Chapter 7 May Happiness Find You

"You have no authority to command me, sir." Leah arched an eyebrow.

"Enough, Leah. Enough with the attitude. I shall arrange a place for your mother, you may sit down without further worry," Marcus cut in to defuse the tension.

It struck Leah as peculiar that Gloria would be permitted to dine among them on an occasion like this. Once upon a time, Marcus would never have allowed such a thing. Several times Leah had fought to secure better standing for Gloria, only to be brushed off with hollow excuses that it violated protocol.

Perhaps Marcus was not quite so rigid after all.

When it suited him, his principles could bend, if only a little, for Chloe.

Leah fixed Marcus with a scornful gaze.

Still, while Leah herself no longer cared for such formalities, Gloria might well crave the recognition. She took her seat beside Chloe.

Satisfaction bloomed instantly in Chloe's eyes. She personally poured Leah a glass of juice. "Leah, try this. It's blood orange from the southern estate. Very sweet."

Leah lifted the glass and took a small sip. Extreme sourness flooded her mouth instantly, soaking into her teeth until they ached.

Chloe truly was her dear sister—she remembered every single thing Leah hated with perfect clarity.

"Do you like it?" Chloe tilted her head slightly, golden curls sliding over her shoulder, making her neck look long and pale.

"It's good." The lie came easily.

This was a script they'd performed since childhood. Leah had grown so accustomed to it that she'd gone numb.

Chloe's smile deepened, her eyes curved into gentle crescents that made her look utterly harmless. But Leah had known since they were children: the softer Chloe's smile, the sharper the cut when she struck.

Chloe set down her glass, her expression suddenly turning serious. "Leah, I truly want to thank you. These past three years, you stayed by Ethan's side and looked after him for me. You were there through his darkest, most vulnerable days. I know all of it."

A warm, delicate palm pressed over the back of Leah's hand. The touch was smooth and refined—the kind of skin that came from years of privilege.

Leah's eyes dropped to the brand-new ring on Chloe's finger.

Was this the token Ethan gave her? Bloody hell. Leah seethed inwardly.

It struck her as bitterly ironic that Ethan had once given her the very same thing.

"These three years must have been so hard for you." Chloe's tone dripped with deliberate sympathy. "Caring for a severely injured Alpha is difficult enough. Anyone else would have broken under the strain. You had no experience, yet you managed everything perfectly."

The other guests fell silent, all eyes turning to Leah, waiting for her response.

Leah forced the corners of her stiff mouth upward, her tone flat. "It was nothing. I just did what needed to be done. It's enough that he recovered."

Leah was not lying. When she had thrown herself wholly into things, her feelings had been genuine. She'd cared for Ethan, and for that reason she'd been willing to save him. As for now, Ethan had found someone far more suitable, and she herself had stumbled onto another path.

There was little point clinging to resentment.

Chloe seemed moved by her humility. She turned to look tenderly at Ethan beside her, her eyes brimming with affection and devotion.

Then she turned back, patting Leah's hand gently. "Leah, tell me more about the details. Did you personally handle his daily needs? Manage his meals? What else did you do for him?"

Leah's jaw tightened instantly.

Images from the dim recovery room flooded her mind. Ethan bedridden, his breathing shallow, always on the verge of slipping away completely. The wound on his chest required daily dressing changes. When she peeled back the gauze, the raw, bloody mess beneath was horrifying.

Day after day, she'd knelt beside his bed, using tweezers to hold cotton swabs, carefully cleaning away the pus and blood from the wound's edges.

When Ethan burned with fever in his delirium, he'd instinctively grip her wrist, murmuring Chloe's name over and over.

Through those long, lonely nights, she'd kept watch over thermometers and medicine, exhaustion making her head droop repeatedly—yet she'd always jolt awake the instant he coughed or stirred.

When his condition improved enough for him to sit up and eat, she'd sat on the edge of the bed with a bowl, patiently feeding him spoonful by spoonful. Knowing he hated chunks of meat, she'd ground it to a fine paste and mixed it into his porridge so he'd never notice.

Back then, she'd never thought of her daily efforts as hardship. She'd simply seen it as her duty.

Yet now that Chloe had pressed her about it openly in front of everyone, she suddenly viewed all those endless days and nights as nothing more than the act of a ridiculous clown.

Leah tried her hardest to talk herself into letting it go, yet it brought no instant relief.

Werewolves were creatures of emotion. They could not simply scrub away the past, casting aside every feeling in an instant.

Still, she could come to terms with it. She would adjust.

"There's nothing to say." Leah suppressed the storm of emotions, her voice distant and flat. "It was just changing bandages on schedule, administering medication, monitoring his temperature, checking on him throughout the night."

"Did the bandage changes hurt?" Chloe's eyes lit up, pressing further. "Was Ethan afraid of the pain?"

Ethan coughed lightly beside her, his brow furrowing as he cut in. "Chloe, stop asking about the past."

"But I want to know." Chloe's lips formed a small pout as she acted coy with him. "I want to know how you survived those three years. I want to know if Leah took good care of you, if she let you suffer at all. You're my fiancé—I have every right to care about you."

She spoke the word "fiancé" softly, her tone tender and intimate.

Leah's thoughts drifted to a certain Alpha thousands of miles away.

Strictly speaking, he would soon be her mate.

Perhaps she ought to find him a gift. After all, he had already prepared one for her.

Ethan glanced at Leah briefly, his assessment casual. "She did an adequate job. Nothing to complain about."

"That's wonderful, then." Chloe's eyes curved with pleasure as she turned back to Leah. "Leah, tell me more details. What foods does Ethan avoid? Does he sleep on his side or his back? Is he irritable in the mornings? I want to understand him better so when we're officially married, I can take proper care of him."

Chloe had crossed a line. Leah contemplated taunting her on purpose, though she knew it would come at her own cost.

Her goal was to cut all connections to Ethan, not exchange affectionate words just to rattle Chloe.

Unfortunately, Ethan denied her any opening to retaliate.

The veins on the back of Leah's hand stood out as she gripped her glass, bitterness and frustration building layer upon layer in her chest.

"Chloe." Ethan's tone dropped suddenly, edged with clear impatience. "You don't need to learn from her."

Chloe froze slightly, her eyes filled with confusion. "Why not?"

"I said, you don't need to copy her." Ethan's voice was cold as he repeated himself. "The way she cared for me belongs to her alone. You and she have never been the same. I don't need you imitating what she did."

Hurt flooded Chloe's eyes instantly. "Are you saying you don't need me to care for you?"

Ethan immediately lifted his hand, cradling her face gently, his voice turning tender. "No. These trivial matters can be handled by the lower-ranked members. How could I bear to burden you with such labor?"

Leah slowly released her grip on the glass.

Those words were like ice water poured over her head, freezing her blood until it nearly stopped flowing.

Chloe didn't need to learn how to care for him because Chloe was unique, someone worthy of being cherished and favored.

And Leah's three years of devotion? Nothing more than replaceable labor, not worth mentioning.

A low laugh suddenly escaped Leah's lips.

She'd caught even herself off guard. The weight pressing on her chest was too heavy—she could only release it through that single sound.

"Then I wish you both happiness." She raised the sour blood orange juice toward them in a small toast. "Truly. You're perfect for each other."

Chloe blinked, momentarily stunned, then broke into a shy, gentle smile. "Thank you, Leah."

Ethan's expression, however, darkened instantly.

He stared hard at Leah, amber eyes churning with intense, inexplicable anger.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his voice low.

Leah's hand paused mid-toast, her tone calm. "It doesn't mean anything."

"That passive-aggressive tone." Ethan's jaw clenched, each word hard and cold. "Wishing us happiness? Are you saying I'm not good enough for her, or she's not good enough for me?"