Alpha's Regret After the Divorce by Christina novel Chapter 199

Chapter 199

Kira’s Perspective

I suddenly froze, my heart pounding wildly in my chest as the name “Lyra” lingered between us, unexpected and heavy with meaning. My father’s fingers absentmindedly traced the smooth surface of the wooden wolf figurine resting on the table, his face distant and shadowed by an emotion that looked a lot like regret.

“You knew Lyra?” I asked cautiously, doing my best to keep my voice steady even as my mind scrambled to process the implications.

He carefully set the carving down, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the room. “Yes, I knew her when she was still quite young. I even sponsored some of her projects.”

I perched on the armrest of his chair, trying to appear casual while a knot of tension tightened in my stomach. This might be the missing link—the explanation behind Rocco’s bitter vendetta against our family.

“You must have been close to her?” I pressed, my tone gentle but probing.

Dad exhaled deeply, his eyes flickering with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. “It was… complicated. She was incredibly gifted, but also very unstable. I hoped I could help her.”

My fingers clenched the fabric of the chair. “Help her with what?”

His expression shifted subtly—a flicker of caution, a quiet withdrawal. “Just guidance. Young people often need direction.”

The evasion was clear. Whatever had transpired between my father and Lyra, he wasn’t ready to talk about it in detail. Before I could push further, he replaced the figurine on the table with a sense of finality.

“Let’s move on with the tour, shall we?” he suggested, clearly signaling the end of the conversation. “I’d like to see how the main floor has changed.”

An uneasy silence settled as we headed down the hallway. I noticed my father’s earlier energy had dimmed—his shoulders sagged slightly, his steps slower and more deliberate. A wave of guilt washed over me for pressing him too hard.

As we reached the grand hallway, the sound of the front door opening caught our attention, followed by the unmistakable rhythm of familiar footsteps. My stomach clenched instantly—I could recognize Rocco’s determined stride anywhere, even after all this time.

Dad caught my reaction. “Is that Rocco?”

“I believe so,” I replied, forcing a calm tone that barely masked my unease.

We stepped into the hallway just as Rocco was hanging up his coat. He carried an elegantly wrapped package tucked under his arm. Seeing him here, in this space that had once been our shared home, unleashed a confusing swirl of emotions—anger intertwined with an unwelcome sense of familiarity.

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