Page 35 of Billionaire Wolf Needs a Maid

My muscles coiled as I stood, positioning myself between her and my mate. The wolf's growl vibrated in my chest, remembering every cold word, every manipulative scheme she'd used to control us. "Why are you here?"

"To clean up your mess, as usual." She sighed with practiced martyrdom, adjusting her platinum bracelet in a gesture I'd seen thousands of times. It was her tell when she was preparing to deliver a particularly cutting blow. "Really, Dean. A human mate? And now Sean Marshall's death to explain away."

The casual dismissal of Nina's near-death experience sent rage coursing through my veins. "No." The word came out more wolf than human, my fangs threatening to descend. "You don't get to come here and act like this is my fault. Your schemes, your precious family business. It ends now."

Mother's manicured fingers tightened on her handbag. "You're being ridiculous."

"Rafe nearly killed him," Nina's quiet voice cut through the tension like a blade. Through our bond, I felt her fierce protectiveness warring with genuine bewilderment at my mother's coldness. "Your son. Your own blood. And you're worried about appearances?"

Something cracked in her perfect mask. A flash of something almost like pain in her eyes before the ice returned. "You don't understand our world, girl."

"I understand family." Nina's hand found mine, our bond humming with shared strength. "And this isn't it. Family protects each other. Family chooses love over power. What you've built is just a prison of obligations and fear."

"Choose," I told my mother, drawing on Nina's courage. "Either accept that I'm done with the family business, and that Nina is my mate and my future, or leave. Permanently."

Violet's eyes narrowed to slits. "You would choose her over your own blood?"

"Every time."

"Very well." Violet's spine stiffened to steel. "I see you've made your choice."

"I have." I met her gaze steadily, my wolf calm and certain. "Goodbye, Mother."

She left without another word, taking the last shadows of my past with her. The moment the elevator doors closed behind my mother, the tension I'd carried since childhood began to unravel. My wolf, which had been coiled tight with protective fury, slowly settled as the scent of her perfume dissipated. Each breath came easier, like finally breaking through water and breathing air after a lifetime of drowning.

Nina tugged me back down beside her, curling into my arms despite her injuries. I hadn't realized how much of my life had been spent bracing for her disapproval, measuring everydecision against her exacting standards. Now, with Nina warm and real in my arms, those old chains felt meaningless.

I searched for words, my fingers absently stroking Nina's hair. "I feel lighter. Like I've been carrying this weight for so long that I forgot what it was like without it."

Nina's hand found my heart. She didn't try to fill the silence with platitudes or judgments. She simply held space for whatever emotions needed to surface.

A laugh bubbled up out of my throat, surprising us both. It was not bitter or angry, but genuinely free. My wolf stretched luxuriously, reveling in the simple joy of being exactly who and what we were meant to be. No more pretense. No more sacrificing pieces of ourselves to fit someone else's vision.

For the first time in my life, I was completely, unequivocally free to choose my own path. And I'd chosen love.

"You okay?" she whispered against my neck.

I buried my face in her hair, breathing in honeysuckle and mate and home. "Yeah. I really am."

"What happens now?"

"Now?" I smiled against her skin, finally at peace. "Now we heal. Together. And maybe plan that wedding empire you've been dreaming about."

"Mmm. I like the sound of that." She yawned, nestling closer. "Stay with me?"

"Always." I pulled her carefully against my chest, my wolf curling protectively around our mate's sleeping form. "Always."

A gentle knock interrupted our peaceful moment. Before Jenkins could announce our visitor, the unmistakable scent of homemade chicken soup and butter cookies wafted through the door.

"Mrs. Abernathy," Jenkins announced, a touch of fondness in his artificial voice. "Bearing sustenance."

The diminutive woman bustled in, a tiny stout tornado of activity despite the late hour. She carried a large covered pot that steamed promisingly.

"There's my favorite couple!" she declared, setting her burden on the coffee table. "I brought my famous healing chicken dumpling soup, it's the same recipe that brought my Arnold back from pneumonia in '82." She winked at Nina. "Though I suspect your young man's unique constitution might speed things along."

I tensed, but Nina let out a small smile, careful not to jostle her ribs. Of course, Mrs. Abernathy knew. She probably knew everything that happened in this building.

"Now then," she continued, ladling soup into bowls with practiced efficiency. "I must say, it's about time you two sorted things out. The unresolved sexual tension was getting absolutely ridiculous."

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