The next day, to make Cressida feel better, Darius revamped her room—tore down the old curtains and replaced them with soft, shimmering silk ones in her favorite shades of lavender and silver. He bought her new clothes, fancy shoes, and matching jewelry sets—pearls, sapphires, even a delicate gold bracelet with her initials engraved.
He even took her on a father-daughter date, something they hadn't done in years. They dined in a private setting, overlooking the river, the kind of place she used to beg to go as a child. And of course, he apologized. He apologized for hitting her, swearing it would never happen again. He looked her in the eyes when he said it, his voice quiet but firm, full of guilt.
Cressida nodded, gave him a small smile, and even leaned her head on his shoulder during the ride home. She accepted the gifts, the attention, and the apology. But inside, she was frozen—stuck in the moment his palm met her cheek. Something in her had broken that day. Something delicate. Something important. And no matter how many dresses or sparkly trinkets he gave her, she could still feel the weight of that slap every time he so much as looked at her, but anything to keep him happy, right?
Zara, on the other hand, sensed something was wrong almost immediately. Cressida had always been good at pretending, at smiling through the pain, but Zara had known her too long, too well. The mind link came sharp and sudden in her head that morning.
"Are you okay?" Zara's voice was soft but urgent, like she already knew the answer.
Cressida hesitated, then replied, "Yeah. Just tired. Nothing serious." A lie. One of many.
Zara didn't buy it. "I'm coming over."
Cressida tensed. She glanced toward the hallway, half-expecting her father to be standing there, overhearing the mental conversation. "You really don't have to," she tried again. "I'm just going to rest."
But Zara was Zara. She didn't do it. She didn't do it later. She was spoiled and stubborn, used to getting what she wanted, and if she wanted to see Cressida, then no one—not even an overbearing Alpha—could stop her.
"Rest when I leave," Zara answered breezily, already halfway out the door on her side of the link. "I'll be there in twenty."
Cressida sighed. Her heart beat faster as she stood from her bed, brushing her palms against her skirt. Her father wouldn't like it—he never liked anyone's visits, he preferred solitude, and he never liked anyone who didn't bow their head and play the part—but she couldn't stop her. Not without making things worse. And deep down, ... she didn't want to be alone right now; being with her best friend was just what she needed.
That afternoon, while they were having lunch on the patio—the air warm and still, the clinking of cutlery the only real sound—Cressida brought it up. She kept her eyes on her plate, twirling a bite of salad with her fork as if it mattered more than the words she was about to say.
"Zara said she might stop by later."
She tried to sound casual, as if it were an afterthought, as if she hadn't rehearsed it a dozen times in her head. Her tone was light, but inside, her heart was pounding. She knew how unpredictable her father could be—sometimes warm, sometimes cold, sometimes a ball of fury in the space of a single heartbeat. She had felt his fist once and honestly didn't want a repeat of that experience.
But to her surprise, Darius simply nodded and reached for his wine glass.
"That's fine," he said, his voice steady. "Just make sure she doesn't sleep over and stay too late."
Cressida blinked, caught off guard. She forced a smile and nodded quickly, relief washing over her like cool water.
An hour later, Zara arrived with her usual flair. She didn't knock—she never did. The guards let her in, probably more out of exhaustion than respect, and she swept through the house like she owned it, her dark curls bouncing, her voice carrying. She greeted Darius with an easy smile and a quick hug. He stiffened but returned the gesture politely, offering a nod and a vague excuse about needing to take a call.
Cressida led her friend upstairs.
Zara gasped when she entered the room. "Whoa. Someone's clearly royalty now. Your room is beautiful."
The space had been transformed with plush rugs, gleaming mirrors, a vanity filled with perfumes, and dresses arranged like a boutique along the wall. It looked like something from a magazine. Zara walked in circles, examining everything with open admiration.
"I see the old man's finally doing something right," she said with a grin.
Cressida smiled faintly. "Yeah, I guess."
But as Zara sat on the bed and turned to face her, the smile on her face began to fade. Cressida was sitting on the window bench, her hands folded neatly in her lap, eyes fixed on the horizon like she was waiting for something that would never come. Her posture was perfect, her makeup done, and her hair freshly styled. Her father preferred her looking her best, and she obeyed to keep him happy; her expression was empty. Her eyes didn't shine the way they used to.
"Are you okay?" Zara asked gently, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah, just bored," Cressida said quickly, almost too quickly. She forced a laugh. "You know how it is."
Zara nodded slowly, though something in her chest tightened. She knew Cressida was lying, but she couldn't pinpoint what was wrong; on the surface everything seemed perfect. They spent the next hour talking about everything and nothing, boys they no longer liked, the latest rogue gossip, and a new pack event coming up that Cressida pretended to be excited about. Zara cracked jokes. Cressida laughed on cue. But something was missing. Something essential.
And when it was finally time for Zara to leave, she lingered at the door, reluctant to leave her best friend all alone.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
Cressida nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine."
But even as she said it, her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. And Zara, for the first time in their friendship, wasn't sure if she believed her.
Well, if you ever need to get out or take a break, you are always welcome to my home, and if you need to talk, I'm always a mind link away." Zara said softly, then pulled Cressida in for a long hug. "I have really missed you, my twin flame. Nothing has been the same without you."
Cressida felt something in her melt as she returned the hug, something she didn't even realize was frozen until now, and she held on tightly to her dear friend. For a moment, she allowed herself to rest in that familiar warmth, in the steady beat of Zara's heart, in the comfort that only a bond like theirs could bring.
Cressida almost started bawling when Zara was about to leave, her throat tightening painfully, but she pulled herself together just in time. She knew her friend too well. Zara could be incredibly sharp-mouthed and reckless when she felt provoked, and if at any point she suspected that Cressida was being mistreated, she wouldn't hesitate to confront Darius even if it meant risking her life.
And that was the problem.
Cressida had lived with Darius long enough in the past to know the quiet madness behind his eyes. The subtle twitch in his jaw. The way his pupils dilated just a second too long when something displeased him. Darius wasn't a man you disrespected, not unless you had a death wish.
He wore civility like a thin cloak, one that could fall away with the slightest gust of wind. If he ever felt crossed or insulted, especially in his own house, he wouldn't just retaliate; he would annihilate. Tear them to pieces and bury their remains so deep that even the moon goddess wouldn't find them.
Cressida knew that he feared and respected no one.
Which was why, as she lingered by the door, her eyes flicked from Cressida's face to the hallway leading to the rest of the house, her gaze narrowing just slightly, her voice dropping to barely a whisper. "If anything changes, if he ever hits you or you ever need anything, tell me," she said, low and firm. "Promise me, if I find out you're being mistreated, I will come back here and burn this place down." Her face was stern and completely serious.
Cressida gave her a shaky laugh, one that didn't quite reach her eyes, and nodded. Zara kissed her forehead and stepped outside. Cressida could still feel the warmth of her hug, the warmth of her concern lingering like a cloak around her shoulders, and a genuine smile tugged on her lips. she was not alone.
She wished she could say everything was fine.
She wished she could tell Zara that she was being paranoid.
But deep down... she couldn't because Zara's instinct was spot on.
Also, deep down, Cressida was scared.
She was scared of what her father might do.
But even more than that, she was scared of what he could make her become.
Cressida felt a sudden, bitter pang of jealousy twist in her chest as she watched Zara walk away. Her friend had it all: a loving home, a boyfriend who adored her, freedom, laughter... everything a girl could possibly want. Everything she had only ever dreamed of having.
And she could never have it.
Who would ever want to date the daughter of a madman? The answer was obvious: no one in their right mind. Everyone feared her father. They never spoke about it aloud; no one dared, but they noticed. They noticed how Darius hovered too close, how his eyes followed her every move with a possessive gleam that made people uncomfortable. But it was all brushed aside with polite nods and awkward smiles. They told themselves he was just a father making up for lost time. That his overbearing behaviour was born out of love and guilt.
But it wasn't. And Cressida knew it.
That fear kept everyone at a distance. Boys avoided her like the plague. Girls whispered behind her back. Elders smiled too hard, too tight. She had nothing, not even the illusion of normalcy.
She shoved the thought down violently as she escorted Zara outside, determined not to let the bitterness fester. Zara didn't deserve her resentment. She was a good person. The best. The kind of person who showed up when no one else did. Who risked everything just to make sure she was okay.
It wasn't Zara's fault that her father was an arse.
So Cressida smiled, even though it didn't reach her eyes. She waved, even though her fingers trembled. And when she closed the door behind her, she stood in the silence of that massive, beautiful, hollow house, pressing her back to the wood as her smile slid off her face.
For a second, she let herself feel it.
The loneliness. The ache. The longing for something she might never have.
Then she took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and shoved it all back into the box where it belonged.
Because in this house, feelings were dangerous.
And weakness could cost her everything.