The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter
Chapter 232: A Confession Before the Storm

Chapter 232: A Confession Before the Storm

Jacob~

I’d just sealed a deal I couldn’t back out of—not that I had any intention of doing so.

Mariel, the Dreamweaver I invited an hour ago, had disappeared in a swirling burst of thundercloud-blue mist, her last words hanging in the air like forgotten lyrics. That smirk on her face said everything—she was pleased, satisfied with the terms I’d signed. And now, I was alone, letting my thoughts twist and crash like waves in a storm.

But I didn’t have time to sit around and sulk. I had moves to make. Time was slipping, and Tiger would be bringing Easter home soon.

By 1 p.m., I’d already followed through on the next step—calling a man named Bernard Garrison. Real estate agent. Sharp. Efficient. I’d chosen his name from a long list, my magic guiding me straight to him like a compass that knew exactly what I needed. I wasn’t looking for "average" or "okay." I needed right. I needed perfect. And fast.

I’d called him the day before yesterday—unsure, trying to sound more confident than I felt. Told him I was looking for something warm, inviting... something that felt like home. Back then, my only thought was that Easter deserved a real place for her and Rose. A place that would feel safe. Solid. So what happened at Zane’s estate... wouldn’t happen again.

I didn’t know then that this might be a goodbye gift.

Bernard hadn’t pressed for details. He didn’t have to. There was something in my voice—steel wrapped in velvet. The kind of tone that tells people, Just trust me.

By 1:15 p.m., I was standing beside him in a quiet, sun-drenched neighborhood, just fifteen minutes from Easter’s college. We toured a few places, but the moment I walked through the door of that last house, I knew. It wasn’t the marble countertops or the freshly painted walls—it was something else. The stillness. The warmth in the corners. The way it felt like someone had already whispered a thousand "welcome home"s into the walls.

Yeah. This was it. This was the one.

It had charm. Warm wood paneling. Tall windows that bathed every corner in sunlight. A fenced yard where Rose could run free, and a porch swing where Easter could rest in the evenings, warm drink in hand. It was peace wrapped in brick and cedar.

"I’ll take it," I said, before Bernard could even finish his pitch. His eyes widened.

"You—You mean right now?"

I pulled a thick envelope from my coat—cash, more than enough. "Right now."

The moment the keys hit my palm, I teleported inside. The house was already nice, but I wanted it theirs. So I rolled up my sleeves and got to work. With a few swirls of my fingers, I wove softness into every corner. I made the walls whisper warmth. The light from the windows now held a gentle golden hue, like permanent autumn.

In the living room, I conjured cushions that smelled like cinnamon and vanilla. In the nursery room, I placed tiny, enchanted stars on the ceiling—just faint enough to sparkle when the lights dimmed, just bright enough to chase away any monsters.

The kitchen was filled with the smell of honey and lavender.

It felt like a dream I didn’t dared let myself have.

Once everything was perfect, I teleported back home. For the first time in years, I didn’t use magic to prepare dinner. I cooked. Real food, with my hands. I burned the first round of rice, undercooked the second batch, and nearly gave up twice.

But I pushed through. Grilled chicken—slightly charred on one end. Steamed vegetables—too soft. Mashed potatoes—lumpy. But it smelled... good. Homey.

By the time I was wiping the sweat from my brow, worn out but wired from everything I’d been doing, I caught the gentle hum of a car pulling into the driveway.

Tiger was back.

I dropped what I was doing, brushed my hands off on my jeans, and made my way to the front door—slowly, purposefully, like the moment deserved it.

And there she was.

Easter stood just a few feet from the car, watching as Tiger vanished the moment he parked. He looked drained, like today had taken more out of him than expected—but he knew this was necessary. He understood, even if it hurt.

Easter cradled Rose in her arms, the little one fast asleep, her tiny fingers curled into her shirt like she never wanted to let go. The breeze had kissed Easter’s cheeks with a soft pink flush, and her wild brown curls were everywhere—tumbling free like she’d stepped out of a half-remembered dream. She looked exhausted, worn thin around the edges... but still standing.

I shuffled my feet on the porch—loud enough to make sure she heard. She turned at once, as if she’d been waiting for that sound. The second her eyes met mine, something shifted. Her whole face lit up, soft and bright, like morning sun through an open window.

I said nothing—just opened my arms wide, a silent gesture that said everything.

Welcome home.

She blinked. Clearly caught off guard.

Then she blushed—deeply, adorably—and shyly tiptoed forward, clutching Rose closer. "You’re being extra sweet today," she murmured, voice small and nervous.

"I missed you," I said simply.

Her eyes went wide with surprise—but not for long. Without missing a beat, her feet moved fast, soft against the ground as she closed the distance between us. She stepped into my arms, careful not to disturb the sleeping Rose, and I pulled her in like she was something rare and breakable—like she was made of light and spun sugar and all the things you hold close without ever squeezing too tight.

I pressed a kiss to her cheek. She smelled like flowers and something else—something soft and fragile. Then I leaned down and kissed the top of Rose’s curly head.

"I’m glad you’re home," I whispered.

Easter looked up at me, wide-eyed, cheeks still pink. "What... What’s going on? And what is that smell? Is that—food?"

I chuckled, brushing a curl from her face. "Yes, ma’am. Dinner. Made it myself."

Her eyes widened even more. "You cooked? Like... with your actual hands?"

"Unfortunately," I said with a mock-grimace. "No spells, no shortcuts. Just me, a spoon, and a near-fatal battle with mashed potatoes."

She giggled—a sound that warmed every inch of me.

"I want to see this miracle with my own eyes," she teased, stepping into the house and straight to the dining area.

I led her to the table. I’d set it up properly—real plates, candles, even folded napkins. It felt awkwardly formal, but I wanted it to feel special.

She settled into her seat, still holding Rose against her chest. I offered to take the child to her room, but she shook her head gently. "She feels so warm. Let her stay with me a little longer."

So I plated the food for her, trying to mask my nervous energy as I served up her portion. She looked down at the meal like it was treasure.

Then she took a bite.

The chewing stopped.

She blinked.

I froze.

Then... she smiled—genuine and radiant.

"This is... amazing," she whispered, eyes shining.

"You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings," I said with a nervous chuckle, scratching my neck. "I know the rice is a little crispy on the bottom."

She shook her head fervently. "No. I mean it. It’s real. It tastes like... like comfort food. Like something someone made just for me."

Her words sent a wave through me. I turned my gaze away for a second to hide my smile.

"Thank you," I murmured, sitting down across from her.

She hesitated. Then she looked up at me with that same blush painting her cheeks again.

"What’s the occasion?" she asked softly. "Why all this? I mean... dinner, no magic... you hugging me at the door like something out of a fairytale..."

I set my fork down. My hands were shaking.

"I wanted to tell you something," I said.

Her breath hitched. I heard her heart skip—literally—but I said nothing. I didn’t want to scare her. I didn’t want her to retreat.

So I stood. Walked around the table. Her eyes followed me, wary and curious. I bent down on one knee, placing myself in front of her—not as a wolf spirit, not as the ageless being I am—but as a man, one who could barely keep it together.

Her breath quickened.

I looked up at her.

"I love you, Easter."

The silence struck like lightning.

She stared at me.

Her mouth opened.

Then she choked—spectacularly—on a piece of chicken.

"Oh my god," she coughed, waving one hand. "Wait—hold on—I just—"

"Are you okay?!" I leapt up, grabbed a glass of water, placed it in her hand.

She took three gulps, eyes watering, cheeks flaring red. "I—Jacob—I wasn’t ready! You can’t just drop something like that during a meal!"

I laughed, the sound rich and deep and entirely unintentional. "I thought it’d soften the blow! I mean, food makes everything better, right?"

She looked down into her plate, then back at me, her voice trembling.

"You... you love me?"

"With everything I am," I said quietly, kneeling again. "I know we haven’t known each other long, but in my years—my centuries, Easter—I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re gentle but strong. You survived things most people couldn’t even imagine. You wake up every day and still find something to smile about. And Rose... she already has my heart. But you... you stole it the moment I saw you holding her, trembling, still standing tall."

Tears welled in her emerald eyes.

"I’m broken," she whispered. "I’m pregnant. I’m scared all the time. You could have anyone—"

"I love you," I interrupted, gently but firmly. "Scars and all. I don’t see broken, Easter. I see brave. I see home."

A sob broke past her lips.

I reached up and wiped a tear with the back of my hand.

"If you don’t feel the same, I’ll step back. I’ll be your friend. I’ll take care of you and Rose no matter what. But I needed you to know, Easter. Before I made any more choices for you. Before I tried to fix anything else."

She clutched Rose tighter, trembling.

"I’ve loved you ever since I set my eyes on you," she whispered. "But I didn’t think someone like you could ever... love someone like me."

I leaned forward, forehead resting gently against hers.

The feeling bittersweet.

"Then let me prove it. Starting now."

She nodded, trembling, smiling through tears.

"Okay," she whispered.