Betrayed Heiress: My Second Chance Mate is A Lycan King

Aira’s POV

“Come on, Aira, you can’t lock yourself in here forever,” I hear Alex say, but I do not have it in me to respond to him. It has been a week since Ana’s burial, and my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

I have people from work and even unknown numbers messaging and calling me, demanding to know what happened. My face, along with Ana’s, is all over the news, and everything just felt absolutely suffocating. I just want to disappear, but I can’t seem to go anywhere because something bad always happens to me when I am away from Alex for too long.

But then again, what bad could possibly happen now that Ana and Jace are gone? I know that they are the only threat in my life, but I can’t help but feel otherwise. I still have this unsettling feeling in me that there is something even worse lurking in the shadows.

I suppose it is my imagination playing with me, but I still couldn’t bring myself to believe otherwise.

Alex’s tired sigh fills my ears, and I feel very bad for him. He has been by my side ever since this whole sh*t went down. He was doing his absolute best to try to cheer me up, but for some reason, it just wasn’t enough.

There is this hollowness in my heart that I just can’t get rid of, no matter how hard I try. It is a strange feeling, and it is similar to what I felt that day I kneeled before Ana’s grave. I still couldn’t shake my head over what happened that day.

There hasn’t been a drop of rain or any strange wind since that day. I was almost starting to believe that it was me that brought about that weather. Now I am starting to sound crazy.

How could I possibly control the weather? I am nothing but an ordinary girl. I don’t even have a wolf.

Alex’s approaching footsteps fill my ears, and I feel the bed sink beside me. His hand gently touches my shoulder, and I can feel his sad eyes on me. “I don’t like seeing you like this; just tell me what I can do to make you happy, and I will do it. I will do anything, just please. Don’t be this way.”

I shut my eyes after hearing his words, and my heart clenched. Honestly, I do not know what I did to deserve him. He has literally turned into one of the kindest men alive, at least towards me. He still acted pretty much in the same manner toward others.

“There’s nothing you can do, Alex. I just want to be left alone,” I mutter, and there is a moment of silence. Something happens in my chest when he places a kiss on my temple.

“You will never be alone as long as you have me. but I will give you some space if that’s what you really want,” he says, and I hear him get off the bed. “I will be downstairs if you need me.”

His footsteps slowly fade away, and the door shuts shortly after. A sigh leaves my lips as I snuggle into my blanket even more. I have no idea how long I will remain in bed, but I sure as hell knew that I would not be getting up anytime soon.

A knock comes from the door, and I groan. “I said I want to be alone, Alex!” I say it loud enough for him to hear from the other side.

The door opens, and a voice I didn’t expect fills my ears. “Well, then it’s a good thing I am not Alex.”

I sit up quickly, and my eyes meet a familiar pair of warm eyes. Tears instantly brimmed my eyes.

“Camille.”

She smiles sweetly at me as she walks up to the bed. We engulf each other in a warm hug, and I fear that I may be holding onto her a little bit too tight, judging by the way she groaned. “I am sorry.” I apologize as soon as I let her go.

She chuckles lightly and waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” she says, then takes my hands into her soft, warm ones.

“I don’t understand. What are you doing here? How did you even know where this place was?” I ask her, and she smiles.

“I don’t know how, but that husband of yours managed to track me down. I suppose he thought I would have better luck cheering you up,” she says. I want to correct her and tell her that Alex isn’t my husband, but for some reason I don’t.

I kind of like it, if I am to be honest.

Camille catches my eye and asks, “Can you follow me outside?”

I want to tell her that I would rather stay indoors but something about the way she looks at me keeps me from doing that. So I just nod.

She helps me out of bed and leads me out of the room. As I descend the stairs with her, my eyes fall on Alex at the bottom of the stairs. He has a bowl of pasta in his hand and is completely shirtless. He shoots me a wink, and I shoot him a suspicious glare.

What is going on?

Camille leads me out of the house and down to the garden. I am surprised to find a table set out with a blank canvas and paint on top of it. As we approach it, my eyebrows crease with confusion.

Camille must have sensed my confusion because she says, “I must have failed to mention that your father was a painter. I was the one who ignited his love for art when we were kids, but as we grew older, he became even more exceptional than I, and it was my greatest pride.” She gestures to the seat facing hers, and I take it.

“But I don’t know how to paint,” I tell her, and she nods.

“You don’t know how to, or you have never tried?” She asks, and my eyebrows shoot to the top of my head.

“If I have never painted before, how will I know how to do it? I cant just magically be good at something,” I tell her and she smiles at me like she knows something I do not.

“That is what we call talent my dear. To be naturally good at something. When we lost our parents, you father would disappear into the woods with his canvas and paint his days away. It helped him manage his emotions and express himself in the only way he knew how,” she says then places a hand above mine. “My dear, art isn’t always a graphical representation of something. It’s an expression, just let go and let the brush do the talking.”

My gaze falls on the canvas and paint. Picking up the brush, I dip it into some black paint, and as Camille would say, I let the brush do the talking. It felt as though my hand had grown a separate mind of its own as it painted away on the canvas.

I feel the weight on my shoulders suddenly lessen. Something about the way my hand just moved with the paint was just so relaxing. At the end of it all, I stared at my work with wide eyes.

I drew the night sky.

“This is actually very beautiful,” I mutter, staring at my work with surprise.

“It’s not about the outcome, sweetheart; it’s about how you feel during and after the outcome,” she says, and a small smile graces my lips.

Then it disappears when a thought comes to mind.

“You said my father had other siblings the night we met; where are they?”

Her face falls, and she grows incredibly pale.Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

Oh no.

She stares at her canvas for some time without saying a word. The silence made me incredibly uncomfortable. “Camille?”

“I don’t know where they are,” she whispers, and something about the way she says it makes me feel like she doesn’t even want to know. She meets my eyes, and what she says next causes an uncomfortable feeling to course through me.

“But no matter what, if there is ever a day you encounter any of them, run.”