Page 22 of Wisteria and Cloves

The silence stretched so long I wondered if the call had dropped. Then Julian's voice came through, quieter but somehow more intense than before, "Lilianna, do you know what I saw when you walked into that lounge a week ago?"

I shook my head, then realized he couldn't see me. "No."

"I saw someone who was drowning but still trying to breathe. Someone who had been taught that her own thoughts were dangerous, but who couldn't quite kill the curiosity in her eyes." His voice grew warmer. "And when you laughed—really laughed—it was like watching someone remember something they'd forgotten they knew how to do."

The description caught me off guard, so different from how I'd ever heard myself described. Not obedient or proper or well-mannered, but curious. Alive despite everything.

"That person," Julian continued, "is worth everything. The real question isn't whether you're enough for us—it's whether we're worthy of helping you discover who you really are."

Tears pricked at my eyes, unexpected and unwelcome. I blinked them back, unwilling to give in to the emotion threatening to overwhelm me.

"I should go," I whispered, my voice thick. "Before someone hears me."

"Alright," Julian agreed. "Just remember—ten o'clock tomorrow. And Lilianna?"

"Yes?" I asked, not knowing what else he could have to say to me.

"Pack whatever makes you feel like yourself. Not what they want you to bring." He then gave a quick goodnight before the phone disconnected…and I just had to hope tomorrow would go smoothly. That this was the right thing to do for my life.

Only time would really tell.

Chapter Eight

Lilianna

The morning arrived with pale sunlight filtering through my curtains. I'd barely slept, caught between anticipation and anxiety, my mind racing with possibilities of what awaited me. I rose early, showered, and dressed in the outfit my mother had selected for the occasion—a modest pale blue dress with a fitted bodice and flared skirt that hit just below my knees. Conservative but youthful. Demure but not matronly. Every detail calculated to present the perfect image.

I fastened my grandmother's pearl necklace around my throat, the cool weight of it settling against my collarbone like a reminder. Then I checked my hidden phone one last time, drawing comfort from its presence before tucking it into a secret pocket I'd sewn into my handbag.

At precisely at Nine fifty-three, I descended the grand staircase with my small carry-on. The household staff had already moved my larger suitcases to the foyer, lined up with military precision beside the front door. My parents waited in the formal receiving hall, both dressed as if they were attending a state dinner rather than simply seeing their daughter off.

My mother wore navy blue silk with her best jewelry, every hair perfectly in place. My father stood in his finest suit, a gold watch glinting as he checked the time. They looked like the successful, distinguished family they'd always presented to the world—and I was the final piece of their carefully curated image.

"Perfect timing," my mother said, her critical gaze sweeping over me from head to toe. She stepped forward to adjust my necklace slightly, her fingers cool against my skin. "Remember everything we've discussed."

"Yes, Mother," I replied automatically.

My father approached, carrying the leather portfolio containing my documentation. "This goes directly to Julian Vale," he instructed, his tone brooking no argument.

I took the heavy portfolio, the weight of it a physical reminder of how thoroughly my life had been documented and controlled. "Of course, Father."

"Your driver will be arriving momentarily," my mother said, glancing at her watch. "I've packed a few additional items in your second suitcase—the new lingerie sets from La Petal, and those silk pajamas that complement your coloring."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Every moment that passed brought me closer to freedom, but these final minutes stretched like hours.

"Lilianna," my father said, his voice taking on that authoritative tone he used for important pronouncements. "I expect you to represent this family with absolute decorum. TheVale pack is giving you an extraordinary opportunity. Don't squander it with any... improprieties."

"I understand my responsibilities," I replied, the words practiced and hollow.

The distant crunch of tires on gravel announced the arrival of a car. My father straightened, checking his reflection in the entryway mirror, while my mother's fingers dug into my arm one last time.

"Remember who you represent," she whispered, her smile not reaching her eyes. "Twenty-three years of preparation. Don't waste it."

The front door opened, revealing not the black sedan I'd expected, but a sleek silver SUV with tinted windows. And standing beside it—my heart stuttered—was Miles.

His presence was unexpected. I'd assumed a driver would collect me, not one of the Alphas themselves. He looked different in casual clothes—dark jeans and a forest green sweater that made his eyes appear even brighter. When he saw me, a genuine smile broke across his face.

"Good morning," Miles said, his voice carrying across the space between us with warmth that felt like sunshine after a week in cold shadows. "I hope you don't mind that I came personally. We thought the transition might be easier with a familiar face."

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