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Chapter Twenty-One

Miles

I carried the empty tray downstairs, my mind still on Lilianna's thoughtful questions about love languages and care. The kitchen was warm and bright when I entered, the others gathered around the island finishing their own meals.

"How is she?" Christopher asked immediately, setting down his spoon.

"Better," I replied, placing the empty tray on the counter. "She ate everything and seemed more settled. The sleep did her good."

Julian's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Did she say anything about what happened?"

"Not directly," I admitted, leaning against the counter. "But we had a good conversation about different ways people express and receive care. She's starting to ask questions about herself—what she needs, what makes her feel valued."

Nicolaus looked up from his tablet, his analytical gaze sharpening with interest. "That's significant progress. Self-awareness is the foundation of healing."

"And the kintsugi stone?" Christopher asked, his gray eyes hopeful. "Did she mention it?"

"She had it in her pocket," I confirmed, smiling at the relief that flooded Christopher's face. "She showed it to me, asked me about kintsugi. I think your metaphor resonated deeply with her."

"Good," Christopher murmured, his expression softening. "I wasn't sure if it would seem too heavy-handed."

"It was perfect," I assured him, helping myself to a glass of water. "She's carrying it with her—that's a powerful sign of how much it means to her."

Julian nodded thoughtfully, running a finger around the rim of his coffee mug. "What about tomorrow? Should we give her more space, or would that feel like abandonment?"

"I suggested we take things at her pace," I said, settling onto a stool beside Nicolaus. "No expectations, no pressure. But I also made it clear that Christopher is still eager to teach her baking, whenever she's ready to try again."

"Absolutely," Christopher agreed, his enthusiasm immediate. "I've been researching trauma-informed teaching methods. I think a different approach might help—more emphasis on the process than the result, smaller steps with clear success markers."

Nicolaus made a note on his tablet, his fingers moving with practiced efficiency. "That's a sound strategy. Predictability and achievable goals create safety."

"Did she give any indication of whether she plans to join us tomorrow?" Julian asked, his tone carefully neutral despite the concern evident in his eyes.

I considered the question, thinking back to our conversation. "She didn't say specifically, but I sensed she was working through her embarrassment. The fact that she asked about love languages and what makes each of us feel cared for suggests she's thinking about deeper connection, not withdrawal."

"That's encouraging," Julian nodded, some of the tension visibly leaving his shoulders. "Did she ask about your love language specifically?"

I smiled, remembering her genuine curiosity. "She did. It caught me off guard—I wasn't expecting her to turn the question back on me."

"What did you tell her?" Christopher asked, absently stirring his spoon in the remaining broth of his stew.

"The truth. That I value quality time and physical touch." I ran a hand through my hair, still processing our conversation. "She's observant—immediately connected that, to why I stayed while she ate."

Nicolaus made another note on his tablet. "Her social intelligence is remarkable, especially considering how it's been systematically undermined by her upbringing."

"What about your assessment of her love language?" Julian asked, leaning forward with interest. "Were you able to gauge what she likes?”

I nodded slowly, considering what I'd observed. "She specifically mentioned feeling understood by Christopher's kintsugi stone, safe when Julian helped her through the panic attack without forcing her to calm down, and respected when Nicolaus spoke to her as an equal this morning."

"Understanding, safety, and respect," Nicolaus summarized, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against his tablet. "Those aren't traditional love languages—they're more fundamental needs that were systematically denied in her upbringing."

Christopher finished putting away the leftovers, his movements purposeful yet gentle. "It makes sense. How can someone receive love through words of love when they've only hard criticism? Or through touch when it's been used to control rather than comfort?"

"We're building from the ground up," Julian said quietly. "Establishing basic safety and respect before we can even approach romantic connection.”

"Exactly," I agreed, pushing away from the counter to help Christopher with the dishes.

"What concerns me," Julian said, his voice dropping lower, "is what other triggers we haven't discovered yet. If breaking a bowl caused that level of panic..."

"There will be others," I acknowledged, handing Christopher a clean dish to dry. "We can't predict them all. What matters is how we respond when they happen."

Christopher's eyes remained troubled as he methodically dried each plate. "I can't stop thinking about her kneeling on broken glass. What kind of mother would do that to their child .”

The kitchen fell silent at Christopher's words, each of us processing the horror of what Lilianna had endured. I set down the dish I was washing, my hands trembling slightly with suppressed rage.

"A mother who saw her daughter as a reflection of her own status rather than a person," Nicolaus said quietly, his clinical tone not quite masking the fury beneath. "Control through pain and humiliation."

Julian's jaw worked as he visibly struggled with his emotions. "The psychological damage from that kind of systematic abuse..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "She apologized to us. For breaking a five-dollar bowl, she apologized like she expected us to hurt her."

"Which means it's happened before," I said grimly, the pieces clicking together in ways that made my stomach churn. "This wasn't an isolated incident. This was a pattern."

Christopher's grip tightened on the plate in his hands, “She has an older brother…do you think it is the same…or because she is an Omega?”

"Both," Nicolaus answered without hesitation, his analytical mind cutting straight to the heart of the matter. "But I'd wager the treatment was worse for Lilianna because she's an Omega. In families like hers, sons are investments to be cultivated, daughters are commodities to be managed."

The clinical accuracy of his assessment made my chest tighten with protective fury. "So her brother probably got the discipline, while she received the systematic breaking down."

"Exactly," Nicolaus confirmed, making another note. "Different forms of control for different purposes. Her brother needed to be shaped into a successful Alpha, while Lilianna needed to be made compliant and decorative."

Julian stood abruptly, pacing to the window to stare out at the darkening garden. “Do you think we are the right pack for this?”

The question hung in the air like a challenge, and I felt something fierce rise in my chest at the suggestion we might not be enough for her.

"Are you having doubts?" Nicolaus asked, his voice carefully neutral as he studied Julian's rigid posture.

Julian turned from the window, his hazel eyes blazing with an intensity I rarely saw. "No doubts about wanting her, but I have doubts about whether we can give her what she needs. What if we make mistakes? What… what if we trigger her without meaning to? What if—"

"Julian," Christopher interrupted gently, setting down his dish towel. "We're going to make mistakes. That's inevitable when helping someone heal from trauma this extensive."

"But what if our mistakes hurt her more?" Julian's voice cracked slightly, revealing the depth of his concern. "She's already been broken by people who were supposed to protect her. What if we break her further.”

"We won't," I said firmly, moving to stand beside Julian at the window. "Because we're asking these questions. Because we care enough to worry about hurting her. Her parents never had that concern."

Nicolaus closed his tablet with a soft click, his blue eyes serious as he regarded Julian. "The difference between us and her parents is intent. They broke her deliberately, systematically. Any mistakes we make will come from a place of care, not control."

"And she'll know the difference," Christopher added, his voice carrying quiet conviction. "She's already learning to distinguish between the two. Look how she responded to each of us today—she's developing trust despite twenty-three years of conditioning."

Julian's shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of responsibility evident in every line of his body.

"I've never felt this protective of anyone.

When I saw her panic, when I realized what her mother had done.

.." He ran both hands through his hair, leaving it disheveled.

"I wanted to drive to her parents' house and make them pay for every moment of pain they caused her," Julian finished, his voice rough with suppressed emotion.

"That's not like me, I don't lose control. "

"It's not losing control," I said quietly, understanding flooding through me. "It's love. Or the beginning of it."

The word hung between us, unspoken until now but undeniably present. We all felt it—this fierce protectiveness, this desperate need to shield her from further harm, this growing certainty that she belonged with us.

"Is that what this is?" Christopher asked softly, his gray eyes wide with wonder. "Because I've never felt anything like this before either. The need to feed her, to comfort her, to see her smile..."

"The way she trusted me enough to let me help her through the panic attack," Julian added, his voice barely above a whisper.

"The way she asked questions this morning without fear," Nicolaus added quietly. "Seeking understanding rather than just trying to please."

I nodded, leaning against the counter. "And how she lit up in the garden yesterday, showing genuine curiosity about something that matters to me."

We fell silent, each processing this revelation. It wasn't just alpha protectiveness or omega caretaking instincts—this was something deeper, more personal. Something that had taken root despite the short time she'd been with us.

"But is it fair to her?" Julian asked, voicing the concern we all shared. "She's barely beginning to discover who she is without her parents' control. Is it right for us to introduce our feelings when she's still so vulnerable?"

Nicolaus considered this, his analytical mind turning over the ethical implications. "I think the key is transparency, without pressure. She needs to know she has choices.”

"She needs to know she's valued for who she is, not who she might become for us," Christopher added, his voice thoughtful. "And that our care for her isn't conditional on her returning our feelings."

I moved back to the sink, needing something to do with my hands as I processed the weight of what we were discussing. "So we continue as we have been. Creating safety, offering choices, letting her discover herself at her own pace."

"And we're honest about our growing feelings without making them her responsibility," Julian said, returning to his seat at the island. His posture had relaxed slightly, the tension of uncertainty giving way to something more like resolve.

Nicolaus reopened his tablet, making additional notes. "We should also prepare for the possibility that her healing journey might lead her away from us. True choice means accepting that she might choose differently than we hope."

The thought sent a sharp pang through my chest, but I knew it was true. I just hoped in the end she would choose us.