CHAPTER THREE
1755 Words
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Arthur got out of the car and opened the door for Cassiel before helping with the rain-soaked luggage.
He carried the bags beneath the shelter of the Volkov gates and placed them carefully on the wet cobblestone beside the entrance. Straightening, he turned toward Cassiel with a small smile.
Cassiel returned it with a faint nod.
“Thank you, Arthur.”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I’ll be on my way now, then. It was nice knowing you, Cassiel.”
Arthur tipped his hat in a final farewell before climbing back into his car. The engine purred to life, and moments later, the vehicle disappeared into the night, its headlights fading into the mist and drizzle.
Cassiel watched until the last trace of light vanished.
Then he turned toward the polished wrought-iron gates of the Volkov Manor.
He took a deep breath.
One breath.
Then another.
He needed to regain some semblance of control before stepping inside.
His fingers tightened around the strap of his coat as he approached the intercom and pressed the bell.
Nothing happened.
Cassiel waited.
A minute passed.
He pressed it again.
Still nothing.
He glanced toward the dark windows of the gatehouse. No movement.
Another minute.
Cassiel sighed quietly and pressed the bell a third time.
At last, a light flickered inside the gatehouse.
“Hold your horses! I’m coming!”
The sound of hurried footsteps followed.
The gatekeeper appeared on the other side of the iron gates, rubbing sleep from his eyes with one hand. His expression was already twisted with annoyance until he looked up and saw the drenched figure standing before him.
His annoyance disappeared.
“Ah…”
Recognition slowly settled across his face.
“Young Master Volkov?”
Cassiel offered him a polite smile.
“Good evening, Thomas.”
Thomas stared at him for another second before hurriedly unlocking the gate.
“I didn’t know it was you, sir.”
He pulled the gate open.
Cassiel stepped through.
“My bags are over there,” he said, pointing toward the luggage sitting beneath the shelter.
“Oh... right. Of course, Young Master Volkov.”
Thomas glanced at the suitcases before looking back at Cassiel.
There was something in his eyes.
Pity.
Cassiel pretended not to notice.
Thomas hurried toward the luggage, struggling with the heavier suitcase as he dragged it across the wet cobblestones.
He already knew what this meant.
He had seen it too many times before.
The same bags.
The same defeated expression.
The same return to the Volkov estate after another marriage had ended.
Cassiel ignored the old man's lingering glance and walked toward the mansion, stopping beneath the enormous marble portico.
The rain had reduced itself to a fine drizzle now, but the cold remained.
Before him stood the Volkov Manor.
Even after years away, it remained exactly as he remembered it.
Massive pillars of pale stone rose toward the dark roofline, framing a grand entrance beneath an elaborate wrought-iron balcony. Tall windows stretched across the façade, their golden lights glowing warmly against the wet evening. Ivy crawled up portions of the eastern wall, carefully trimmed around the stonework, while old cedar trees stood along the drive like silent sentinels.
The manor was beautiful.
Imposing.
Perfect.
And somehow, Cassiel had never felt more like a stranger standing before it.
He looked toward the entrance.
His stomach tightened.
He knew who was waiting inside.
His mother.
And his sister.
The people he had spent years trying to prove himself worthy to.
The people who had never once believed he could be anything but a burden.
The enormous front doors opened before he could reach them.
Cassiel stopped.
A woman stood at the top of the marble staircase.
She was elegant even in her late fifties, dressed in a dark tailored gown with a long velvet coat draped over her shoulders. Her silver-streaked black hair was swept neatly away from her face, and the diamond brooch at her throat caught the chandelier light whenever she moved.
Vivian Volkov.
The Volkov matriarch.
Her gaze travelled slowly over Cassiel.
His soaked clothes.
His dishevelled hair.
His pale face.
The suitcases being carried behind him.
Her expression hardened.
Beside her stood a younger woman with her arms folded across her chest.
Sienna Volkov.
Cassiel's older sister.
A beta.
Unlike Cassiel, Sienna had inherited the sharp, commanding features of their mother. Her dark hair fell perfectly over her shoulders, and there wasn't a wrinkle anywhere on her immaculate cream blouse.
For several seconds, neither woman spoke.
Then Sienna gave a small, humourless laugh.
“Well.”
Cassiel lowered his gaze.
“Welcome home, little brother.”
Vivian's lips curled.
“Home?”
The single word carried enough contempt to make Cassiel's shoulders stiffen.
Sienna looked toward the luggage.
“Did they finally throw you out?”
Cassiel said nothing.
Her smile widened.
“I suppose congratulations are in order.”
“Sienna,” Vivian said calmly.
“Yes, Mother?”
“Don't be cruel.”
Sienna raised an eyebrow.
“I wasn't.”
Vivian's eyes remained fixed on Cassiel.
“I was simply going to say that he has once again demonstrated his remarkable ability to embarrass this family.”
Cassiel's fingers curled into the damp fabric of his coat.
“Mother...”
“Don't.”
Her voice was quiet.
That somehow made it worse.
“You have been married for less than a year.”
Cassiel swallowed.
“I tried.”
“You always try.”
Vivian descended one step.
“And somehow, every family you marry into finds a reason to return you to us.”
Cassiel's eyes stung.
Sienna gave another quiet laugh.
“Maybe the Carters finally developed common sense.”
Cassiel looked at her.
“Sienna.”
“What?” she asked innocently. “Am I wrong?”
“You know what happened.”
“Yes.”
Her expression became colder.
“I know exactly what happened. You married into another powerful alpha family, they welcomed you into their home, and now you've returned with your luggage like some abandoned stray.”
Cassiel's lips parted.
No words came.
Vivian sighed.
“Do you have any idea what this will do to our reputation?”
“I didn't want this to happen.”
“Want?”
Vivian's eyes flashed.
“You think this is about what you want?”
She stepped closer.
“The Carter family is one of the most influential families in the region. Do you understand the humiliation of having my son returned to this house after yet another failed marriage?”
Cassiel stared at the marble floor.
“I’m sorry.”
Sienna scoffed.
“That's all he ever says.”
Cassiel's eyes burned.
“I said I'm sorry.”
“And what good has your apology ever done?”
Silence.
The words settled heavily between them.
Vivian turned toward the servants gathered discreetly near the hallway.
“Listen carefully.”
Every servant immediately straightened.
“None of you are to attend to Cassiel tonight.”
A few faces fell.
Vivian continued.
“No food is to be prepared for him. No room is to be arranged. No bath is to be drawn. No one is to offer him clothing, medicine, or assistance of any kind.”
Cassiel looked up.
“Mother—”
“You have survived being thrown out of one household.”
Her gaze was merciless.
“You can survive one night without being pampered.”
One of the younger servants looked uncertainly toward Cassiel.
Vivian noticed.
“And if I hear that anyone has disobeyed me, they will answer directly to me.”
The servant immediately lowered her head.
“Yes, Madam.”
Cassiel felt something inside him collapse.
He had not expected kindness.
He had not even expected a warm welcome.
But he had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that coming home would mean he could breathe.
Instead, it felt as though he had simply traded one prison for another.
Vivian turned back toward him.
“And tomorrow morning, you will write an apology letter to the Carter family.”
Cassiel stared at her.
“An apology?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
Sienna laughed.
“For embarrassing them, obviously.”
Cassiel's voice trembled.
“They threw me out.”
“And why do you suppose they did that?”
He had no answer.
Vivian stepped closer.
“You will apologize for whatever offense you committed. You will assure them that the Volkov family holds no resentment toward them and that we regret the inconvenience your marriage caused.”
Cassiel stared at his mother in disbelief.
“I didn't do anything.”
Vivian's expression remained cold.
“You never do.”
Cassiel flinched.
Sienna smiled faintly.
“That's the problem, isn't it?”
His eyes lowered.
A familiar ache spread through his chest.
He had come home carrying nothing but two suitcases and the hope that, perhaps this time, someone would ask whether he was hurt.
Instead, they had asked what he had done wrong.
Thomas quietly placed the luggage beside him.
He looked at Cassiel with an expression that said everything he could not.
Cassiel gave him the smallest smile.
“Thank you, Thomas.”
The old gatekeeper hesitated.
“Of course, Young Master.”
Then Vivian spoke again.
“Leave the luggage there.”
Thomas froze.
“But Madam—”
“I said leave it.”
Cassiel slowly looked at the suitcases.
His entire life reduced to two battered cases sitting on the floor of the place that was supposed to be his home.
Vivian turned away.
“Sienna.”
“Yes, Mother?”
“Come.”
The two women disappeared deeper into the mansion.
The doors remained open for only another moment before closing.
Cassiel stood alone beneath the chandelier.
The silence returned.
He looked around the grand entrance hall.
Everything was exactly as he remembered.
The polished marble.
The enormous crystal chandelier.
The portraits of generations of Volkovs watching from gilded frames.
The warmth.
The wealth.
The home.
Cassiel slowly lowered himself onto the bottom step of the staircase.
His hands trembled.
He pressed them together to stop them.
He had promised himself he would not cry again.
He had already cried enough for one lifetime.
Yet one tear escaped anyway.
It slipped down his cheek and disappeared beneath his jaw.
Cassiel wiped it away quickly.
Then he whispered to the empty hall,
“I came home.”
home sweet home.....
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