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“It is simple. That doesn’t mean it’s easy.

” Eli reaches over and tenderly touches my hand where it rests on the couch between us.

His touch is warm and comforting, completely different from Romeo’s possessiveness.

There’s no demand in it, no expectation—just comfort offered freely.

“But choosing your own worth, refusing to accept less than you deserve, is always the right choice, even when it’s the harder one. ”

“I should go,” I say reluctantly. “Mom will worry if she gets home and I’m not there.”

“Of course.” Eli withdraws his hand and stands. “But Jolie? If you ever need to talk again, or if anyone makes you feel unsafe, my door is always open. Day or…night.”

I notice the subtle ripple along his throat. “Why are you being so kind to me?” I ask as he walks me to the door.

Eli pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “Because I think you need my help. You carry yourself like you’re expecting the worst but hoping for the best. And you’re trying so hard to be strong when everything feels like it’s falling apart.”

“Do I remind you of someone else?” We both know I am talking about his ex.

“No.” His voice is quiet, but certain. “I’m helping you because you deserve help. Because you’re clearly struggling with something that’s tearing you apart, and because...” He trails off, looking almost surprised by his own words.

“Because what?”

“Because in the few minutes we’ve been talking, I’ve felt more comfortable, more myself, than I have in years.” He meets my eyes, and there’s something vulnerable in his expression. “I know that probably sounds strange, given that we barely know each other.”

It doesn’t sound strange at all. Sitting in his cottage, drinking tea and talking about complicated feelings, has been the most peaceful I’ve felt since arriving at Silvercrest Manor. Maybe for years.

“It doesn’t sound strange,” I admit. “I feel...safe here. With you.”

Something shifts in Eli’s expression, a warmth that makes my chest flutter in a completely different way than Romeo’s aggressive dominance. This feels like sunlight instead of lightning. He is gentle and nurturing rather than overwhelming.

“Good,” he says softly. “You should feel safe with me. I want you to.”

And there’s something about Eli that feels different, safer.

He’s not making demands or expecting immediate submission.

He’s just...there, offering comfort and wisdom without asking for anything in return.

Maybe that’s what real alphas do. Maybe the difference between Romeo and Eli is the difference between taking and giving, between using and cherishing.

“Thank you. I should head home now,” I say.

He actually looks disappointed, but hides it well and replies, “I’ll walk you.”

“No need. But can I come back tomorrow?”

His smile is wide as he takes my cup from my hand. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Mom is already home, bustling around the small kitchen with unusual energy.

“You’re glowing,” she observes as I wash my hands. “Good day?”

“Better than expected,” I say, not telling her about what Cerise did as I helped her set the table. “I spent some time in the gardens with Eli.”

Mom’s expression grows concerned. “Emmie, I told you to be careful around the Alphas here.”

“Eli isn’t like other alphas,” I protest. “He’s gentle. Kind. He doesn’t make me feel like I need to be afraid.”

“That’s exactly what makes him dangerous,” Mom says quietly. “The ones who seem safe are often the most skilled at making you lower your guard. Like Blake.”

Her words echo in my mind as we eat dinner, but I can’t reconcile them with the man I spent the afternoon with.

Eli feels genuine in a way that Blake never did, honest in a way that Romeo definitely isn’t, and he has that gentle confidence that Beck had.

Maybe Mom’s paranoia is justified given our history, but maybe she’s also seeing threats where none existed.

After dinner, I settle into my window seat, my attention drifting to the manor house across the courtyard. Lights move behind the windows, suggesting the family is home for dinner. My phone buzzes with a text.

Lottie: Sorry I’ve been quiet. Carlos has been...attentive lately. Miss you.

I frown at the message. There’s something in the phrasing that worries me. ‘Attentive’ doesn’t sound like a good thing in Lottie’s context. But before I can respond, another text comes through.

Lottie: Can’t talk yet. Love you.

The abrupt ending leaves me staring at my phone with growing unease. Whatever’s happening with my sister, it’s clear she can’t talk freely. The thought of her trapped in another kind of cage, possibly suffering while I’m safe here in my cottage, makes my chest tight with guilt.

A soft knock at the cottage door interrupts my spiraling thoughts. Mom answers it, and I hear the low murmur of conversation before she calls up to me.

“Jolie? Professor Benson is here to see you.”

I make my way downstairs to find Jude standing in our small living room, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” he says. “I wanted to check on you after today, and to give you this.” He hands me a thick packet of papers.

“Additional reading on Omega biology, social dynamics, and rare scents. I thought you might find it interesting, given your questions about choice and biological imperatives.”

“Thank you,” I say, genuinely touched by his thoughtfulness. “That’s very kind.”

“Also,” he continues, glancing at Mom before returning his attention to me, “I wanted you to know that I’ve spoken with Principal Morrison about the incident today. There will be consequences for the students involved.”

Mom’s expression sharpens. “What incident?”

Heat rises in my cheeks. “It was nothing, Mom. Just some girls being mean.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” Professor Benson says gently. “And it won’t be tolerated. Jolie, you have every right to feel safe at school.”

After he leaves, Mom corners me in the kitchen. “What happened today that you didn’t tell me about?”

I reluctantly explain about Cerise and the water incident, watching Mom’s face grow increasingly grim.

“This is exactly what I was afraid of,” she says when I finish. “You’re drawing attention. The wrong kind of attention.”

“I’m not doing anything,” I protest. “I’m trying to be invisible.”

“Then try harder,” she says sharply. “Because if these girls are targeting you now, it means someone important has noticed you. And we both know that never ends well.”