Chapter 26
ARIA
My phone rings, cutting through the silence of the guest house. I glance at the screen and see Mr. Bennet’s name.
I answer quickly. “Hello, Mr. Bennet. Is everything alright?”
“Dr. Sinclair.” His voice is gentle, but there’s hesitation in it. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all,” I say. “What’s wrong?”
“I apologize for calling like this,” he says. “But something’s come up, and I... well, I thought you should know about it.”
I lean against the desk. “Go on.”
“There’s a family here in the community. The Hastings. They’re quite wealthy—live in that big house on the hill past the park.”
He pauses. “Their daughter has the same illness my Mary had. Actually, it seems even worse. They’ve been searching for months, consulting specialists, trying everything. Nothing’s worked.”
My chest tightens. I remember Mary’s case. The careful combination of herbs and modern medicine that finally broke through.
“They noticed Mary was completely healed,” Mr. Bennet continues. “They came to me yesterday, asking—practically begging—to know how we did it. Who treated her.”
I close my eyes. “Mr. Bennet—”
“I know,” he says quickly. “I know it’s not my place to call you like this, especially when you’ve already moved on. But these people are desperate, Dr. Sinclair. Their daughter is six years old, and she’s suffering. I thought... I thought maybe you’d want to help. And I—” He stops himself.
“What is it?”
“I know you’ve been struggling with money,” he says quietly. “You’ve done so much for us, and I ... I wanted to help you back.”
The words hit me harder than I expect. My throat tightens.
“The Hastings are willing to pay well,” Mr. Bennet adds. “Very well. They named a figure.”
He tells me the amount.
I freeze.
It’s the exact amount I still owe on my debt. With a little left over. Enough to cover a few months of basic expenses while I figure out what comes next.
My hand trembles against the phone.
With this money, I wouldn’t need Declan’s offer. I could leave this pack right now. Go back to my children and never look back.
But I made an agreement. I accepted Declan’s case. I gave my word.
The hesitation lasts only a moment.
“Mr. Bennet,” I say, my voice steadying. “Thank you for thinking of me. And I’m so grateful that you and everyone in the community care. But I can’t leave the work I’m already committed to.”
“Oh.” He sounds disappointed but understanding.
“But I can write down the treatment protocol,” I continue. “Everything I used for Mary. You can give it to the Hastings, and they can take it to their daughter’s doctor. It should help.”
“You’d do that?”
“Of course. You’ve all done so much for me. It’s the least I can do.”
“Dr. Sinclair, you’re—” His voice catches slightly. “You’re a good person. The whole community thinks so too. We noticed you weren’t happy when you left. We just wanted you to know that we care. That this place—these people, we’re here for you whenever you need us.”
The tears threaten again, hot and insistent behind my eyes.
I was an undocumented person when I stumbled into that community six years ago. No history. No identification. No proof I existed in the human world at all. I should have been turned away, reported, or worse.
But they didn’t do any of that.
They helped me. Accepted me. Sarah and her family took me in when I was bleeding and terrified. The neighbors smiled at me when I moved into my townhouse. They brought casseroles when the babies were born. They trusted me with their health, their children, their lives.
It’s the best place I’ve ever lived. The only place that’s ever felt like home.
Growing up in the pack, I was always the rankless orphan. The girl who didn’t belong. The one the others shoved aside or tripped in the hallways. The one who ate alone in the dining hall because no one wanted to sit with her.
That community showed me what it felt like to be wanted. To be valued. To matter.
“Thank you,” I whisper into the phone. “Thank you so much.”
“We’re the ones who should be thanking you, Dr. Sinclair. You take care of yourself, alright? And come home soon. Those babies of yours miss you.”
“I will. I promise.”
We say our goodbyes, and I end the call.
I stand there for a moment, phone still pressed to my chest, letting the weight of the conversation settle.
Then I lower the phone and turn toward the door.
The folded paper on the floor catches my eye immediately.
I walk over and pick it up. Declan’s handwriting is neat and precise across the page—an apology letter.
I read the first few lines.
I apologize for what happened today. Celeste was out of line...
My jaw tightens.
I don’t finish reading. I crumple the paper into a tight ball and walk across the room to the trash can. The paper hits the bottom with a soft thud.
Good.
I turn back and notice something else—the diagnostic report I’d shoved into Declan’s arms earlier. It’s sitting on the small table near the door, exactly where he must have left it before I threw him out.
I pick it up, scanning the pages to make sure everything’s in order.
Footsteps echo from outside.
I look up.
A figure stands in the doorway, backlit by the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows behind him. For a moment, all I see is a silhouette—broad shoulders, powerful build, tall enough that he fills the entire doorframe.
Then he moves forward, and the light shifts.
He’s stunning.
Not in the polished, controlled way Declan is. Not in the gentle, earnest way Ethan is.
This man is wild.
His hair is dark and slightly too long, falling across his forehead in a way that suggests he doesn’t care much about appearances. His features are sharp—high cheekbones, a strong jaw shadowed with stubble, a mouth that looks like it’s more used to smirking than smiling.
But it’s his eyes that catch me. Amber, like burnished gold, with an intensity that makes something in my chest tighten. They’re the eyes of a predator—focused, assessing, missing nothing.
He’s wearing a simple black shirt that stretches across his chest and arms, emphasizing the raw strength in his frame.
Every movement is deliberate, controlled, like a wolf prowling through unfamiliar territory.
His stride is powerful and steady, the kind of walk that says he’s never had to prove himself because everyone already knows what he’s capable of.
There’s a scar cutting through his left eyebrow, another along his jawline. Battle marks. This is a man who’s fought and won.
He radiates danger. Not the cold, calculated danger of an Alpha giving orders. This is something more primal. Untamed. Like he’s only barely holding himself back from doing something reckless.
He stops a few feet from me, his eyes scanning my face—or what he can see of it behind the mask.
Then he hesitates.
His brow furrows slightly, confusion flickering across those sharp features.
“Are you...” He pauses, his voice low and rough. “Aria?”
NOTE:
Before anyone jumps on me, I want to say a few things.
Yes, I am continuing this story. However, I put it on hold for a reason—I was completely blocked.
While I have now figured out how the story will continue, I want to be upfront and say that the direction is not exactly the same as the one I originally had in mind when I started writing it.
So if the story goes somewhere unexpected, please remember that I’ve already warned you!
I’ve also removed the book from subscription because updates are going to be slow. As you can probably see from my profile, I currently have three ongoing books, and I can only do so much at once—especially while working on my master’s degree.
That said, I’m excited to be back with this story, and I truly hope you enjoy the journey ahead.
If you spot any mistakes, plot holes, or things that could be improved, please feel free to point them out.
I’ll be revisiting everything when I work on the final draft, and your feedback is always appreciated.
Thank you for your patience, support, and understanding. I love you all ??