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Shadow and Storm weren’t far behind, employing their own versions of emotional manipulation. Shadow maintained a dignified pose but somehow managed to look utterly dejected, while Storm’s tail wagged hopefully every time someone reached for a pastry.

Imo finally broke. “Aigoo.” She sighed in that distinctly maternal Korean way. “These eyes worse than Luke as baby!” She reached into one of her many bags and pulled out what looked like homemade dog treats. “Made special. Good for coat, good for energy. No human food for big babies.”

The dogs’ transformation from pitiful to ecstatic was instantaneous. Even Shadow dropped his aristocratic demeanor, tail wagging as enthusiastically as his brothers’.

“You made them treats?” I laughed. “Of course you did.”

“Dogs need love too,” Imo said primly, distributing the treats with the same care she used for her ritual offerings.

After the impromptu treat session, Jorge stood up. “Shall we show you around? The manor has quite a history.”

“Yes, yes! Want to see everything. Feel many strong energies.” Imo practically bounced up, her prayer beads clicking rhythmically.

As Jorge and Maria led Imo toward the kitchen, I gestured for Luke to follow me upstairs. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’re staying.”

“This place is insane,” Luke whispered as we climbed the grand staircase. His eyes traced the ornate woodwork and ancient tapestries. “Actually insane. It’s giving me serious Gothic novel vibes, but make it Pacific Northwest with a side of supernatural wealth.”

“Wait till you see the hidden passages.” I grinned. “Though I’m still convinced I’ll find a ghost every time I open a door.”

“Please tell me there’s at least one secret bookcase entrance. I’ll be severely disappointed in your wealthy wolf boyfriends if there isn’t.”

“Three, actually. That I know of.” I paused at the top of the stairs. “Derek’s is behind his weapons display, which is exactly as extra as it sounds.”

As we climbed the grand staircase, I couldn’t help but marvel at how… normal this felt. Well, as normal as anything could be in a mansion full of werewolves while my adoptive Korean mom performed impromptu spiritual readings of the architecture. But still. Nobody had been exorcised yet, Luke hadn’t tried to drag me back to Seattle, and the brothers seemed genuinely charmed by Imo’s particular brand of chaos.

Maybe this wouldn’t be the disaster I’d feared. Though I probably shouldn’t jinx it—we still had dinner to get through, and knowing my luck, something would definitely catch fire. Hopefully just metaphorically.

“This is your room,” I said, gesturing to the massive guest suitethat could have fit my entire college apartment three times over. “Maria insisted on putting you near me.”

“Holy shit,” Luke breathed, taking in the king-sized bed with its ridiculous thread count sheets, the sitting area with its leather armchairs, and the wall of windows overlooking the gardens. “This isn’t a guest room, this is a five-star hotel suite.”

“Yeah, the brothers take their luxury very seriously.” I flopped onto one of the armchairs, watching Luke explore. “Derek actually complained that the towels in my bathroom weren’t ‘soft enough’ last week. I didn’t even know towels could be wrong.”

“Your bathroom?” Luke raised an eyebrow. “Show me.”

My room was a few doors down the grand hallway, and if possible, even more ridiculous than Luke’s. The brothers had insisted on “properly furnishing” it, which apparently meant enough space to house a small army and furniture that probably cost more than my student loans.

“I feel like I’m going to break something every time I breathe in here,” I admitted as Luke whistled at the view from my private balcony. “Pretty sure that vase is worth more than my life insurance.”

“Okay, spill.” Luke settled onto my bed. “What’s really going on? And don’t give me that summarized version you told me over the phone. I want everything, starting with why you never mentioned living here before.”

I sighed, curling up in my reading nook by the window. “Honestly? I didn’t remember most of it until I came back. It’s like… like someone took all my memories before age thirteen and ran them through a paper shredder. When I first saw the cottage again, it was weird. I knew things I shouldn’t have known—little details about the house, where things were, old habits. But the actual memories? Just flashes, fragments. Like watching a movie with most of the scenes missing.”

“That sounds messed up,” Luke said softly.

“Yeah. Mom never talked about it either. We just… left. One day we were here, the next we were running. We moved around a lot after that—Seattle, Portland, San Francisco. Never stayed anywhere longer than a year until…” I trailed off, remembering those frantic years of constant movement.

“Until she died,” Luke finished softly. “When you were eighteen.”

“Yeah.” I picked at a loose thread on my sleeve. “Then college happened and I met you and your disaster cooking skills.”

“Hey! I make excellent ramen now.”

“Microwaving doesn’t count as cooking.”

“At least I never set the kitchen on fire making toast and burned my entire arm.”

“That was one time!” I protested, rubbing my arm in memory. “And looking back, it should have scarred badly, but it healed in like, two days.” I paused, something clicking into place. “Actually, remember that time you wiped out on your skateboard sophomore year? The one where you should have needed stitches?”