Chapter 173
Ellie POV
The next morning, my mouth still tastes like cake.
Even though I brushed my teeth five times before bed.
Five.
And somehow, I can still taste chocolate frosting.
Apparently, cake is immortal.
Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for my ability to forget the smell outside the prison.
Bleach.
And something older underneath.
Rust, maybe.
The kind of smell that settles into the walls.
The kind of air that never really leaves.
Almost like the people inside.
Dominic insists on walking me to the entrance.
But he doesn’t follow me at this time.
Which is probably for the best.
I’m still not over the fact that we’re…
Holding hands.
Right now.
When did that become normal?
When did I become the kind of person who lets Dominic Blackwood walk beside her like this?
People are looking.
Glancing.
Whispering.
My head immediately lowers.
I wasn’t even sure why I was allowing it.
Maybe because arguing felt exhausting.
Maybe because his hand was warm.
Maybe because, for once, I didn’t want to pull away.
Before I step inside, he squeezes my hand once.
“You’ll be fine.”
His voice is calm.
“It’s good news.”
I roll my eyes.
“I’m visiting my mother.”
I look at him.
“Not entering battle.”
The corner of his mouth twitches.
And somehow…
I smile.
A real one.
Then the doors close behind me.
I immediately grab my own hand and frown.
Did I smile and wave?
Like some lovesick idiot?
That was extremely girly.
Ew.
No.
Absolutely not.
Inside, the guards recognize me now.
The future Luna.
Suddenly, they’re polite.
Doors open faster.
People smile.
Requests get approved.
And I hate it.
Mostly.
But…
I also kind of appreciate it.
Which is annoying.
When my mother walks into the visiting room, I forget about everything else.
She looks smaller every time I see her.
Or maybe I’m just noticing it more.
There’s more silver in her hair.
More tiredness around her eyes.
But the second she sees me, her entire face changes.
Softens.
And for a moment…
I’m not a Luna.
Not a bride.
Not a political decision.
I’m just her daughter.
We hug.
Too long.
I don’t care.
When she finally pulls back, she studies me.
“You’re glowing.”
I immediately shake my head.
“I’m stressed.”
“My little Luna.”
She smiles like she doesn’t believe me.
I sit down and pull out my phone.
“Okay.”
I take a breath.
“Good news first.”
Her hands tighten together.
I know she’s afraid to hope.
“As we said…”
I hesitate.
“Dominic handled it.”
Her expression shifts.
“The case is reopened.”
Her eyes widen.
“They found mistakes.”
I continue.
“Missing documents. Things that should never have been accepted.”
I swallow.
“His family pushed hard.”
A pause.
“And there’s evidence of tampering.”
Her eyes fill instantly.
“You’re coming home.”
The words come out softer.
“Not today.”
I squeeze her hand.
“But soon.”
She covers her mouth.
Her shoulders shake.
Tears fall.
I reach across the table and hold her fingers before the guard can say anything.
“He did that?”
Her voice breaks.
I nod.
“He did.”
Later, after she finally calms down…
I show her the pictures.
And then she cries again.
This time about the wedding.
The venue.
The ridiculous amount of flowers.
The cake tasting.
The dress.
The fact that it’s actually mine.
“Ellie!”
She gasps when she sees it.
“How did you—”
“It’s being tailored.”
I smile slightly.
“You’re taller than me, obviously.”
I swipe through the photos.
“But the lace is delicate.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Like it would fall apart if someone breathed too hard near it.”
She laughs.
“I had to argue with the seamstress about keeping the sleeves.”
I look at the picture.
“I like the sleeves.”
This is the one thing I actually cared about.
In my first life…
I let Dominic’s mother dress me.
A giant, dramatic gown.
Beautiful.
Expensive.
Made for a queen.
Just not me.
This time?
I choose.
Something that feels like mine.
Something I actually want.
“Oh,” my mother whispers.
She touches the screen.
“You’re going to look…”
She smiles.
“Just like I did.”
I make a face.
“I hope not.”
Her eyebrows lift.
“I saw your old photos.”
I pause.
“Your hair was tragic.”
She laughs.
Really laughs.
And for a moment, everything feels normal.
Then her smile softens.
“Your father would be proud.”
The warmth fades slightly.
“He would be so happy.”
A pause.
“You found your fated mate.”
The words settle strangely inside me.
“We…”
She looks down.
“Your father and I really loved each other.”
I don’t answer.
“He would be happy you ended up with him.”
Her voice grows softer.
“With someone strong.”
A pause.
“Just like him.”
I look at her.
Then tilt my head.
“Mom.”
She blinks.
“Dad.”
I clarify.
“What was he actually like?”
The question catches her off guard.
I look at the pictures.
“Would he have picked chocolate cake or vanilla?”
A small smile appears.
“Vanilla.”
She laughs softly.
“He always liked simple things.”
I groan.
“Great.”
I point at myself.
“I picked chocolate.”
She smiles.
“Well, dear.”
“It’s your wedding.”
“Not his.”
We laugh.
Just for a moment.
But then I wait.
For more.
A story.
Something real.
Something about him.
Something I never got.
But she doesn’t continue.
Her gaze drifts back to the photos.
And something about that silence feels strange.