I had finally landed back in New Orleans — just that I wasn't going back to the same home anymore.
Can I even call it that now?
The moment I stepped into arrivals, I spotted my mum waving a huge cardboard sign that said "Welcome Home, Gia Honey!!!" in bright glittery letters. I rolled my eyes. Classic Olivia Vale — dramatic and way too sweet for her own good.
Before I could even process, she ran straight into me, wrapping me in one of those suffocating hugs.
"God, these months felt like forever!" she breathed, squeezing tighter.
"Mum— I can't breathe," I gasped.
She finally pulled back and kissed both my cheeks like I was still five.
"Jesus, Mum, that's enough," I muttered, rubbing my face.
"Glad to see how much you missed me," she said, pouting playfully.
"Of course I missed you," I said, and she beamed as if I'd just handed her an award.
"Come on, come on, everyone's waiting for you! I can't wait for you to see the house, and Marcus, and Nina—she's the head caretaker—"
She rambled on as we walked toward the car park.
I didn't share her excitement, and I knew she could tell. But that was the thing about my mum — she talked through awkwardness like it didn't exist. So I said nothing and followed her to the car.
When she opened the driver's door, I frowned.
"You didn't bring any of your drivers?"
"Nope," she said, sliding in with a grin. "I knew how much you'd love some privacy."
Okay, fair. I actually appreciated that.
"So," she said as she started the car, "how was the program, honey?"
"It was good," I replied. "You should know — you called me almost every day."
She sighed dramatically. "God forbid a mother just wants to check if her daughter's okay."
I smirked. "Yes, yes. You're the best mum in the world."
"Finally, some credit," she muttered, and we both chuckled.
"You make any friends?" she asked.
"Just one. Rue."
"One?" she echoed, disbelief written all over her voice. But she didn't push it, for once.
Then, after a beat, she said, "And your mate? Did you meet anyone?"
"Not this again, Mum," I groaned, staring out the window.
"What do you mean, not this again? You're nineteen, Gia. You should have found your mate by now."
"Well, I don't want to."
"Why?!"
I turned to her slowly, meeting her eyes. "You need to move on Gia—" she began.
"You're not the one with the scar, Mum!" My voice cracked.
"you're not the only one left with a scar, mine isn't just physical"
The air went heavy. I looked back out the window, jaw tight.
She knew how much I hated talking about that night.
A few minutes later, she cleared her throat softly.
"Okayyy, we're here," she said, trying to lighten the mood.
The car rolled to a stop in front of what could only be described as a mansion.
It wasn't too much, but it screamed money — white stone walls, tall pillars, and a stretch of green that looked like it hadn't seen a single weed in its lifetime.
A butler came out immediately to grab my luggage.
"Come on," Mum said cheerily, and I followed her inside.
Marcus Wolfe was in the living room, reading the paper like he was born to pose for magazine covers.
When he noticed me, he stood and smiled warmly. "Welcome, Gia. It's good to finally have you home."
He offered his hand; I shook it, forcing a polite smile. "Likewise, Marcus."
"Where's Ivan?" Mum asked, glancing around.
Ivan. The name I'd been hearing in every single phone call for the past six months.
Marcus replied, "He's supposed to be here to welcome Gianna, but he's probably by the pool."
"Okay, honey." Mum leaned in to give Marcus a soft kiss, then turned to me. "Come on, Gia. You have to meet him."
We stepped through the glass doors leading to the pool.
And there he was.
"That's your stepbrother, Ivan," Mum said with a proud smile.
He was sitting by the edge, his legs dipped lazily in the water, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The breeze ruffled his hair — white, almost silver, rare and wild.
For a second, I couldn't look away. And I hated that.
Because I knew, right there and then, that I hated him.
I hated men who smoked. I hated what cigarettes and alcohol turned people into.
Because of my father.
Because of the scar below my ribs that reminded me every single day of what monsters could hide in the men we love.
And yet… something in my chest burned when his eyes lifted and met mine.
It was like recognition. Like fate whispering a secret I wasn't ready to hear.
The air changed. My pulse kicked. Something inside me stirred—a rush I couldn't explain.
One look and the bond snapped into place like it had been waiting for us
"Mate" Rory my wolf immediately said.. My pulse heightened more. It couldn't be. It can't be.
"I have to go unpack," I blurted out, before my brain caught up with my mouth.
"Wait, Gia—" Mum called, but I was already gone, disappearing into the hallways.
After almost getting lost, a woman—Nina, the head maid—found me and guided me to my room.
The moment the door shut behind me, I shoved in my AirPods and blasted music. Anything to drown the noise in my head.
The room was huge, too huge. Everything screamed money.
I wasn't used to this life.
I'll be fine, I told myself.
By the time I was done unpacking, it was already dark so I decided to freshen up.
I peeled off my shirt, ready to shower. My eyes caught the mirror. My hand instinctively went to the scar beneath my left breast—the ugly, jagged reminder of what my father had done.
The memories came rushing back.
The screaming.
The smell of alcohol.
The pain.
I blinked away the tears and turned away.
After the shower, I threw on an oversized shirt and lay on the bed. My throat was dry. I reached for the glass of water on the nightstand—but the jug was empty.
Sighing, I got up.
Guess I'd have to find the kitchen.