Chapter 62

Richard

I watched the hallway long after the door closed behind me, long after her scent faded and the quiet sounds of her breathing cracked into sobs she thought I wouldn’t hear. My wolf paced furiously inside me, restless and near feral, urging me to turn around, to break the door down if I had to, to fix it with words or touch or whatever it took. But I couldn’t.

Because if I did, I wouldn’t be able to walk away again.

I made it halfway down the corridor before I stopped, one hand pressed against the wall, bracing myself like the ground was shifting under me. My chest felt too tight. I couldn’t draw a clean breath. It was like coming off the battlefield, only worse. Because I didn’t get to count my wounds this time. I didn’t get to tally the damage.

Because she was the damage.

And I was the cause.

The problem was never Amelia. It was everything around her. It was the weight of my crown and the bloodied expectations that came with it. And lately, it was also Jenny.

The night Elsa returned had been a calculated ambush. Not a violent one, not like the rogue strike teams or assassination attempts. This was social warfare. Subtle. Political. And far more dangerous.

It began with a council dinner Jenny insisted on hosting. "Rebuilding old bridges," she called it. A curated guest list. Hand-picked staff. And I, distracted by budget meetings and southern border tensions, let her handle the details. I thought she was trying to be helpful.

She wasn’t.

I should’ve seen it when she floated the idea of inviting "old friends." When she suggested photographers. When she fussed over which vintage wines Elsa used to prefer.

And then Elsa arrived.

What Amelia didn’t know, what I never told her, was that the council wasn’t just grumbling behind closed doors anymore. There were whispers of secession. Of withdrawing support from my campaign entirely and backing David, who was suddenly courting allies with renewed aggression. His message was clear: he was unmated, unburdened, and beholden to no girl with a scandal attached to her name.

The optics were crumbling. The media painted me as distracted. Softened. The attack at the facility and the rumors about Amelia had worsened everything. Voters were losing confidence. Allies were getting nervous. War was looming on the edge of reason, and my Pack, my legacy, stood to fracture.

So when Jenny came to me with her ridiculous plan to bring Elsa back, I didn’t stop her.

Because in some twisted way, it worked.

The moment Elsa appeared beside Jenny, all the noise began to quiet. Council members shifted in their chairs. Reporters retracted their nastiest leads. And the voters, the ones who wanted a strong king with a picture-perfect family, started listening again.

It was poison I had to swallow to stop the bleeding.

And I couldn’t tell Amelia any of it.

Because if she knew, if she realized how dire things were, she would have stepped down. She would have removed herself from the council, resigned from the campaign. She would have said she couldn’t be the reason the Pack lost faith.

And I couldn’t let her do that.

I didn’t want a kingdom that didn’t have her in it.

She entered like she still belonged here. A silk dress. Heels that barely made a sound. A knowing smile. And every camera in the room turned, flashes clicking like hammers of a firing squad.

Jenny had beamed like a debutante. "Look who flew in early! Isn’t this perfect timing, Dad?"

No. No, it wasn’t.

I hadn’t seen Elsa in years. We hadn’t spoken since the bond broke, a clean fracture, deliberate and unkind. I didn’t expect to see her in the flesh again, much less on my daughter’s arm, being paraded like a political pawn.

And the council had eaten it up.

Because she was palatable. Graceful. Acceptable.

The next morning, she was strolling the botanical park with Jenny, just long enough to be seen by our media liaisons. By the end of the week, she was attending small events and fundraisers, perfectly poised beside my daughter, smiling just enough to fuel speculation but never confirming anything outright.

She didn’t have to.

That was the cruelty of it. The way she slipped into old roles like nothing had changed. The way she let rumors do the heavy lifting.

And I let it happen.

Because Jenny made it clear what was at stake. “You want to win, don’t you?” she asked. "The public likes her. She’s safe. Familiar. Stable."

Then she said it. Not Amelia’s name, but the shadow of it. "You can’t have her hovering around while the council thinks you’re unraveling."

I wanted to scream.

Because that’s what it felt like. Like I was unraveling. Like I was losing ground with every lie I let stand.

But I needed time.

Time to get the final vote secured. Time to finish arranging our war councils. Time to make the Pack believe I was exactly what they needed: an Alpha without weakness, without bias, without the girl he couldn’t stop crawling back to.

Even if every step of it made me bleed.

We hadn’t spoken since the last fight. Since I left her apartment with her voice still echoing in my ears, broken and furious. Since I let her know that she made me weak.

She’d avoided me with surgical precision. In meetings, she arrived on time, took notes, never met my eye. Her reports were flawless. Her posture, perfect. It was like watching a ghost of her occupy the space beside me. A ghost wearing Amelia’s face.

And I deserved it.

But I couldn’t stop watching her.

I tracked her across briefing rooms. Watched her retreat through corridors. Noticed when she flinched at a council member’s words or when her fingers twitched, like she wanted to lash out but didn’t. I noticed everything.

Because I missed her like a severed limb.

So I left her something.

Not an apology, not something that would actually make up for anything I'd done. Just a book.

A political memoir she’d mentioned once in passing, voice soft and wistful like she didn’t expect anyone to care. It was long out of print, forgotten by most. But I found a first edition in an antique shop two territories over and had it couriered in secret.

I left it on her desk. No note, no name.

She’d know.

The next day, I found her in the garden.

Of course it was the garden. Early morning, dew still fresh on the stone paths. Sunlight just beginning to edge over the walls. It had always been her place. A place where she could breathe.

She was crouched beside a thorn bush, gloves on, pruning with focused, furious precision. I stood a few feet away, watching, until I cleared my throat.

She didn’t look up. "You left me a book."

I stepped closer. "You mentioned it once. I thought it might help with your thesis notes."

She stood, not bothering to hide her glare. "You think you can say everything through gifts instead of actual words."

I clenched my jaw. "I don’t know what you want from me anymore."

"I want the truth, Richard. The truth. Not half-strategies and calculated omissions."

I stared at her, heart pounding. She looked tired. Hard. Beautiful.

"I never wanted Elsa back," I said quietly. "Jenny orchestrated everything. To make me look stable. To protect my image. To distance me from..."

She folded her arms. "From me."

I nodded, helpless. "Yes."

Her laugh was bitter. "So I’m a liability now. A risk you can’t afford."

"It was never about that."

"Then what was it about? Why do you keep doing this? Acting like you want me and then pulling away the second it costs something?"

"Because I do want you!" I shouted. "And that terrifies me."

She blinked.

"You make me weak, Amelia. Every instinct in me screams to guard you, to choose you. And when I do, the council sees it. Our enemies see it. They see where to strike."

Her voice cracked. "So you choose them instead. Every time."

I stepped toward her. "I’m trying to keep us alive. You, mostly."

"Don’t pretend this is noble," she hissed. "You let them tear me down in council. You stood silent while they called me a traitor. You hid behind Elsa while I took the brunt of every rumor."

I didn’t argue. I couldn’t. Because she was right.

She came even closer, eyes burning. "You could have shut it all down. You could have told them the truth. That we weren’t a scandal. That I mattered. That you felt something. But you didn’t."

I looked down.

She whispered, "And you still haven’t. And that's pretty fucking confusing, Richard."

The silence was thick. Unforgiving.

Finally, I said the only thing I had left.

"I’m sorry. For all of it."

She nodded once.

Then she walked away.

And I stood there.

Because everything she said was true.

And because she deserved to walk away from the man who made her feel like a footnote to his strategy.

Even if that man still wanted nothing more than to follow her into the fire.