Chapter 28
Reinstatement
Alexa
I want to protect the people I love.
Even if that person turns their back on me. Even if they insist on protecting me in their own stubborn way. I will still protect them in every way I can. Even if it costs me myself.
When Gabriel orders the guards to beat Harlow, something inside me splinters. Each punch lands like it strikes my own bones. Each kick feels like it caves in my ribs.
Doesn’t he understand what this is doing to me? His wounds will heal by tomorrow. His body recovers faster than most, but that doesn’t make it easier to watch.
No one should be hurting him. Not anymore. He is my true mate.
My hand presses against my chest as if I can physically hold the ache in place, as if I can keep it from spilling out. And yet, Harlow stands there and denies it. He refuses to admit what we both know. If that’s truly what he wants, then I won’t hesitate to give him exactly what he asks for.
“I can’t keep watching this,” Mythril groans inside my head, her voice thick with fury and grief as Harlow absorbs another brutal blow.
“Neither can I.”
“I’ll accept it,” I say at last, my voice trembling despite every effort to steady it.
* * *
Throughout the ride back to my house, Gabriel keeps talking, his voice light and satisfied as if this is some long-awaited celebration. He tells me how glad he is that I have finally agreed to become Luna. I answer with short murmurs, barely more than polite sounds.
My mind is nowhere near him. It spins in one direction only. I need to free Harlow. As soon as possible.
Nervousness coils tighter in my chest the closer we get. By the time we stop in front of the Dawson estate, it wraps around me completely. Two guards remain at the gate. Two more follow us inside.
I lift my eyes to the house I once called home. It looks the same at first glance, yet something feels wrong. The front yard is overgrown. Wild grass swallows the ornamental shrubs. Moss clings to the walls, creeping into the cracks. Cream paint peels from the surface in tired flakes.
It looks abandoned. What happened during the six years I was gone?
An elderly servant I don’t recognize opens the door. Her eyes flicker over me before she bows stiffly.
“Welcome home,” Gabriel says with a relieved smile, as if he has personally restored order to my life.
I barely react when Mrs. Gertrude and Lorraine stand inside the foyer, waiting. They are smiling. I have never in my life imagined seeing them smile at me like that.
Mrs. Gertrude looks mostly the same. Her hair is twisted into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, the way Omega women often style it when they try to pass for nobility. Yet her skin looks smoother than before. Her cheeks are brighter. She appears younger than she did six years ago.
“Alexa! Oh, thank the Goddess, you’re safe!” she cries, rushing forward. “You’ve grown even prettier, child!”
She throws her arms around me. The hug is tight. Too tight. My lungs protest under the pressure, and I cough softly before she releases me.
Lorraine steps forward next, her movements slower, almost delicate.
“Alexa,” she says softly, clasping both my hands. “I’m sorry for everything that happened before. I hope you can forgive me, sister.”
She’s thinner now. Her cheeks are hollow, her arms lean beneath the sleeveless black dress she wears. The color makes her look as though she’s in mourning, not celebrating my return. What are they playing at?
“What in the world is this?” Mythril growls inside my head. “Don’t buy a word of it.”
I glance at Gabriel with a slight frown. He gives me a small nod, that same satisfied smile lingering on his lips.
“It looks like Gabriel announced your return ahead of time,” Mythril warns. “Be careful.”
“I understand.”
“It’s fine,” I say calmly, withdrawing my hands from Lorraine’s grip. “I get it.”
I don’t linger on pleasantries. “Where’s Mr. Pascoe?” I ask. “Let’s not waste time.”
“Oh, he’s in the library,” Lady Gertrude replies in a syrupy tone that doesn’t reach her eyes.
I turn without another word and walk toward the library. My heartbeat quickens with every step. By the time I stand before the door, it pounds hard enough to make my fingers tremble.
My hand hovers over the doorknob. My palm feels cold. I curl my fingers into a fist, steadying myself.
When I finally touch the knob, a chill runs up my spine. I turn it slowly, and the door creaks open. My heart stutters as I look inside.
“Father,” I whisper.
Tears rise instantly, blurring my vision. Emotion crashes over me so suddenly my knees nearly give way. After so long, I see that familiar silhouette again. The figure who fills my daydreams. The one who visits me in sleep. I step forward, trembling.
“Alexa? Is that you?”
The man rises from behind the desk, his voice thick with shock. And then reality settles.
It’s not my father.
At first glance, he looks so similar. His posture is the same height, enough to cast an identical silhouette across the floor. The outline of his broad shoulders mirrors the one etched in my memory. Gray strands sprinkle through his neatly trimmed brown hair. But he’s not Robert Dawson.
The man standing there is Mr. Pascoe. My father’s childhood friend. Their resemblance is strong enough that strangers often mistake them for twins.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, wiping at my tears.
“It’s all right,” he replies gently, exhaling as if he has been holding his breath. “It’s good to see you again, Alexa. I’ve been waiting for you these past six years. I knew you would come back.” He reaches out, and I shake his hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Pascoe,” I answer softly.
“Please, sit.” He gestures toward the sofa chairs. “Mrs. Gertrude has prepared tea for us.”
Gabriel informs me that he will remain by the door to ensure no one interrupts. He closes it behind him, granting us privacy. Mr. Pascoe pours tea into a delicate cup and places it before me.
“I’m sorry I could only come now,” I say.
“It’s understandable,” he replies with a nod. “Given everything you’ve been through.”
After my father passed and the hospital incident shattered everything I thought I knew, I wasn’t mentally prepared for any of it. I locked myself in my room, and Mrs. Geeny forbade anyone from seeing me. My world shrank to four walls and a storm inside my head that never quieted.
It took me six years for me to untangle the false memories Mrs. Geeny had planted in my mind, time to recognize which thoughts were mine and which were carefully stitched lies.
Back then, I wasn’t allowed to speak to Mr. Pascoe at all while Mrs. Gertrude and Lorraine squandered my family’s wealth as if it were an endless river that would never run dry. When I finally arranged a meeting with Mr. Pascoe, my mother sold me at an auction instead.
Now everything stands where it should have stood from the beginning. This time I meet Mr. Pascoe to claim what remains of my father’s estate and use it to repay the debt to Alpha Alastair.
I can only hope Mrs. Gertrude hasn’t drained it all. At the very least, this house can still be sold. After that, I can leave Silver Moon and live freely somewhere far from these walls. Maybe that’s just a false hope, but I won’t give up. I’ll find a way to run from Gabriel.
“You all set?” he asks, lifting his cup and taking an easy sip.
“I’m set,” I reply, placing my teacup carefully onto its saucer.
Mr. Pascoe sets his tea aside and opens a folder thick with documents. He hands them to me one by one, explaining each page with patient detail. The Dawson family, a noble line of pure Alpha blood, still holds a staggering number of assets.
Families like ours are born into privilege. The Moon Goddess once granted werewolf power to only a select few men and women. Their bloodlines multiplied, spreading across the land until they divided into packs.
To this day, five of the largest and strongest packs preserve pure Alpha blood.
Three stand closest to us: the Silver Moon Pack, the Blood Moon Pack, and the First Light Pack.
The other two lie far to the north and east. Perhaps that distance is a blessing, since the three nearest packs clash often and leave chaos in their wake.
Within the Silver Moon Pack, my family carries pure Alpha lineage. Ten other noble families remain, their eldest heads serving as advisors. We call them the elders, and they guide the Alpha with counsel that is supposed to be wise and just.
“Your father’s inheritance is worth close to one billion dollars,” Mr. Pascoe explains. “Most of it’s tied up in fixed assets. Fields, plantations, farms, and this house. There are vehicles, gold, and jewelry as well.”
“And the money in the bank account?” My breath catches in my throat.
“It’s all been spent on Mrs. Gertrude’s medical treatment.” He shakes his head slowly.
“That’s a load of nonsense. What treatment?” I groan, my forehead creasing as the words sink in.
“She claimed she traveled overseas for bone and joint pain,” Mr. Pascoe says carefully.
“Bone and joint pain? You mean plastic surgery. That woman hasn’t been sick a day in her life. How could you let her burn through all that money?” My voice sharpens despite my effort to stay steady.
“I’m sorry, Alexa. She was your legal guardian at the time, and you weren’t yet ready to manage the estate. Under our law, she had the right to control that account for your needs.” He rubs his temple.
“My needs? For Goddess’ sake! She sold me, Mr. Pascoe.”
My breath turns ragged. Frustration builds inside me like pressure behind a sealed door. The elders praise this law as righteous and sacred, yet it reduces me to collateral in Mrs. Gertrude’s greed.
“She sold me to cover her debts so I couldn’t meet you and claim my father’s inheritance. She didn’t deserve a single cent of that money.” My body trembles as my fists clench at my sides. I force myself not to let my anger spill onto the one person who at least tries to help.