Jealousy Alpha's Regret novel Chapter 165

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Please, have a seat, Jack said, gesturing to the cushioned chair across from his.

I sat down, watching as Jack’s weathered hands moved with surprising dexterity through the tea preparation ritual. He measured the leaves carefully, his movements precise and practiced. The only sounds were the gentle pouring of water and distant birdsong from the forest beyond his property.

“Your flowers look beautiful, I commented, breathing in the peaceful atmosphere. “Even better than last time I was here.

Jack smiled without looking up from his task. “The spring has been kind to them. Much like it has been to you–you look well, Iris.”

The comment seemed innocent enough, but something in his tone made me look up sharply. His eyes were focused on the tea, his

expression unreadable.

When the tea was ready, Jack poured it with ceremonial precision into the tiny cups. The liquid was a rich amber color, releasing a

complex aroma that filled the space between us.

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“Please,” he said, pushing a cup toward me with expectant eyes.

I took a sip, letting the flavors unfold on my tongue. The tea was extraordinary–delicate yet complex, with notes of honey and something

earthy I couldn’t quite identify.

“This is exceptional,” I said honestly, and watched as Jack’s face lit up with childlike pleasure.

“I knew you would appreciate it,” he replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You have good taste, just like-” He stopped abruptly,

taking a hasty sip from his own cup.

We chatted about inconsequential things as we drank–the weather, the neighborhood, his garden. After finishing my cup, I politely

declined when he offered to refill it.

‘I haven’t been sleeping well lately,” I explained. “I should probably avoid more caffeine.”

Jack nodded understandingly. “Of course, of course. But you must take some of these cakes home with you.” Before I could protest, he was already wrapping several in a small container.

I thanked him and headed back to my house, the container of cakes in hand. I had just placed them in the refrigerator when my phone rang, the familiar tone making my heart jump. I answered immediately, my voice dropping to a more serious pitch.

“Did you find anything?”

“Yeah, I just sent everything to your email,” the voice on the other end replied. “I had to call in some favors from contacts in the werewolf community to get this info. Take a look and let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you,” I said, already moving toward my laptop. My heart was racing as I hung up and opened my email.

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Chacher 165

The attachment was larger than I expected. I clicked it open, my eyes scanning quickly through the documents. These were records that

ded a find mosell without success–information about the Lowell family that seemed deliberately obscured from public view

Fly” tingered to myself. Let’s see what the Lowells have been hiding.

I smiled down until I found what I was looking for: information about Sophia Lowell. Age 45. There were frustratingly few photographs, bur themes included made my breath catch. The woman’s face instantly reminded me of the portrait I’d seen at Ethan’s place–the same

wanwell woman with the striking features.

But it was witen I reached her design portfolio that something shifted inside me. My fingers froze over the trackpad as I stared at the sketches. The style was unmistakable–the way the lines curved, the particular attention to certain details, the unique approach to

gumenric patients

“She draws exactly like I do,” I whispered, a chill running through me.

I flipped through more designs, my heart hammering against my ribs. It wasn’t just similar–it was uncannily identical to my own natural style, down to the specific pressure points where a pencil would linger on paper.

Not only did we look alike, but our creative expressions were mirror images of each other. This went beyond coincidence. Way beyond.

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