The house slowly quieted after breakfast. My father returned to his study, my mom retreated to the library, and Marco stormed off to the training room without another word.
Andreis didn't follow anyone.
He waited by the hallway window—still, patient—until I glanced his way.
"Garden?" he asked softly, tilting his head toward the terrace door.
I hesitated.
Then I nodded.
The bench beneath the oak trees looked exactly as I remembered it—weathered, quiet, nestled between blooming wildflowers and the glint of the water. Andreis let me sit first, then joined me, just close enough that our shoulders brushed.
The silence was soft again.
But I felt it—the shift in his energy. The hesitation.
He was about to say something.
I turned to him. "What is it?"
He looked ahead at the trees instead of at me. "There's one more thing you should know."
I stilled.
"This… ability to track you, feel you—it's not just from the imprint." He took a slow breath. "Every werewolf is born with a gift. A power, tied to our lineage. Mine is rare."
I blinked. "What kind of gift?"
He finally turned to face me. His eyes—it's now back to blue, like an ocean.
"I can shift," he said. "Not just into a wolf—but into other people. I can mimic their voice, their face, their scent."
My stomach dropped.
He waited, letting it settle in.
Then he said it.
"I was Angelo. That day you snuck out. And I've also been someone else…" A pause. "Mr. Lavigne."
I sat up straight. "What?"
"I didn't plan it that way. At first, it was just to keep you safe. To watch over you without you knowing. But then, things… changed. You changed. I started to care in a way that wasn't just duty or instinct. I wanted to be near you—as me. But I didn't know if I could anymore, not with everything at risk."
I stood, taking a step away from him, my mind racing. Flashes of Angelo in the woods—his charm, his mysterious air. The commanding presence of Mr. Lavigne. The intensity. The familiarity.
All of it.
"You were all of them?" I whispered. "All this time?"
"I never lied about how I felt," he said, voice gentle but steady. "Even when I was hiding. Every version of me that you met—Angelo, Louis Lavigne, Andreis—they were all me. Just... different pieces of the same truth."
I pressed a hand to my temple. "Why didn't you just tell me?"
"Because I was afraid that the truth would push you away," he said. "That you'd feel betrayed, or tricked. I didn't want to lose you before I even had you."
I looked at him—really looked.
And I saw it.
All of it.
The mischievous charm of Angelo. The guarded control of Mr. Lavigne. The fierce, aching devotion of Andreis.
They weren't different men.
They were him.
Every version had seen me. Protected me. Watched over me with the same eyes that looked at me now, full of guilt and hope and something deeper.
"You're insane," I muttered, but it came out with a half-smile. "This is insane."
"I know," he said, standing slowly. "And if you want to punch me, you can."
I stepped closer instead.
"No," I said softly. "I think… I just needed to know who was holding me all those times. Who saved me."
He tilted his head. "And now that you do?"
I looked up at him, heart still racing.
"I think… I'm still standing here."
His smile returned—soft, grateful, glowing with something quiet and reverent.
He reached out, gently taking my hand again.
"You have no idea how much that means to me."
And in that sun-dappled garden, with the truth laid bare between us, I realized something.
Yes, the world had changed. Everything was wild and dangerous and unknown.
But somehow, in the middle of all of it...
This felt like the only thing that made sense.
His eyes… they were all on me.
"You look more alive this morning," he said, voice low, a hint of relief threading through the words.
"I don't feel it yet," I murmured, but smiled. "I'm trying."
He took a step closer. "Trying is enough."
I looked away. "Everything feels like too much. Like I'm living someone else's story."
"You're not," he said gently. "This story has always been yours. You're just finally reading the pages we tried to keep from you."
I exhaled. "Why did it have to be you?" My voice was softer than I meant. "The imprint. The bond. Did you know?"
He nodded. "Since I was seven."
My eyes widened. "That long?"
"You were this wild thing back then," he said, smiling at the memory. "Running barefoot in the woods, talking to trees, daring Marco to catch frogs with you."
I laughed before I could stop myself.
"I remember thinking... How am I supposed to protect something that doesn't want to be protected?" He paused. "But I knew, even then. That my life would never be mine again. That it would belong to you."
I felt my cheeks warm. "You talk like you're from another century."
"I am," he said with a grin. "Soul-wise, at least."
He moved closer now, slow, giving me time to pull away. I didn't.
"Mia," he said quietly, eyes steady on mine, "I know this bond wasn't your choice. Destiny doesn't ask. It never has. But what I feel for you? That's not just fate. That's mine."
I swallowed hard. "You always say the right things."
"That's because everything I say to you is true." His hand reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. "You don't have to love me back right now. Or understand what this is. I'll wait for you, in whatever way you need."
"And if I never come around?" I asked, not because I meant it, but because some small, scared part of me still needed to know.
"I'll still be here," he said without flinching. "Because the imprint may have chosen me for you… but I choose you. Every day. No matter how long it takes."