Page 223 of His Drama Queen

"You cut me off," Dorian says. "Completely. Because I chose her."

"I did." Harrison's voice is steady, honest. "And I was wrong. Your mother was wrong. We both operated from fear—fear of losing you, fear of losing control, fear of what people would say. We made our fears your problem."

Eleanor steps forward. "I've been attending your shows, Dorian. Quietly. Watching from the back. And I've been watching you with Vespera and your pack. You're happy. Genuinely happy. More than you ever were following our plans."

"I am," Dorian says carefully.

"We'd like to fix this," Harrison says. "Your trust fund will be restored, effective immediately. No conditions. No strings. Use it however you choose—invest it, ignore it, donate it. It's yours."

"And more than that," Eleanor adds, looking at me, "we'd like to apologize to Vespera. For trying to destroy you. For seeing you as a threat instead of the woman our son chose. For every cruel thing I said and did."

I don't know what to say. Eight months ago I would have thrown them out. But eight months of watching Dorian build a life without them, seeing the grief underneath his determination—maybe reconciliation is possible.

"Why now?" I ask.

"Because enough time has passed for us to see clearly," Harrison says. "Because you've proven you don't need us, which paradoxically makes us want to be part of this. And because—" He looks at Eleanor. "Because we don't want to be the kind of parents who only have a relationship with their son through lawyers and trust fund statements."

"Julian," Dorian says quietly.

"Yes," Harrison admits. "We lost Julian seven years ago because we couldn't accept his choices. We're not losing you too."

The name hangs in the air—Dorian's brother, now living in Brooklyn with his own mate.

"Have you reached out to him?" Dorian asks.

"Not yet," Eleanor says. "We wanted to start here. With you. To prove we've actually changed before we try to repair that damage."

Dorian looks at me. At the pack. Silent question—what do you think?

"I think," I say carefully, "that people can change. But words are easy. Trust is earned."

"We understand," Harrison says. "We're not asking for immediate forgiveness. We're asking for a chance."

"Dinner," Dorian says finally. "Next week. Just dinner. We'll see how it goes."

"That's more than we deserve," Eleanor says. "Thank you."

They leave, and Dorian stands there processing.

"Your father seems different than your mother," Corvus observes.

"He is," Dorian says. "Quieter but no less scary. But when he decides something, he commits. If he's apologizing, he means it."

"And Eleanor?" I ask.

"I don't know," Dorian admits. "But maybe eight months was enough time for her to actually change. Or maybe she's just gotten better at manipulation. Either way—"

"We proceed carefully," I finish.

"Exactly." He's been promoted to stage manager at Brooklyn Community Theater, which comes with a modest pay increase and the kind of job satisfaction that used to confuse him.

"Still reading?" he asks, dropping his bag and immediately pulling me into his arms. Eight months and I still feel the bond flare when he touches me, that fated mate connection that triedto control me and now just... exists. Part of our relationship but not all of it.

"Still reading," I confirm. "This one's good. Really good. Lesbian Omega love story set against Alpha-supremacist politics. The lead is complex and angry and doesn't apologize for either."

"Sounds perfect for you," he says, kissing my neck where his claiming mark sits. It's faded now, silvered like old scars, but still visible. "When's it start?"

"Rehearsals in July. Three-month run." I lean back against him. "Which means I'll have April through June to work on something else if I want."