The dining room was too big for two people.
Kade sat across from me at a table that could have seated twelve. The chandelier overhead cast warm light across the polished wood. Everything in this place was like that—beautiful, expensive, and slightly too much.
He'd set out dinner himself. Roasted chicken, vegetables that actually looked like someone cared how they were prepared, bread that smelled like it came from an actual oven. For a dying Lycan Prince, he seemed remarkably functional in a kitchen.
"You cook," I said.
He looked up. "I do."
"That's unexpected."
"I've had a lot of time alone." His voice was quiet. Measured. "Cooking seemed more productive than staring at walls."
I took a bite of chicken. It was good. Annoyingly good. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of saying so.
He watched me. Not staring—just an attention that felt deliberate, focused. Like I was the only thing in the room worth looking at.
It unsettled me.
"Tell me about yourself," he said.
I set my fork down. "You signed a contract with me. Presumably you already know."
"I know facts." He leaned back slightly. The movement looked careful, like he was conserving energy. "I'd like to know you."
"Why?"
"Because you're here."
I met his eyes. They were dark, steady, unreadable. I couldn't tell if this was performance or if he genuinely cared. Either way, it felt like a trap.
"I'm a she-wolf who made a spite-fueled decision," I said. "There. Now you know me."
His mouth curved. Not quite a smile. "That's a fact too."
I picked up my fork again. "What do you want me to say? That I enjoy long walks and meaningful conversations? That my favorite color is blue?"
"Is it?"
"No."
"What is it?"
I paused. "Silver."
He nodded slowly, like I'd told him something important. "Like the moon."
"Like a blade."
That got an actual smile. Small, but real. It changed his face—made him look younger, less careful.
I looked away. Took another bite. The silence stretched between us, and I hated that it didn't feel entirely uncomfortable.
Then Barnaby appeared.
The golden retriever trotted into the dining room with a rope toy in his mouth, his tail wagging so hard his whole back end swayed. He went straight to Kade, dropped the toy at his feet, and sat with an expression of profound hope.
Kade looked down at him. "Not now."
Barnaby picked up the toy. Brought it to me instead.
I stared at the dog. He stared back, tail still wagging, the toy hanging from his mouth like an offering.
"He likes you," Kade said.
I reached down. Took the toy. Barnaby's entire body wiggled with joy.
And I laughed.
It came out before I could stop it—a real laugh, surprised and unguarded. Barnaby seemed to take this as encouragement and immediately tried to climb into my lap.
"Barnaby," Kade said. "Down."
The dog ignored him completely.
I scratched behind Barnaby's ears. He leaned into my hand, eyes half-closed, radiating uncomplicated happiness. It was the first genuinely good thing I'd felt since the Ceremony.
When I looked up, Kade was watching me.
Not the dog. Me.
The expression on his face was—I didn't know what it was. Something quiet and intent that made my stomach flip.
I stopped laughing. Pulled my hand back.
"He's a good dog," I said.
Kade's gaze didn't shift. "Yes."
I stood. "I should—I'm tired."
"Of course." He rose too, slower, one hand braced on the table. Playing the invalid again. "I'll see you in the morning."
I left the dining room with Barnaby trailing behind me, the dog's presence somehow making it easier to walk away from whatever that moment had been.
Behind me, I heard Kade's quiet voice: "Goodnight, Arabella."
I didn't answer.
---
The next morning, my phone rang while I was drinking coffee in the kitchen.
My father's name on the screen.
I considered not answering. Then I remembered that ignoring Jared Williams never actually made him go away.
"Hello."
"Arabella." His voice was tight. "We need to talk. Today."
"About?"
"Your situation."
I took a long drink of coffee. "My situation is fine."
"Meeting. Noon. The diner on Route 9. Your mother and I will be there."
He hung up before I could refuse.
I stared at the phone. Then I texted my mother: *Did you agree to this?*
Her response came immediately: *Your father insisted. I'm sorry.*
I set the phone down harder than necessary.
Kade appeared in the doorway. He was wearing dark jeans and a soft sweater, his hair slightly damp like he'd just showered. He looked—good. Frustratingly good.
"Problem?" he asked.
"Family intervention," I said. "Apparently I'm being ambushed at a diner."
He went very still. "When?"
"Noon."
"I'll come with you."
I blinked. "You don't have to—"
"I'll come with you," he repeated. His voice was quiet, but something in it made my wolf sit up and pay attention.
I looked at him. At the careful way he stood, the deliberate calm in his expression.
"Fine," I said finally. "But this is going to be ugly."
His mouth curved. "I'm not worried."
---
The diner was exactly what I expected: vinyl booths, fluorescent lights, coffee that came in thick white mugs. My parents were already there when I arrived. So was Tyler.
I stopped in the doorway.
Tyler sat across from my father, his shoulders tight, his expression carefully neutral. He looked up when I entered. Something moved across his face—hope, maybe, or desperation dressed up as concern.
My mother met my eyes. Her face was apologetic.
I walked to the booth. Didn't sit.
"This is an intervention," I said.
My father gestured to the empty seat. "Sit down, Arabella."
"I'd rather stand."
Tyler shifted. "Bella—"
"Don't."
He flinched. Good.
My father's voice was hard. "You signed a contract with a dying Lycan. A man you've never met. This is self-destruction, and we're not going to stand by and watch it happen."
"It's my choice."
"It's spite," Tyler said quietly. "I know you're angry—"
"Angry?" I laughed. It came out sharp. "You rejected our mate bond in front of five hundred wolves. At my own Ceremony. For Colette. And you think I'm just angry?"
His jaw tightened. "What we had was real."
"Then you destroyed it."
"I made a choice—"
"So did I."
The diner door opened.
Kade walked in.
He wore a tailored suit—charcoal gray, perfectly fitted—and moved with the careful, deliberate grace of someone conserving strength. Barnaby walked at his side, the dog's presence somehow making the whole thing less threatening and more surreal.
Every head in the diner turned.
Kade's gaze found mine. He crossed to our booth without hurrying, and the air seemed to shift as he moved. Something in the atmosphere changed—went heavier, denser.
Lycan aura.
Subtle. But unmistakable.
Tyler's face went pale.
Kade stopped beside me. Rested one hand lightly on the small of my back. The touch was warm through my shirt, steadying.
"I apologize for my lateness," he said. His voice was quiet, polite. He looked at my mother. "Mrs. Crawford. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
My mother stared at him.
Kade extended his hand. She took it automatically.
"Your daughter has told me a great deal about you," he continued. His tone was respectful, deferential even. "I hope I can prove worthy of the trust you've placed in her judgment."
My mother's mouth opened. Closed. She looked at me, then back at Kade.
"I—" She paused. "You're very polite."
"I was raised to be."
My father cleared his throat. "Mr. Bennett—"
"Prince Bennett," Kade corrected gently. "But please, call me Kade."
The aura pulsed. Just slightly. Just enough.
My father's voice faltered.
Kade smiled. It was a beautiful smile—warm, genuine, completely unthreatening. "I understand your concern. Arabella is precious. If I were her father, I would have the same questions."
He pulled out the chair beside me. Sat with careful precision. Barnaby settled at his feet.
"Ask them," Kade said.
For the next twenty minutes, I watched my mother fall completely under Kade Bennett's spell.
He answered every question with patience and thoughtfulness. He asked about her preferences, her concerns, her own history as a Luna. He listened like her words mattered. He deferred to her opinion on matters of pack protocol.
And he was beautiful.
Devastating, unfairly beautiful, in a way that made even my mother—a former Luna who'd spent decades navigating pack politics—forget half of what she'd meant to say.
By the time the coffee was cold, she was asking about his dietary restrictions.
Tyler hadn't said a word.
I looked at him. He was staring at the table, his shoulders hunched, his hands clenched in his lap. He couldn't meet Kade's eyes. Couldn't hold a Lycan Prince's gaze.
Something complicated moved through my chest. Not satisfaction. Not quite.
Kade stood. Offered his hand to my mother again. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Crawford. I hope we can speak again soon."
She took his hand. Held it a moment too long. "Yes. I—yes."
He looked at my father. Nodded with perfect respect.
Then he turned to me. "Ready?"
I stood. Didn't look back at Tyler.
Kade's hand found the small of my back again as we walked out. Barnaby trotted beside us, tail wagging, oblivious to the wreckage we'd left behind.
In the car, I finally spoke. "My mother's in love with you."
Kade glanced at me. "She's concerned for you. I gave her reason not to be."
"You manipulated her."
"I was polite."
"You used your aura."
"Barely." He pulled onto the highway. His hands were steady on the wheel. "Tyler Jackson couldn't hold my gaze. Your mother needed to see that."
I looked out the window. My chest felt tight.
"You didn't have to come," I said quietly.
"Yes," Kade said. "I did."
I didn't ask why. I wasn't sure I wanted the answer.
