Chapter Four

Lena drifted in a dream. She stood barefoot in a meadow that stretched endlessly in every direction, the air was warm and carried a scent she couldn't quite place—like earth after rain and something faintly floral.

"Willow."

The voice was deep, resonant, and achingly familiar. She turned to see a man standing a few feet away. His presence felt like a memory coming to life, a fragment of something long buried.

"Who...?" she began, but the words caught in her throat.

The man smiled—a bittersweet expression that reached his hazel eyes, the same as hers. He stepped closer, his broad shoulders and steady stride exuding strength.

"Dad?"

The dream shifted, and suddenly they were standing in a different place—a room she didn't recognize but somehow felt was hers. Her younger self was there, no older than ten, sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring up at him with wide, adoring eyes.

"You are strong," he said, kneeling before her. "Stronger than you'll ever know." He reached out and cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing away an invisible tear. "But strength is a burden, too, Willow. One that will demand everything of you."

Young Willow frowned. "I don't want to be strong. I just want to be happy."

Her father's face softened, and he leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. "You will be happy one day. But first, you must survive."

Suddenly, the room darkened, and the walls trembled. Her father's expression shifted to one of alarm. "Run, Willow!" he yelled, his voice echoing like a thunderclap. "Run and don't look back!"

The dream dissolved into chaos—a blur of fire, screams, and shadows.

"Lena."

The sound of her name yanked her back to reality. Her eyes flew open, and she found herself staring into Damien's face. His features were etched with concern, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "You were muttering in your sleep."

Her chest heaved as she tried to calm her racing heart but the dream lingered, vivid and disorienting. She shook her head. "I'm fine. Just a bad dream."

Damien didn't press her further, though his gaze lingered for a moment longer.

"Come on," he said, standing back. "We've arrived."

Lena pushed herself up, realizing she had fallen asleep in the car. The vehicle had stopped, and outside the window was a sight that took her breath away.

The estate was massive, with an air of timelessness that made it feel both ancient and untouched by time. Something about the place tugged at her memory, a strange familiarity that made her feel as though she'd been here before, even though she was certain she hadn't.

"Where are we?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Home," Damien said simply.

"Home?" she repeated, frowning.

"Yes," Damien said, stepping out of the car.

Lena hesitated before following him, her shoes crunching softly on the gravel driveway. The grand double doors opened, and an older woman rushed out to meet them. The moment she saw Lena, her hands flew to her mouth, and tears welled up in her eyes.

"Oh, Miss Willow," the woman said, her voice trembling. Tears glistened in her eyes as she clasped her hands to her chest. "It's really you."

Lena stiffened.

"She goes by Lena now." Damien interjected smoothly.

The woman nodded quickly, wiping her tears. "Of course. Lena. I'm sorry, dear. It's just… seeing you again after all these years…" She trailed off, her voice breaking.

Damien placed a steadying hand on the woman's shoulder. "She's had a long day, Mrs. Henley. Let's get her settled."

Mrs. Henley nodded and led Lena inside.

The interior of the mansion was even more stunning than the outside, as if it had been lifted straight from Gatsby's mansion. Yet, beneath the grandeur, there was an undeniable warmth, as though the house itself welcomed her.

"This way, dear," Mrs. Henley said, leading her up a wide staircase. She opened the door to a spacious bedroom with soft, neutral tones and large windows that overlooked the grounds.

"This will be your room," she said with a smile. "The bathroom is through there." She gestured toward a door at the far end. "And don't worry about clothes—Mr. Damien has already taken care of everything."

Lena frowned. "He bought me clothes?"

The older woman chuckled. "That man thinks of everything. Your closet is fully stocked. Go on, freshen up. You'll feel better."

Once alone, Lena stepped into the walk-in closet and froze. The shelves and racks were filled with clothes in her style—casual yet refined. She ran her fingers over a soft sweater that looked like it would fit her perfectly.

"How does he know?" she murmured, pulling out the sweater.

She didn't linger on the thought. After a long, hot shower, she wore a simple gray dress that fell above her knee and made her way downstairs, following the faint sound of activity.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Henley was busy preparing what looked like an elaborate breakfast spread.

"Feel better?" she asked when she noticed Lena.

"Yeah, thanks," Lena replied, sliding onto one of the barstools. She glanced around the room, noting the homey touches—the worn recipe books stacked neatly on the counter, the bouquet of fresh flowers on the table.

"Where's Damien?"

Mrs. Henley's smile faltered slightly. "He had to step out for business. But don't worry, dear. He'll be back soon."

Lena nodded, though the answer left her feeling uneasy. She watched the housekeeper work in silence for a while before asking, "Mrs. Henley, do you… know me? From before?"

The older woman paused, her hands stilling as she turned to look at Lena. Her expression was gentle but tinged with something unreadable.

"Of course I do, dear," she said softly. "I've known you since you were a little girl. You were always such a bright, curious child."

Lena frowned. "I don't remember any of that."

Mrs. Henley nodded, her face shadowed with sadness. "That's to be expected, given everything you've been through. But memories have a way of returning when the time is right."

Lena was about to ask more, but the housekeeper's next words stopped her cold.

"Have you gotten your wolf yet?" Mrs. Henley asked, her tone casual as she placed a plate of pastries in front of Lena.

"My what?" Lena blinked, completely thrown.

"Your wolf," Mrs. Henley said, as though it were the most natural question in the world. "Have you transitioned yet?"

Lena stared at her, words failing her as the weight of the question sank in.

Mrs. Henley seemed to realize her mistake and quickly turned back to the counter, busying herself with a tray of fruit. "Oh, I shouldn't have asked. Forget I said anything, dear. It's not my place."

But Lena couldn't forget.