The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter-Chapter 166: The Return

Easter~

I don’t remember getting into the car. I only remember the look on Melody’s face when I said yes—that overwhelmed, tearful smile that made me feel like a child again. Like all the broken years had never happened.

Rose clutched my hand as we slid into the passenger seat of Melody’s small cream-colored car. It was Papa’s old car. The leather was worn in a familiar way, like a memory I hadn’t touched in years. I didn’t speak at first. My chest felt too tight. Too full.

The drive was quiet—just the low hum of tires on cobbled Paris streets and Rose murmuring to herself in the backseat, watching the world whiz past her window. Melody reached over and took my hand again, squeezing it like she couldn’t believe I was real.

"I was so scared you wouldn’t come," she whispered.

I tried to smile, but my lips trembled. "I can’t believe any of this is real, Mel."

Her eyes glistened. "It is. You’re going to see them, Easter. Mama and Papa. They’re waiting for you."

My heart thudded hard. The closer we got to our childhood home, the more I felt like I was unspooling inside. The ghosts I’d buried—the shame, the lies, the ache—they were all clawing their way to the surface.

Would Mama hug me? Would Papa cry? Would they finally believe me?

"Do they... know about Rose?" I asked, twisting around to glance at my daughter.

Melody’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Not yet. But I think they’ll be happy to meet her."

I nodded slowly, trying to believe that.

But the unease had already crept in.

There was something... off. The way Melody avoided my eyes. The way her fingers tapped too quickly on the steering wheel at red lights. And yet, despite the pit in my stomach, I didn’t stop her. I didn’t want to stop her. I needed this to be real.

I looked out the window, the sun hitting the clouds with a soft amber glow. I didn’t know how, but I knew Jacob was near. I could feel him—like warmth brushing against my skin, a heartbeat that matched mine. Watching. Protecting.

That was enough to keep me from unraveling completely.

The car turned down a familiar old road, lined with wild hedges and crumbling stone walls. My breath caught. The house. Our house. Still there. Still ours.

Tears sprang to my eyes.

"I’m home," I whispered.

Melody smiled. "Yeah. You’re home."

She parked the car, and Rose immediately jumped out, her curls bouncing, her tiny boots crunching against the gravel.

"Mama! Look! A cat, just like Donut!" she squealed, chasing after a half-asleep tabby sunbathing on the front step.

I followed slower, heart pounding. The door opened before I even reached it.

Papa.

Older. Grayer. A little stooped. But still tall. Still iron.

"Papa," I breathed.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t reach out. Just stared at me like I was something that had crawled out of the dirt.

"Mama’s inside," he said gruffly. "She’s been waiting."

"Okay," I murmured, swallowing hard.

Melody rested a hand on my back, guiding me in.

I stepped over the threshold of the house that raised me, the one that once held lullabies and lullabies-turned-lies. The scent hit me first—jasmine tea, lemon polish, and the faint echo of incense clinging to the walls like forgotten prayers. My heart squeezed.

Melody’s hand left my back as soon as I stepped inside.

I paused just beyond the doorway. The living room hadn’t changed. The embroidered curtains Mama had made still framed the windows, their yellowing lace glowing like old bones in the sunlight. The floral couch sagged in the middle—right where I used to curl up after school and pretend my life was perfect.

And then she stepped out.

Mama.

Her hair was shorter now, a halo of silver curls tucked behind her ears. Her face had folded with time, but her eyes... her eyes were the same sharp blades. She wore a pretty lavender dress and that white scarf I used to steal for dress-up. I wanted to run to her, to fall into her arms like the little girl I once was.

But she didn’t move.

She just stood there.

Looking at me like she’d already decided I was guilty.

"Mama?" My voice cracked, trembling like the rest of me.

She didn’t answer. Her lips pressed into a tight line. Her hands folded in front of her like she was bracing herself. The silence stretched until it snapped.

"You’ve disgraced us, Easter," Papa’s voice came behind me, hard as gravel. "First you whored yourself out to some useless boys four years ago. Then we heard you were the worst wife in the history of wives. And now I hear you’re no longer with your husband."

I turned to him slowly, the air thick with confusion. "What... what are you talking about?"

Papa’s eyes darkened. "Don’t pretend. Gloria and Sarah told us everything. That you left your husband. That you’re with another man. Some... unbeliever."

I looked at Melody then.

She dropped her eyes.

No. No.

My chest tightened. "Melody?"

She wouldn’t look at me.

"You told me Mama was sick," I whispered, my voice small, like Rose’s when she got caught hiding cookies under her pillow.

"It was the only way you’d come," she said, softly.

"Melody are you kidding me!" My voice cracked louder. "I thought you changed! And now you tricked me?!"

Her face flushed, eyes darting toward Mama.

"You’ve been brainwashed," Mama said then. Cold. Sharp. "You abandoned your marriage, your duty, for some strange man with no name, no Christian background, no value. And you brought your daughter—our grandchild—into this scandal. What kind of mother are you?"

I couldn’t breathe.

No one moved to comfort me.

"Why would you do this to me?" I said to Melody, trembling. "I trusted you."

"You’re not well, Easter," Melody whispered. "I thought if we could just talk to you—if you could be home again—we could fix you."

"Fix me?" I echoed. "You lured me here with lies and guilt. And now you’re what—staging an intervention?! I’m not sick. I’m not broken. I left a man who hurt me. I found someone who—"

"—Who what?" Papa barked. "Whispers nonsense into your ear? You think some boy can wash the filth off your name?"

"His name is Jacob," I said quietly, "and he and his lovely sister saved my life. For heaven sake, we’re not even—"

Papa’s face twisted, and before I could step back, his palm cracked across my cheek.

My head snapped to the side. The sting exploded across my skin. I tasted blood.

Rose screamed.

"Mama!" she cried, rushing toward me—but Papa grabbed her first.

"No—no! Don’t touch her!" I yelled out, lunging forward, but a man I had never met before emerged from the shadows of the hallway and stood in my way. I didn’t even realize someone was there.

What?

"You’ll stay in this house," Papa growled. "You’ve brought enough shame to this family. You won’t leave again. And she"—he glanced at Rose—"will learn discipline before she turns out like her mother."

I reached for Rose again. "She’s my baby! You have no right to take her!"

"She’s our blood," Mama said, quietly. Coldly.

Melody stood frozen, her hands over her mouth. Watching. Just watching.

"Melody," I cried, tears streaking down my cheeks. "Why did you do this? You know what they’re doing is wrong. You know the truth of what happened that night. How can you let them treat me like this?"

Her eyes welled up with tears—but she didn’t move.

That was the moment I broke.

Not because of the slap. Not because of Papa’s booming cruelty or Mama’s icy silence. Not even because of the unknown man blocking my escape like a paid bodyguard.

But because Melody—my twin, my other half—stood there, wringing her hands, and let it happen.

"You were supposed to be my safe place," I whispered to her. "You told me I was home. But this isn’t home. It’s a cage."

Still nothing.

Rose kicked and screamed, her arms reaching for me.

I let my knees hit the floor.

I wept. There, in the hallway of my childhood, I broke open. Not because I was afraid—but because everything I thought I could trust had burned around me.

But I was not afraid.

Because I felt him.

Like a hum beneath my skin. A pulse that wasn’t mine, but always there. A breath against the back of my neck. Jacob. He was close. He had always watched over me.

I closed my eyes.

"Jacob," I called silently, not even sure how—but knowing he would hear me. "Please. I need you."

My father cocked his head then—

He felt it too.

That change in the air. That ripple of tension.

"Let me go," I said softly, lifting my chin.

"You’re not going anywhere," Papa snapped.

"You don’t get to decide anymore," I replied.

And this time, I wasn’t trembling.