Chapter 7: A Strange Familiarity
1345 Words
Chapter 7: A Strange Familiarity
(Elina's POV)
I tried to focus on the documents in front of me, some complex medical cases I’d been working on. But my attention kept drifting to Willow, who sat far too quietly on the couch.
Usually, she’d be glued to her tablet, muttering sarcastic remarks to Ethan or challenging him to games. Now, she was just... sitting there.
Something about the stillness in her demeanor unsettled me.
"Willow, sweetie?" I called gently, setting the papers aside. "Are you feeling alright?"
She raised her head slowly, her green eyes meeting mine. There was something there, something I couldn’t quite place—an emotion foreign to the Willow I knew.
She shrugged, her movements hesitant. "I’m okay," she murmured.
Her voice lacked luster, like a dull sword that had been sharpened to perfection before being left to rust.
That was when Valerie, perched in the adjacent armchair with her legs elegantly crossed, chimed in unhelpfully. "She hasn’t even insulted my nail polish today. That’s how you know something’s really wrong," she said, waving her vibrant pink nails as if to prove a point.
Normally, that jab would have earned Valerie a long roll of Willow’s eyes and a snarky comment like, "Pink makes you look like a parrot."
But Willow didn’t respond.
My palms felt clammy as I knelt in front of her, tilting her chin up gently to get a better look. There were no tears in her eyes, no obvious signs of distress. Yet something wasn’t right.
"Honey, you’re not acting like yourself. Did something upset you?" My voice softened to the tone I used when Ethan or Willow had nightmares as toddlers.
She blinked at me, her lips parting slightly, but no sound came out.
I brushed the tips of my fingers across her forehead, pressing lightly to check for fever. Her skin was warm but not abnormally so.
"I don’t think you’re sick..." I murmured, though the knot in my chest only tightened.
Valerie leaned forward, setting aside her tablet. Her sharp eyes scanned Willow closely, catching every nuance with precision. "This isn’t exhaustion, Elina. Something’s off."
Willow looked down, pulling her knees to her chest. Her expression tugged painfully at my heartstrings.
"Sweetheart, you can tell me anything, you know?" I tried again, tucking a stray strand of her dark hair behind her ear.
Before she could attempt an answer, Ethan—ever the composed older brother—stepped in. "Mom, she’s just tired," he stated, his tone neutral but firm as he adjusted his glasses. "We all are. It’s been a long day."
His calm intervention didn’t ease my worry. Ethan was always deliberate with his words, and I sensed he was carefully avoiding certain truths.
Turning to him, I raised an eyebrow. "Tired, huh?"
He nodded confidently, folding his arms. "She doesn’t handle rushed situations well. You know that."
It was true. Willow had never liked abrupt changes, but this... this was different.
"Alright," I said slowly, my gaze flickering back to Willow. Despite Ethan’s calm reassurance, my instincts screamed at me to look deeper.
"Maybe we should all just get some rest," I said finally, letting the topic drop for now.
Valerie stretched her arms dramatically, leaning back in her chair with a yawn. "I second that. Sleep sounds good after today’s chaos." Her light-hearted demeanor was meant to ease the tension, but it did little to calm me.
Just as I stood to gather our things, Willow’s small hand tugged at my sleeve. The gentle, almost hesitant motion caught me off guard.
"Could you..." she began softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Help me shower, Mom?"
I froze, blinking in surprise. My fiercely independent daughter, the same one who’d scolded me just last week for offering to trim her nails, asking for help with something so basic?
"You need help?" I asked, careful to keep my tone neutral.
Her lashes fluttered as she nodded, casting her eyes downward like she was afraid to meet mine.
Ethan cleared his throat, breaking the growing tension. "She’s exhausted," he reasoned smoothly, stepping closer. "She’s barely slept and might fall asleep in there. It’s safer if you help her."
My chest tightened again. Ethan’s explanations were well-constructed, but his protective tone only deepened my suspicions.
"Of course," I murmured, turning to Willow with a small smile. "Come on, sweetheart."
Her tiny fingers wrapped around mine as I led her to the bathroom. But her grip—gentle yet achingly desperate—lingered in my mind, filling me with more questions than answers.
---
During the shower, I couldn’t shake the sense of unfamiliarity. Willow was unnaturally obedient, following each of my instructions without a single complaint.
"Does the water feel okay, baby?" I asked as I gently rinsed shampoo from her dark hair.
She nodded slowly, her gaze directed at me the entire time, as though memorizing my every move.
Silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t the comfortable kind. It weighed on me like an invisible burden, pressing against my chest.
Finally, I wrapped her in a soft towel, brushing out her wet hair with delicate fingers.
"You’re so quiet tonight," I said lightly, careful not to let my worry slip.
Her lips twitched faintly, like she wanted to smile but didn’t quite manage it.
Later, as I tucked her into bed, she crawled into my arms without hesitation. Normally, she’d shove me away or demand her freedom. But tonight, she clung to me, pressing her small frame against mine.
"Mom?" she whispered, her voice muffled against my neck.
"Yes, baby?" I replied, stroking her hair in soothing motions.
"You smell like home," she murmured sleepily, her breath warm against my skin.
The words hit me harder than they should have, striking some unknown chord deep in my chest.
I kissed the top of her head instinctively, my voice barely a whisper. "Rest now. We’re safe, my love."
Her reply was nothing but a soft sigh, but I felt it—the slight dampness that brushed against my collarbone. Somewhere, deep within her brave, silent exterior, she was crying.
---
(Willow’s POV)
The elaborate dining room of the Thorne mansion was painfully over-the-top. Crystal chandeliers, intricately carved chairs—it all screamed excessive wealth and vanity.
But my wolf had no time to admire the decor. She was restless, hungry, driven by the overwhelming scents of raw meat permeating the room.
The table was an extravagant display of cooked meats—rare steaks, roasted lamb, grilled salmon, even a whole roasted chicken.
My patience snapped. I lunged forward, grabbing the rarest steak I could find and ripping into it with no reservations.
"Clara!" Seraphina’s voice cracked like a whip, sharp and shrill.
I glanced up, lowering the steak slowly as if caught committing a grave sin. Her icy blue eyes widened in disbelief.
"What do you think you’re doing?" she snapped, stalking toward me like a predator cornering its prey.
I wiped my mouth dramatically with the back of my hand, making a show of defiance. "Eating," I said simply.
Her painted lips twitched, her patience visibly thinning. "You cannot eat before the Alpha!" she hissed, emphasizing her words like I was some uncivilized creature.
I shrugged, grabbing another piece of meat and deliberately dropping it onto Rhys’s plate. "For Daddy," I said sweetly, my tone dripping with mock innocence.
The room went silent. Servants froze mid-action, their gazes darting nervously between us.
Seraphina’s perfectly manicured nails trembled as she reached out, snatching the silverware from my hands roughly.
"Corner. Now!" she barked, her dominant aura crashing over me like a suffocating wave.
If Clara were here, she’d probably shrink under the pressure. But I wasn’t Clara.
I tilted my head, smirking openly as I met her gaze. Her confusion deepened, her perfectly crafted facade slipping momentarily.
And then, I let out a howl—a piercing, resounding cry that bounced off the room’s pristine walls.
"DADDY!" I yelled, my voice echoing through the mansion, leaving no doubt that chaos was about to unfold.
- Writer
