Deborah's POV
Last night, after Chad's thinly veiled probing in the kitchen, I retreated to the familiar yet unsettling confines of the bedroom with a hastily eaten bowl of milk and flakes. I lay on the bed that felt both foreign and intimate, my mind replaying every word exchanged between us.
Why had Chad laid a trap for me?
Was it suspicion?
A calculated move to test me?
Or simply his nature to scrutinize anyone new in his orbit?
Had I given something away?
Slipped up in a way that only he could detect?
And then the larger question loomed—if he truly suspected me, would he report his findings to Lugh?
Chad wasn't blindly loyal to Lugh; I was certain of that. I had seen it in his eyes, in the deliberate way he chose his words when discussing anything related to his superior. Chad was no mindless subordinate. He acted as though he were a lone wolf—calculating, self-serving, and always looking for an advantage. If he ever shared information, it would only be what benefited him most.
But his recent actions—those traps and unspoken questions—left me uneasy. I couldn't shake the sense that he had been laying groundwork for something bigger, something I might not yet understand.
If there had been even the faintest rift between him and Lugh, that could be an opening for me. An alliance of convenience, perhaps. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility, though the thought of relying on someone like Chad left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Lying there, the faint scent of Mentzelia Involucrata lingering in the air, I found myself inexplicably soothed.
It was ridiculous, really—the way that scent could disarm my defenses, coaxing me into a moment of reprieve. Or perhaps it was the bed, with its familiar texture and weight, that made me lower my guard just enough to drift into sleep.
When I woke, faint sunlight filtered through the curtains. It was already noon. For a moment, I couldn't believe how deeply I'd slept. At Lugh's grandiose palace, every night had been a battle to remain vigilant. My nerves were always on edge, my mind constantly bracing for the next challenge or betrayal.
But here, in Chad's modest apartment, I had slept like I hadn't in years. Was it the scent? The bed? Or the illusion of safety, however fleeting it might be? Whatever it was, I had to remind myself that this was temporary. This was not a sanctuary.
Stretching languidly, I rose and stepped into the living room. Chad sat on the couch, a book balanced casually in his hands. His posture was relaxed, but there was an unmistakable tension in the set of his shoulders, as if he were acutely aware of my presence.
On the dining table, a meal had been laid out—or perhaps it was breakfast that had long since turned into lunch. Bacon, two fried eggs, a small plate of cookies, and… peach-flavored yogurt.
I froze, my gaze lingering on the spread. It was too familiar. Too deliberate.
Unbidden memories flooded back. In Hybrasil, Chad would wake early to prepare breakfast for me. He had always known exactly what I liked—every preference, every tiny detail—and he had never missed an opportunity to show it. This scene before me felt like a ghost from the past, as if I'd been transported back to those simpler times.
"Sit down and eat," Chad said without looking up from his book.
I hesitated, then took slow steps toward the table. "What about you?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"It's already noon," he replied flatly. "I've eaten."
His tone was distant, disinterested, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he was watching me—waiting. Testing.
I picked up the fork and knife, my gaze flicking between the plate of food and Chad's unreadable expression. Was this another trap? Another carefully constructed test?
The bacon and eggs were innocuous enough. I took a bite, forcing myself to appear indifferent. But then there were the cookies and the yogurt—markers of a past life, markers of Lianora. My stomach growled, but my mind rebelled. Eating those things would mean acknowledging a familiarity I couldn't afford to reveal. It would mean giving him exactly what he was looking for.
I reached for the water instead, hoping to end the meal quickly and without incident. But before I could take a sip, Chad's voice broke through the silence.
"Go ahead," he said, his tone as calm as ever. "There's no need to pretend. I already know you like them. I saw it last night."
My hand froze mid-air. He had been watching me. Observing every move, every hesitation.
The implications were chilling—had he pieced it together? Was he beginning to suspect that I wasn't the daughter Lugh had supposedly found on the surface? That I wasn't the naive Deborah he'd been led to believe?
Finishing the meal as quickly as I could, I thanked Chad tersely and left his apartment. The air outside felt colder, sharper. Every breath was a reminder of how precarious my situation had become.
Back at the Edwards estate, I couldn't shake the unease. Over the next few days, I watched Lugh carefully, scrutinizing every word, every expression, for signs that Chad had spoken to him. If Chad had shared his suspicions, Lugh would surely act on them.
But to my surprise, Lugh's behavior remained unchanged. If anything, he seemed warmer, more fatherly. Each morning, he would inquire about my health, my sleep. At dinner, he would discuss the affairs of the other families, inviting me to weigh in on topics I hadn't been privy to before. He even had the staff prepare my favorite teas, small gestures that felt almost… genuine.
It unnerved me. Was this an act? A calculated ploy? Or had Lugh truly begun to see me as his daughter?
And yet, I couldn't help but think of my real father—Haorong Lee. Memories of my family in Hybrasil, of my mother Linda Mason, came flooding back. They had loved me fiercely, unconditionally. I was their youngest, their cherished one, the last surviving child after my siblings' untimely deaths. Their hope, their legacy.
But I had been so young, so naïve. I had longed for freedom, dreamed of escaping the weight of family duty. I had even imagined a life with Chad on the surface, far from the constraints of Hybrasil.
Back then, I had believed Chad to be an ordinary man. I never imagined he carried the blood of wolves and witches, that he was anything but human. And now, knowing the truth, every interaction with him felt like navigating a labyrinth of lies and half-truths.
Chad's mixed heritage raised more questions than answers. If his wolf blood came from his mother and his witch lineage from his father, it explained his lack of golden eyes, the hallmark of most wolves. But what of his abilities? Had he inherited powers he had kept hidden? Powers he might be using against me even now?
I tried to dismiss the thought. If Chad possessed abilities like telepathy or mind-reading, surely he would have exposed me at Murias. Yet his reluctance to meet my gaze lingered in my thoughts, a puzzle I couldn't solve.
For now, one thing was clear: Chad hadn't shared his suspicions with Lugh. Not yet.
A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. "Come in," I said, sitting up straighter.
An elderly maid entered the room, her steps measured and her demeanor laced with respect. She paused just inside the doorway, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. "Miss Edwards," she began, her voice steady yet gentle, "Mr. Edwards has instructed me to inform you that tonight, you are expected to attend the Thorne family's banquet. Preparations must begin immediately, as the carriage will depart in two hours."
Her words carried a certain finality, leaving no room for negotiation. I tilted my head slightly, masking my annoyance with a faint, practiced smile—one that lingered at the edges of my lips but fell short of warmth.
So, this was Lugh's plan. Inform me at the last possible moment, ensuring I had neither the time nor the means to refuse. A classic maneuver, calculated and precise.
It wasn't surprising.
He understood me well, perhaps too well, and knew that if I'd been told sooner, I would have concocted a perfectly plausible excuse to evade the event.
I stood, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face as if the gesture could sweep away the irritation building within me.
The banquet, no doubt, was carefully orchestrated to serve his ambitions. The guest list, the setting, even my role in it—it was all part of his greater strategy.
I was meant to be the dutiful daughter, the perfect heir, an elegant pawn to be maneuvered as he pleased.
But Lugh underestimated me if he thought I'd let this evening unfold entirely on his terms.
"Very well," I said, my voice calm, betraying nothing of the thoughts racing through my mind. "Let's begin."