Braila’s Chains - Trapped Between Them.

We Never Said Goodbye.

What’s going on?

Where could she have gone without telling me? Did Ren go after her… because of the baby?

“Did the priestess say the child is Gifford’s?” he asked quietly over the phone.

“Yeah,” I said.

When we first found out Braila was pregnant. I didn’t want to believe it. But the priestess never lies.

When Ren called and asked about the pregnancy, he sounded... hurt. Maybe even disappointed.

There was a long silence. Then he asked again, “Where is Braila?”

“She’s with Gifford,” I told him.

“Watch over her. I’m picking her up tomorrow.”

Then he hung up.

I didn’t understand why he told me to watch her… but I listened. Still, I didn’t see Braila at all that day. Later that night, Ren texted me. He said she was with him.

A few days later, Gifford called me. He told me to keep an eye out. Braila was coming back to the pack. He sounded worried. I had to step in and protect her. Like he said, things would escalate if I didn’t step in. I knew Braila didn’t belong to the pack anymore. But still... I hoped things would be okay.

I was wrong.

I tried to stop my father. He slapped me so hard the side of my mouth tore open. I recalled my previous scar in the same spot, which never healed. It happened during one of his wild ruts. And even now, it’s still there. The scars of his claws at each side of my mouth.

Braila loves Gifford.

And Gifford… he loves her too. But he’s still tied to Layla.

It’s all so messed up.

Honestly, the only way to end this madness is for Braila to leave Gifford behind. Start fresh. But it breaks my heart to say that. After everything we’ve been through... nothing has changed.

I stopped at my gate.

Tall, black iron, clean lines, no rust. It opened.

The driveway was smooth stone, shining under the sun. Everything looked like it had just been polished, like even the dust knew not to touch this place. Then the house came into view.

It was big.

White walls with gold trim. Wide glass windows that reached from the floor to the ceiling. There were plants everywhere. Just enough green to soften the edges. A tall olive tree by the door. Roses by the corners. The door itself was thick wood, carved with designs I didn’t understand. Inside, the floors were marble. Cold, smooth. The air smelled of vanilla and old money. Soft music was playing from somewhere, but I couldn’t see a speaker.

Every chair looked like no one had ever sat in it. The walls had art, which was big, strange and beautiful.

Rich people live differently. Even their silence is golden.

The eggs were still warm on my plate. Lightly salted. Soft in the center, just the way I liked them. I cut them slowly, one bite at a time, letting the silence wrap around me. No noise. No mess. Just me, a linen napkin, and the view outside the glass wall, blue skies, still trees, and a wind that didn’t dare rattle the peace of this house.

The marble floor was cool beneath my feet as I stood, lifting my half-empty glass of juice. Orange. Freshly squeezed.

Every room in this house had space. Space to breathe. To think. Space to remember things I tried to forget.

By the time I made it to the bathroom, the sun had already shifted. The light from the top window spilled across the tiles like soft gold. I ran through the water, watching the steam rise slowly, curling in the air like smoke from a calm fire.

Sandalwood oil. Just a few drops.

The scent reminded me of quiet forests and skin on skin. I slid into the tub. The water hugged every part of me. My eyes closed, and I let my mind wander.

I thought of nothing.

I thought of everything.

Then—

Ding-dong.

I opened my eyes but didn’t move.

No one ever rang my doorbell. They hardly knew where I lived. Not even my brothers knew I bought this place for myself.

The house was behind two gates. The outer one required clearance. The inner one only opened if I pressed the button myself. So, whoever was at my door... I had let them in without realizing.

Another chime.

Ding-dong.

The water dripped off my skin in slow trails. I grabbed my black robe and wrapped it around me without drying off. My fingers tied the large robe loosely. I walked barefoot across the marble hallway. Whoever this person was, better have a good explanation for ringing the doors and having the guts to enter my home.

Then I opened the door.

And there he was.

Just standing there like time hadn’t passed. His calm pheromones rushed past my nostrils, and my heart sank.

Neither of us said a word.

His hair was longer than I remembered. His eyes were the same. Sharp. Golden brown. Always quiet and watching me. The alpha, my first love, who tore my heart into a thousand pieces after I gave it to him.

Avec stands tall and strong, with muscles, but slender, clear beneath his smooth, pale skin. Sharp cheekbones and a jawline define his handsome face. He’s the alpha who stays in your thoughts long after he’s gone. I gripped the edge of the door, unsure if I should open it wider, or close it. His eyes flicked over me once. And we just stared at each other like two ghosts in the same dream. What is he doing here? Don’t tell me…he followed me.

“Hey,” he said.

His voice hadn’t changed. I hadn’t heard that voice in years. He remembered this house? I’m surprised. I bought it for the both of us before he broke up with me.

I swallowed. “Hey.”

His gaze drifted past me into the house. Just for a second. Then came back to my face. “You always answer the door like that?”

Why…is he here? We shouldn’t be seeing each other. Has he forgotten how his parents told us to stop whatever relationship we had?

I glanced down at the damp robe tied around my waist. I gave a tired smile. “Only when I’m interrupted mid-bath.”

It's been so long I've seen him. How many years has it been?

“Still love your baths, huh?” There was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

I shrugged, leaning one shoulder against the frame. “Some things don’t change.”

His eyes said a lot. “I was driving through. Didn’t plan to stop.” He paused. “But the gate opened.”

“You knew the code,” I said.

“I forgot I did.” He looked down, then back up again. “Muscle memory, I guess.”

A soft breeze brushed past us, lifting the edge of his coat. My wet hair dripped onto the floor. Still, neither of us moved.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

I didn’t answer right away. My fingers gripped the inside of the door a little tighter.

I nodded once. “Yeah.”

I stepped back, and he walked in. I clicked the door shut behind him. He stood in the center of the living room, hands in his coat pockets, turning slowly to look around. “Still the same,” he said.

“Some things don’t change,” I repeated, quieter this time.

Then he turned to me. Really looked at me. “You do,” he said.