Our honeymoon has come to a close, and Luna has been incessantly questioning me how it went. It has only been two weeks since our marriage, yet she is already fixated on my abdomen, seemingly anticipating that Drew and I will soon conceive a child.
I have also observed a notable change in Abigail's behavior since our return to the pack house. Prior to the mating ceremony, she would either avoid me or hurl insults in my direction when she encounters me. She treated the pack's servants with disdain, looking down on them. However, now she greets the servants with warmth and engages in light conversation with me.
I shared my observations with Drew, who advised me to remain cautious of her, suggesting that her change in demeanor might be a ruse.
As for Drew, he has been rather moody since we returned to the pack house. There was a particular day when he approached me, looking visibly guilty. He opened his mouth to speak but no words emerged. Initially, I feared something troubling had occurred, but he reassured me that it was unimportant. Deep down, however, I sensed he was not being truthful; he has been preoccupied lately, and I can feel his distress.
While walking through the garden, lost in thought, I heard a familiar voice that I had not encountered since that day in the hallway. "Congratulations on your successful mating ceremony," he said. I should consider asking Drew to teach me how to mask my scent, much like Arnold does.
I faced him, and a mischievous smile played on his lips. "Thank you so much," I replied, forcing a smile. As he moved closer, my demeanor shifted, and the smile vanished. "If that's all you have to say, you should leave," I told him. He laughed, "Well, I have something intriguing to share." I scoffed; this man was delusional if he thought I would stick around for his nonsense. With a sigh, I turned to walk away, but he called out, "What if it's about your father's death?" I halted, spinning back to face him.
If he dared to mention my father, I wouldn't take it lightly. "What do you know about his death?" I demanded. He chuckled, "Why not ask your mate Drew? He probably knows more than anyone." Was he trying to toy with me? "Why do I even waste my time with you?" I muttered, but he stepped closer and whispered, "You might find it interesting that your mate is responsible for your father's death." My eyes widened at his words, and I lifted my head to scrutinize him; he simply gazed back.
"What did you just say?" I asked in disbelief. "If you don't believe me, why not ask him yourself? Have you ever wondered why the alpha treated you so well after your father's passing? He covered all your expenses, but did you think it was because your father was his beta? No, darling, it was all out of guilt. If you think you're special, you're mistaken." I had heard enough and abruptly turned to leave. He was undoubtedly insane, but a nagging feeling told me there might be a sliver of truth in his words.
I needed to speak with Drew urgently, quickening my steps as I hurried along. Earlier that morning, he had mentioned he would be at the office with his father, so I made my way there. "Is young alpha Drew in?" I inquired of the secretary, who respectfully lowered his head. "Yes, future Luna, but he's currently in a meeting with the alpha." Just then, the office door swung open, and there stood Drew, for he had sensed my arrival.
"Felicity, is something the matter?" he asked, concern etched on his face. I realized my expression must have betrayed my anxiety. "I need to talk to you, if you have a moment," I replied, and he nodded. "Give me a minute." With that, he stepped back into the office, only to return moments later, and we began to walk together.
As he held my hand, I swallowed hard, grappling with how to broach the subject. Should I even bring it up, especially after what that man had said about Drew's involvement in my father's death? Perhaps he was just trying to toy with my emotions. We reached our room, and as soon as we entered, Drew gently cupped my face. "You don't look well, Felicity. What's wrong?" he asked, and I felt a wave of dread wash over me. If I asked him, would I be confirming Arnold's accusations?
I held his gaze and said, "Arnold told me something, Drew." His brow furrowed immediately. "What did he do this time?" he asked, his demeanor darkening. "Nothing specific, but he mentioned that" I trailed off but then got myself back together "that you know something about my father's death."
As soon as the words slipped from my lips, Drew recoiled, stepping away from me. My heart plummeted—could it be true? Did he know something? The emptiness etched on his face was haunting, as if all the vitality had drained from him. I recognized that look all too well; it was a familiar shadow from our childhood. I had first witnessed that expression years ago, the day my father passed away.