Aria’s POV

The sudden attention startled me, snapping me out of my daze.

“Me?” I asked.

I truly hadn’t expected it.

I’d been cold and unyielding toward Patrick and Margaret for so long that people called it disrespect. But toward Aunt Vivian and Uncle Jeremiah, my wolf instinctively lowered its head, recognizing elders of the blood.

“Of course,” I said quietly. “If not for you, we wouldn’t have come.”

Aunt Vivian smiled at me then. She had been waiting for my answer as if nothing else mattered.

Patrick’s face darkened.

When he looked at me again, his usual authority softened into something resembling fatherly concern. “Aria, come inside. I have something to talk to you about anyway.”

I tilted my head slightly, confusion settling into my expression. “Talk about what, Mr. Darvin?” I asked innocently. “Didn’t we already sever our relationship?”

The moment the words left my mouth, Uncle Jeremiah’s eyes flared.

“Severed relationship?!” His voice cracked like thunder.

Aunt Vivian’s anger ignited instantly. “Patrick, have you lost your mind?!”

Aunt kathy, who had been calm the entire time, finally shifted. She glanced sharply at Rowland.

Rowland rubbed his nose sheepishly. The next instant, Uncle Jeremiah moved.

Despite his age, despite the cane in his hand, he crossed the distance in a blink, like an old wolf reminding everyone that speed faded, but dominance did not.

Though Patrick was still half a head taller, the moment he faced Uncle Jeremiah’s furious, authoritative expression, his body bent instinctively.

Uncle Jeremiah raised his cane and struck Patrick’s shin hard.

The crack echoed.

“Aria is your biological daughter, and you want to sever ties with her?!” he roared angrily. “When you started your business, the Osborne family treated you well! Is this how you treat our descendants?!”

His presence exploded outward, crushing and overwhelming. Even my wolf straightened in alarm.

Patrick cried out in pain, but under that gaze, he could only grit his teeth and endure it.

He couldn’t fight back.

He raised his head at last. “Uncle Jeremiah,” he said, forcing calm, “Aria has been willful. She hurt and framed her sister, repeatedly shaming the family. I was disciplining her. Besides, she’s my biological daughter. How could I truly sever ties with her?”

But even as he spoke, his eyes never left me.

I could see it clearly now.

Every sentence Uncle Jeremiah and Aunt Vivian spoke circled back to me. Every glare, every step forward, every word carried the unmistakable stance of elders shielding a cub. They hadn’t come to Asterfell by coincidence.

They’d come to stand behind me.

I lifted my gaze and met Patrick’s eyes.

A slow smirk curved my lips. I narrowed my eyes slightly, the faint upward tilt laced with open mockery and disdain.

He wasn’t really planning to sever ties with me?

The sudden change of tune was laughable.

Inside, I sneered. Patrick’s last-minute retreat was as ridiculous as a cornered wolf pretending it had never bared its teeth.

“Hmph!”

Aunt Vivian’s temper flared just as sharply as my wolf’s. She stepped forward without hesitation, snatched Uncle Jeremiah’s cane, and slammed it down hard on Patrick’s shoe.

The crack rang out.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” she snapped furiously. “Can’t I tell what kind of child Aria is? Troublesome? Framing her sister?”

She leaned in, pressing harder, grinding down with ruthless force.

“I remember Margaret only had one daughter. Right?” Her eyes blazed. “So where did this sister come from?”

Patrick sucked in a sharp breath, pain twisting his face.

“I arrived in Asterfell yesterday,” Aunt Vivian continued, voice rising, “and this child didn’t even know who I was, yet she was thoughtful, careful, respectful to me. That’s troublesome to you? You’re blind!”

Patrick tried to keep his dignity, but his face betrayed him. His lips twitched uncontrollably, sweat pouring down his forehead. His heartbeat thudded loudly, fear, pain and humiliation mixing into one bitter scent.

My wolf watched coldly.

Margaret’s chest rose and fell rapidly as she watched Patrick being punished. Discomfort churned through her, sharp and suffocating.

“Enough!”

She shouted suddenly, stepping in front of Patrick.

“Aunt Vivian! Uncle Jeremiah! What more do you want?” Her voice trembled with desperation. “Aria isn’t just an Osborne, she’s a Darvin too! She’s vicious and cruel! What’s wrong with Patrick disciplining her?!”

As the pressure on his foot eased, Patrick exhaled shakily and leaned against Margaret, clinging to her support like a wounded animal.

“Vicious and cruel?”

Kathy’s voice cut through the air.

She stepped forward, the sound of her heels crisp and measured in the sudden silence. My wolf straightened instinctively.

She stopped directly in front of Margaret, nearly eye level.

Kathy stared at her, her eyes dark with disbelief as though she could not recognize the woman standing in front of her.

I could understand her. My mother used to be radiant, confident, and high spirited. Now she looked crushed.

Like dry straw bent too many times, barely holding together, yet still being tightly clutched by someone else.

Kathy’s gaze slid past her, landing on Patrick, who was still struggling to catch his breath.

Then she spoke, eyes locking back onto Margaret’s.

“Aria is absolutely not the vicious, cruel child you’re describing.”

Her voice was steady and certain. Each word landed like an oath.

Margaret met her eyes, but her fingers curled tightly at her sides.

I caught the flicker of guilt, fear, and longing swirling inside her.

I had heard that she sent her wedding dress to the Osborne family in Veridale a week ago after finding out that Patrick was selling off all her expensive possessions. That must have been a desperate signal to her family. That was probably why they were here.

Why then was she acting as though protecting her husband was the only thing that mattered to her in this world?

“Aria is my child. I gave birth to her.”

Margaret stared straight at Kathy, hostility flashing openly in her eyes, as if speaking any softer would mean losing ground. The air around her trembled, sharp and brittle, like a threatened animal baring its teeth.

“Are you, an outsider,” she continued coldly, “telling me you understand my child better than I do?”

Outsider.

Kathy repeated the word quietly, tasting it. I saw the chill settle into her eyes. Whatever warmth she had felt earlier vanished, buried deep and sealed away. Her fingers curled slowly, like a wolf tucking emotion beneath fur.

“You don’t understand Aria at all,” she said calmly. “Fine. Even if I am an outsider, I’m certain I know Aria better than you do.”

She lifted her chin slightly, her gaze sharp as she glared at Margaret.

“Margaret,” Kathy said, her voice cutting cleanly, “don’t you think you’re a complete failure?”