The Woman He Mocked Is An Alpha Heiress

chapter 7

HAILEY

Sleep refuses to come, and I lie there staring at the ceiling, hoping it will take me if I stay still long enough, but it doesn’t.

And the longer I stay awake, the louder everything becomes.

The voices in my head.

The thoughts.

The memories.

The questions I don’t have answers to.

When did it go wrong?

I swallow, and my fingers curl slightly into the sheets as I shift on the bed.

Because I can’t help it, and I start thinking about everything again, all at once.

If my bond with Dominic had worked, and if I had stayed, and if the baby was still growing inside me… would things have been different?

Would I still be there?

Would I still be… happy?

The word feels strange in my head, and I don’t sit with it for long before another thought slips in, quieter but sharper.

If I hadn’t left three years ago… if I had listened…

My chest tightens, and I squeeze my eyes shut for a second because I remember it too clearly.

This room.

This same room.

And Eamon standing in the center of it, trying to talk me out of leaving while I stood there, stubborn and certain and so sure I was choosing right because the moon goddess never chooses wrong.

And I still left.

I still chose someone else.

I let out a slow breath, and I turn my head slightly to stare out the window.

“Would things have been different?” I whisper, even though I already know there’s no answer waiting for me.

Maybe that's what falling in love with someone's potential does to you. Falling in love with who they could be and not their current self.

If I hadn't hid my true identity, would we still be together?

There's no answer.

I stay there for a while, and I try to force my eyes closed again, but sleep still doesn’t come, and the silence only makes the voices louder.

So I sigh, and I sit up before slipping out of my bed.

Trying to sleep is pointless when I can go outside and touch grass.

I move slowly and reach for the shirt jacket over my nightgown which is draped on the sofa and slip it on.

Then, I slide my feet into my slippers, and I adjust my bonnet absentmindedly as I walk to the door and step out into the hallway.

It’s very quiet.

The lights turn on when I walk and switch off after.

A small smile slips into my face when I remember how I thought it was magic and super cool the first day after Uncle Ronan got it installed.

And as I walk down the stairs, my eyes drift to the walls, and I see the art pieces again.

The ones I made.

The ones Mom made.

The messy ones Aurora made that we refused to take down.

The ones Grandpa made.

And the ones Aunt Ashby made with magic that still don’t feel real no matter how many times I look at them.

I stop before an ethereal looking one and pause for a second.

It's an art of a grey furred wolf with its fur being ruffled by wind, the setting sun illuminating its body.

I pause for a second, because I remember this.

I remember being here.

I remember laughing and ogling after Aunty Ash made it.

And I remember what it felt like to belong.

But that memory doesn’t sit the same way anymore. I don’t stay there long before I move again.

I make my way to the kitchen and then to the back door which I peel open quietly before stepping outside.

The night air hits me immediately, and I inhale deeply.

Heaven knows I need this.

My head tilts up on instinct where the sky stretches wide above me.

A half moon hangs there, surrounded by stars that look too bright for how quiet everything feels.

And I stare at them, longer than I mean to, because they look steady.

No matter how many times I've seen the stars or stargazed, they still always make me feel like I did the first time I could comprehend I was gazing at stars.

And a thought comes, soft but heavy.

We admire the stars, and we call them beautiful, but the only reason we can see them is because of the darkness around them.

My throat tightens slightly, and I let out a slow breath.

Because maybe it’s the same for us too. For me. For you.

Maybe the broken parts of us, and the scars we try so hard to hide, are the very things that make us… visible.

That make us shine, even when we don’t feel like we are.

I don’t know if I believe it.

Maybe not yet.

But I hold onto it anyway even if it’s just for tonight. Even when I feel like it's something my mind conjured to make me feel a bit better.

I sigh, and I look away from the sky before I start walking.

And my feet carry me down the same path I’ve walked a thousand times before, even though it’s been three years, because some things don’t leave you.

My gazebo. At least that's what I like to call it.

And goddess, I missed it and I missed calling it mine more than I realized.

As I walk, I pass a small garden that wasn’t here before, and I slow down for a second, noticing it, because it’s new, and it doesn’t belong to my memory.

It's so pretty.

I stare at the pink tulips planted for a while before I continue to walk.

And the blossom tree comes into view, its fallen petals resting softly over the water beneath it.

But then—

I stop.

Because there’s someone there.

A still figure standing with his back to me.

And I don’t need to see his face to know who it is.

Eamon.

I bite my lower lip to steady myself because I wasn't expecting this and now I don’t know what to do.

But I could turn back.

I could leave him there.

I could pretend I never came out here.

But I don’t.

Because running… I believe I've done enough of that.

So I take a breath and then I take a step forward even though I don't know what to do.

Apologise? Tell him everything that happened to me over the years because a part of me craves pity? Tell him to go away?

I don't know.

But I don't stop as I continue walking towards the gazebo.

First step. Second.

Until the gravel shifts softly under my foot and I'm standing under the shield of the gazebo.

But he didn't turn to look at me.

One second.

Two.

“What are you doing here?” I ask anyway.