Audrey's POV
I didn't know how to respond.
Compared to Fen, little Bonnie truly was a moon-blessed angel.
Fen's temper had always mirrored Rowan's—spoiled, demanding, quick to snarl or throw tantrums. I used to spend half my time soothing that pup before he tore the house apart.
But Bonnie? She was the complete opposite. Gentle. Soft-spoken. Sweet enough to melt a wolf's heart. From the moment I met her, I found myself drawn to her warmth without even noticing.
"I think Audrey is very patient too!" Bonnie chirped, loyally echoing her father.
Heat rose to my cheeks. Compliments had never sat comfortably with me—probably because I'd spent years with Rowan, a male who viewed gratitude as beneath him.
My mind drifted back—unwanted, unwelcome—to my life in Rowan's home.
He had always treated me like a servant who owed him everything. Caring for Fen, cooking, washing, handling pack obligations—none of it earned so much as a grunt of appreciation. Why thank someone you didn't see as an equal? Or as anything at all?
Looking back, I realized he'd been perfectly capable of doing those things. He just believed I existed to lighten his load.
Bonnie and I eventually settled into the craft project. My injured right hand wasn't as steady as it used to be. The old wound—an injury from a night I refused to remember—made the scissors skip when my fingers trembled.
Dorian noticed immediately.
His jaw tightened. Without a word, his large, steady hand slid in and took the paper from mine.
"I'll cut it," he said in that low, velvety rumble that carried Alpha authority even when he wasn't trying.
"Dad!" Bonnie gasped. "You can't do that! The teacher said Mom has to make it!"
Dorian didn't flinch. "Audrey's hand looks like it's been injured."
Bonnie's gaze darted to my fingers. When she spotted the faint scar, she deflated. "I'm sorry, Audrey. I didn't know."
I shook my head gently. "It's all right."
But the truth was… I hadn't expected Dorian to notice. Most wolves didn't pay attention to things that subtle.
"Audrey," Bonnie asked softly, "how did your hand get hurt?"
For a moment, the world blurred. The memory tried to surface—Rowan's rage, the shattering pain, the helplessness. I shoved it back down.
"I don't remember," I lied with a soft smile.
Some wounds stayed buried for a reason.
Dorian studied me closely, his wolf probably struggling to pin me down.
"That injury didn't heal well," he said. "If it's affecting your daily life, I can bring in a specialist. Consider it a thanks for helping Bonnie."
I raised a hand and shook my head. "You don't need to trouble yourself."
Years ago, I could have been healed. My old mentor—one of the finest healers in the region—might have repaired the damage. But she had been furious when I abandoned my path to marry Rowan and fade into domestic life. She refused to see me.
By the time I found another healer, the wound had already gone too long untreated.
Too late. The story of my marriage in two words.
After the divorce, I planned to visit my former mentor in person. Beg forgiveness. Admit my mistakes. Maybe—just maybe—she'd be willing to try again.
After all, without a wolf, there is only so much my body could do.
But that was a road for later.
Dorian accepted my refusal without irritation, though regret flashed briefly in his eyes.
"Then how should I thank you, Audrey?"
"It was nothing," I said honestly. "You don't owe me anything."
"I'm a man of principle," he countered simply.
I hesitated. I truly didn't lack anything. For a moment, I considered asking for payment—he came from a wealthy noble pack, after all—but before I could speak, he said, "Or perhaps… you need a good lawyer."
A pause. "A divorce lawyer."
My stomach tightened.
So he knew.
Everyone seemed to know already.
"That won't be necessary," I said stiffly. "I can handle it myself."
I lifted my chin so he could see I meant it. "Truly."
Dorian held my gaze for a long moment, then gave a slow nod.
"Very well. I'll keep that favor in reserve. You may claim it anytime, Audrey."
A promise. An Alpha's promise carried weight—dangerous or comforting, depending on who held it.
I wondered how deeply Dorian loved Bonnie's mother, even after all this time. The tenderness with which he looked at his daughter was almost painful to witness. Whatever had happened between him and the she-wolf who'd given birth to Bonnie… it wasn't a tale I had the right to pry into.
I focused again on the craft project.
When we finished the paper collage—delicate and surprisingly lovely—Bonnie practically glowed with pride, showering me with praise.
"Well, I should get going," I said softly.
"I'll drive you," Dorian offered.
I opened my mouth to protest, but he'd already risen and taken the keys.
He even opened the car door for me, and for an instant I wondered if, had I not insisted on my independence, he would've simply lifted me into the seat like I weighed nothing.
The drive was quiet, thick with unspoken thoughts.
When we stopped outside my building, Dorian unloaded my wheelchair with ease.
"Thank you," I murmured.
He shook his head. "Thank you for helping Bonnie."
I only offered a faint smile.
"No elevator," he observed. "Need assistance?"
Mortification prickled under my skin, but I nodded. Before I could react, he folded the chair, slung it over one shoulder like it weighed nothing, and offered me his arm for support.
His strength was unreal.
***
Two days passed in a blink.
Ever since the day I cornered Bridget with the truth—showing her Lisa living openly in Rowan's home—everything between us had gone strangely still.
Rowan and Lisa hadn't come sniffing around. Not once.
For a moment, life felt almost peaceful. Almost settled. The day of my divorce drew closer, inch by inch.
I waited.
Then, one morning, my phone buzzed.
"Audrey, look at this."
I opened the message.
My eyes narrowed.
This was…