Jealousy Alpha's Regret novel Chapter 59

Chapter 59

Iris’s POV

I trudged up the stairs to my apartment, feeling the weight of

exhaustion seeping into my bones. These days, even the simplest

tasks left me drained. The pregnancy was taking more out of me than

I’d expected, though the changes weren’t visible yet. My hand

instinctively drifted to my stomach as I reached my floor.

“You’re making things complicated, little one,” I whispered, glancing

down at my flat abdomen. “Werewolves can smell changes in each

other. How long before someone notices?”

The thought sent a chill through me. Wolf pregnancies were different

from human ones–our heightened senses made it harder to hide such

fundamental changes in our bodies. I’d been using scented lotions

and perfumes, but that wouldn’t work forever, especially around

older, more experienced wolves.

I paused at my door, fumbling for keys in my purse. Something felt

different. My nostrils flared slightly as I caught a faint, pleasant

scent. Flowers? I frowned, confused, until my eyes landed on a small

terracotta pot sitting by my doormat.

“What the hell?” I murmured, crouching down to examine it.

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Chapter 59

The pot contained a beautiful arrangement of small purple and white

flowers. They weren’t fancy hothouse blooms but looked like something from someone’s garden, carefully transplanted with soil still clinging to the roots. A folded piece of paper was tucked against

the side of the pot, secured with a rubber band.

I glanced around the empty hallway, suddenly wary. Who would leave

me flowers? Sebastien? No, he’d never do something this…

thoughtful. Noah, maybe? But he didn’t know where I lived.

The streetlight outside my window cast enough glow for me to read

the note. I unfolded it carefully.

“Thank you, young lady, for helping an old man the other day. These

are forget–me–nots from my garden. They’re hardy little things, just

like you. – Jack”

A small smile tugged at my lips. Jack, the elderly neighbor I’d helped

after finding him injured in the garage. Relief washed over me—just a

thank–you gift, nothing sinister.

I picked up the pot and carried it inside, setting it on my kitchen

counter. The flowers looked vibrant even in the dim light, their tiny

blooms adding a touch of life to my sparsely decorated apartment.

“Well, aren’t you pretty,” I said, running my finger gently over a petal.

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Chapter 59

“At least someone’s happy to see me today.”

After the hellish dinner at Grey Manor and that awkward

confrontation with Nancy Thompson, this small kindness felt

significant. I took out my phone and positioned the pot near my

window, where the streetlight created a soft glow around the flowers.

I snapped a few photos, trying different angles until I found one I

liked.

Without thinking too much about it, I uploaded the best shot to my

personal social media account with the caption: “Beautiful things

exist simply to brighten our days.” It was more sentimental than my

usual posts, but tonight I felt strangely vulnerable.

Within minutes, comments started appearing.

“OMG! The designer actually posted something!”

“You’re alive! We thought you’d abandoned us!”

“When are you taking commissions again? I’ve been waiting

FOREVER.”

I scrolled through the responses, feeling a strange warmth spread through my chest. These humans–my followers and customers from my freelance design days–had no idea who or what I really was. They

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