Three Wolfens Betrayed Me. One Siren Didn’t Chapter 11

Three Wolfens Betrayed Me. One Siren Didn’t Chapter 11

Maybe he wasn’t in a hurry.

Or maybe – it didn’t matter. Wherever I went, whenever I came back – he’d find me.

Lorian leaned in. Cold breath against my neck. His lips touched my skin

not a bite. Just a press.

Cold. Soft. Salty.

Against my pulse.

He was feeling my heartbeat.

That thought made me shiver.

People said wolfens imprinted. But this cold-blooded siren – he seemed even more attached.

In the months that followed, Winfeld Manor fell apart.

I watched from afar.

Selina was eviscerated by the press. *Social climber.**Homewrecker.* *Scapegoat.* The usual.

Bartholomew’s engagement was canceled. Hastings stock dropped. The board was in chaos. Lorian, as the largest shareholder, had a seat at the table but he rarely showed up.

Lord Winfeld was diagnosed with a heart condition.

Lady Winfeld’s hair went half-white.

I’d changed my SIM card. No more harassment.

I moved to Paris. Not the center – a small town outside. Quiet. Anonymous. A little house with a garden. I woke up to birds. Made my own coffee. Cooked my own food.

The garden was small. I planted lavender. Purple clusters that whispered in the wind.

Lorian stayed with me.

He cooked not well, but the presentation was beautiful. He cleaned – sirens loved water, so he did all the washing. He didn’t talk much. But he was always nearby.

If I read, he looked at his phone. If I wrote, he closed his eyes. If I cooked, he watched from behind, then wrapped his arms around my waist and put his chin on my shoulder.

Days passed. Plain. Like water.

But I liked it.