Jealousy Alpha's Regret novel Chapter 135

Chapter 135

Iris’s POV

We made our way through security and to our gate, Rachel chattering

away about the villa she’d booked and the restaurants we needed to

try. For once, I was happy to let someone else take control, to just

follow along without having to make any decisions.

On the plane, I settled into the plush first–class seat, accepting a

glass of diet coke from the flight attendant.

“To freedom, Rachel whispered, clinking her glass against mine.

“To freedom,” I echoed.

As the plane took off, I watched Moon Bay shrink beneath us until it

was nothing but a speck. My eyelids grew heavy, the stress of the past

months catching up with me now that I was finally allowing myself to relax. I drifted off to sleep, dreams filled with flashes of the past

months–standing up to Megan, reclaiming my Aurora identity,

walking away from Crescent Design with my head held high.

I woke to Rachel gently shaking my shoulder. “We’re about to land,”

she said softly.

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I blinked, disoriented, and looked out the window at the darkness

that had fallen while I slept. Tiny lights dotted the landscape below,

reflecting off what must be Lake Como.

“How long was I out?” I asked, stretching as much as the seat allowed.

“Almost the entire flight,” Rachel laughed. “You needed it.”

After landing and collecting our luggage, we found our driver waiting

with a sign bearing Rachel’s name. The cool night air felt refreshing

against my skin as we stepped outside the airport.

“So this is Italy,” I murmured, inhaling deeply. Even in the darkness, I

could sense the difference–the air smelled of cypress trees and

distant water, so unlike the pine–scented forests of Moon Bay.

As our car wound along the lakeside road toward Varenna, I pressed

my face against the window like a child, trying to make out the

shapes of buildings and mountains in the darkness. Even at night, I

could tell this place was special. The silhouettes of bell towers and

terraced hills against the starlit sky made my fingers itch for my

sketchbook.

“This is nothing,” Rachel said, noticing my fascination. “Wait until

you see it in daylight. It’s going to blow your designer mind.”

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The architecture we passed was nothing like the modern buildings of

Moon Bay–here, everything seemed to have history, character, layers

of time built into every stone. I could already see how these terraced

gardens and church spires could inspire new jewelry designs, pieces

that would capture this sense of timeless elegance.

“Marcus was right about this place,” I whispered, more to myself than

to Rachel. “It’s like every view is a ready–made composition.”

When we finally arrived at our hotel, the reception staff greeted us

warmly despite the late hour. Our room was spacious with a balcony overlooking the lake, though we could only make out the dark expanse of water and the twinkling lights of other towns along the

shore.

As we settled in, Rachel flopped onto one of the beds and gave me a curious look. “So, did you hear what happened with Megan Claire

after the competition?”

I paused in the middle of unpacking my toiletries. “Not really. I know Crescent Design let her go, but that’s about it.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Rachel snorted. “She’s been blacklisted by

every major design house. Nobody wants to touch her after the plagiarism scandal.”

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I nodded slowly, feeling no satisfaction but no sympathy either. “Well,

that’s what happens when you steal someone else’s work.”

“How did you know it was your designs she stole?” Rachel asked,

propping herself up on her elbows. “That was some seriously ninja-

level detective work.”

I shrugged, remembering the moment of discovery. “She stole them

from my portfolio. I’d know my own work anywhere.” I didn’t mention

that as a werewolf, I could literally smell my own scent on the designs

she’d presented.

Rachel shook her head in amazement. “God, you’re incredible. Most

people would have freaked out, but you just calmly exposed her in

front of everyone.”

“Speaking of exposure,” I said, changing the subject, “want to check

out that pool I saw in the hotel brochure? Might help with the jet

lag.”

Rachel’s eyes

lit up.

She dug through her suitcase and pulled out two

bikinis, tossing one to me. “I packed these specifically for late–night

swimming. Let’s do it!”

I caught the swimsuit–a deep blue two–piece that was more revealing

than what I’d usually wear. “Seriously?”

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“Seriously,” Rachel insisted. “We’re in Italy! No one knows us here. No

werewolves watching your every move and judging your choices. You

can just be you.”

I looked at the bikini again and felt a sudden desire to break free from

my usual restraint. She was right–here, I wasn’t Iris Stone of the

failing Stone pack or the ex–mate of Sebastien Grey. I was just

another tourist enjoying Italy.

After changing, I slipped on the hotel’s plush robe and followed

Rachel down to the pool area. The outdoor pool was lit with

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