantic flamingo as I tried to squeeze my heel into the particularly stubborn stiletto.
No idea why I picked this pair. Or the black camisole over a pencil skirt and black pantyhose.
Of course, it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I was returning to the Moreau Estate to continue with planning the wedding ceremony slash wedding of my ex-Fated Mate, ex-lover, ex-boss, ex-everything.
No, no. This? This was how you dressed to impress at a work meeting. Nothing more.
It had been two whole days since I saw him again. Two whole nights of trying to will myself to sleep without seeing his face—his perfectly chiseled jaw lifting in that smug half smirk. Or his lean, muscular body draped in that suit that looked like it was custom-made for him.
God, I hated that everything about him was still perfect. It made it impossible to hate him properly. And I wanted to hate him. I needed to.
Because beneath the tailored charm was the man who’d turned his back on me when I needed him the most. Who believed the lies. Who rejected me without batting an eyelash.
The years had sculpted him into something even more dangerous. The charm was gone. He’d traded it in for something rougher, darker. I liked the stubble shadowing his jawline, the way his hair fell like he just rolled out of bed—messy but deliberate.
After five years, I liked to think I was more emotionally mature now. Stronger. Capable of ignoring the way my body still betrayed me when I saw him. Capable of reminding myself that the bond we shared didn’t just break—it was severed. And he was the one who wielded the knife.
Because this time, if I failed, the cost wasn’t just heartbreak. It was everything.
If I lost this job, which I already loathed with the heat of a thousand suns, I’d fall even deeper into debt.
And most terrifying of all, if Luca ever found out the truth, if he discovered I had his child five years ago and kept it from him, he’d rip Ollie from my arms. He had the power.
The law. The pack. He was Alpha of the second-largest pack in New York.
And he was Luca—unrelenting, merciless…and unapologetically himself.
I stepped outside to check the mailbox, half expecting to be haunted by another bill.
Two white envelopes stared back at me.
One for the electricity bill. The other for the phone bill.
Perfect.
Just…perfect.
I slammed the mailbox shut, harder than necessary, and stomped back inside. Ollie still wasn’t down.
“Ollie! If you’re not down in the next ten seconds—”
“Coming, Mom!”
Hurried footsteps rushed down the stairs.
“Hey, hey, careful—”
Too late. Before I even got to complete that sentence, he missed a step, tumbled down, and landed face-first at the bottom of the stairs.
My heart stopped.
“Ollie!” I rushed to him, panic flaring in me.
I gathered him into my arms, my hands scanning for broken bones. He winced as he tried to sit up, and I gently set him on the step. There was a nasty scrape on his knee.
I darted into the kitchen, yanked open the cabinet, and grabbed the first aid kit. But when I returned to patch him up, the scrape was gone.
Healed. Not a trace left.
I should be relieved. Grateful. My son didn’t have to feel pain—not like other kids.
But I didn’t feel relieved. Nor did I feel grateful. Because it wasn’t the fact that he healed so fast that made the blood drain from my face. It was why.
He was born of an Alpha bloodline, which meant his wolf-shifting abilities were amplified. And every day, his gift—this truth—was becoming harder to hide.
Ollie reached up, placing his small hand under my chin. “Mom?”
I forced a smile and covered his hand with mine. “Does it hurt anywhere?”
He shook his head. “Not anymore.”
“Okay. Good.” I closed the first aid box. “Come on,” I said softly, nudging him toward the kitchen. “Come have something to eat. I’m already late.”
As I poured the last bit of milk into his cereal bowl, I made a mental note to stop by the grocery store on my way home.
After I dropped Ollie off at Valerie’s place, I headed straight to the Estate.
About an hour later, I was sitting in the extravagant gazebo of the Moreau Estate, sipping what the servant had described as “sparkling water”. Frankly, I couldn’t tell the difference between that and regular water. They all tasted the same. Or rather, they were all just as tasteless.
As I waited, I tapped my foot nervously on the floor.
That sparkling water did nothing for my dry throat.
I was nervous—that much was clear. But why, exactly?
It’s not like I doubted my abilities. Sure, planning a wedding as extravagant as Elena Moreau’s—with opulence probably greater than a European presidential summit—was way out of my league.
But here’s the thing about me: once I set my sights on something, I made damn sure it worked out. Nothing could deter me.
Except a six-foot-four man who always wore suits custom made for him.
I sighed, pressing a hand to the back of my neck. That was it. That was the reason I was on edge. The fact that I might have to face Luca again.
When the servants led me toward the gazebo earlier, my eyes had done a quick sweep of the estate, scanning for any sign of him.
I didn’t catch a whiff of his scent, so I figured he wasn’t around.
Then again, the place was huge—at least ten times the size of my house.
He could’ve been holed up in one of the offices somewhere, growling into his phone or brooding like it was his full-time job.
Either way, I needed to prepare myself—mentally, physically, spiritually, whatever it took—for the possibility of him showing up. I pressed my palms against my thighs, trying to stop my legs from jittering. Then I focused on breathing. One steady breath. Then another. And another.
Just when I started to feel something close to calm settling over my nerves, I heard the sharp click of heels against the concrete floor.
My head whipped toward the sound, and I saw Elena walking—no, strutting—toward the gazebo in five-inch heels, and a green designer dress that clung to her body like a second skin.
Was she coming from a fashion show runway or something?
I noticed she was alone, and a massive sigh of relief slipped out of me. It felt like I’d just dodged a cannonball. My heart stopped beating irregularly, and for the fifty seconds it took Elena to catwalk her way to the gazebo, I actually dared to relax.
When she reached the entrance, I stood, offered a hand and a polite smile, then complimented her—because I was raised right.
“Lovely dress you have on, Elena.”
I don’t know what I was expecting. But I figured a normal human being without an attitude problem would smile and say thank you.
Instead, Elena gave me a slow once-over, a grimace hovering on her face like she’d just smelled something unpleasant.
“It’s a Vera Wang custom-made dress. I don’t presume you’d know anything about that.”
Joke was on her—I did know Vera Wang. I just never got past admiring her work from Pinterest boards and Instagram displays.
“Speaking of Vera Wang,” she continued. “I have an appointment with her this week for my custom wedding dress. I’d like you to find a bouquet that suits the dress colors.”
“Sure. I know some really good florists in the state.”
After the pleasantries had been exchanged—or at least, that’s what I thought they were—Elena finally settled into the seat across from me while I pulled my laptop from my bag.
“Based on your requirements, I made a few calls and narrowed down five potential venues for the wedding ceremony. I figured we’d start with that, since it’s only a few weeks away.”
“I’m sorry,” Elena said, arching a brow. “Did you say you made a few calls?”
The disbelief in her voice was as clear as the midday sky.
What did she think? That I didn’t have contacts?
I smiled again. It was the kind of smile people mistake for laughter—polished, polite, and painfully fake. I didn’t find anything she said particularly funny, but for the sake of professionalism…
“Let’s just say I know people who know people,” I replied. “And most of the calls I made were under your name. Everyone was more than willing once I mentioned Elena Moreau.”
She jutted her chin forward, crossed one perfectly toned leg over the other, and let a smug curl of satisfaction twist across her plush red lips.
“Of course they were. Let’s see the photos, hmm?”
I navigated to the slide show I’d prepared, which consisted of rear views, front views, side angles, aerial shots, and floor plans of all the venues.
This entire thing had kept me up for two nights.
Then Luca showed up in my head like an uninvited dream and scraped another few hours off my sleep total, bringing it to a grand sum of seven hours in the past forty-eight.
Thank God for concealer. Without it, the bags under my eyes would’ve been obvious a mile away.
“So, the first venue is…”
The words died on my lips. The entire world went still. Everything faded into the distance—the indignant smacking of Elena’s chewing gum, the sharp click of her nails tapping the table, the air around us. Even my breath. Oxygen vanished from my lungs.
I smelled him before I saw him. That earthy scent that used to wrap around me and make me feel safe once upon a time.
My gaze found the path Elena had strutted in on, and there he was.
Luca Vaughn.
In all his Alpha glory.
Wearing a suit so tailored it might as well have been stitched directly onto his body.
And just like that, the nerves were back.
In full force.
I was, once again, shitting my pants.
Didn’t he have anything better to do on a Wednesday morning than crash his own wedding planning meeting?