Mated to My Intended's Enemy novel Chapter 221

Chapter 221: Chapter 221 The Confrontation She Can’t Avoid

Freya’s POV

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "About?"

"The Howlthorne Pack has been marking territory boundaries near my parents’ pack. Three separate incidents this week."

A flicker of genuine surprise crossed his features. "When did this happen?"

"Timothy called me this morning. I tried to reach you immediately."

"Aurora mentioned nothing about this."

"Imagine that," I replied dryly.

Silvano’s eyes narrowed. "What exactly are you implying, Freya?"

I held his gaze steadily. "I’m not implying anything. I’m stating facts. Aurora answered your phone. I told her it was urgent pack business regarding territory incursions. She refused to put you on the line or disturb you."

"I was in negotiations all day—"

"And your phone conveniently went straight to voicemail for the next six hours?" I challenged.

A muscle worked in his jaw. "What do you want, Freya?"

The question—so direct, so cold—knocked the wind from me momentarily. What did I want? I wanted my mate back. I wanted my family whole. I wanted to matter again.

But that wasn’t what he was asking.

"I want you to address the Howlthorne Pack’s aggression against my family’s territory," I said, straightening my spine. "I want you to honor the alliance agreement you signed when we mated."

"The Stone Lake territory is under Shadow Pack protection," he stated, as if reciting policy. "If there’s evidence of boundary violations, I’ll handle it."

His easy acquiescence caught me off guard. I’d expected resistance, excuses, delays.

"Just like that?" I couldn’t keep the suspicion from my voice.

Something flickered in his eyes—hurt, perhaps, though it vanished too quickly to be sure. "Contrary to what you might believe, Freya, I take my responsibilities seriously. All of them."

"I have the evidence," I said, gesturing toward the study. "Photos, patrol reports, dates and times."

Silvano nodded. "I’ll review them tonight."

An awkward silence descended between us, heavy with unspoken words and grievances. My mate stood before me, close enough to touch, yet he felt unreachable across the chasm that had opened between us.

"I should go check on Isabella," I finally said, unable to bear the silence any longer.

"She’s missed you," Silvano offered, his voice softer than before. "She talks about you constantly."

The admission twisted painfully in my chest. "I’ve missed her too."

As I turned to leave, his voice stopped me. "Freya."

I looked back, something hopeful and fragile unfurling in my chest.

"Xander Collins called me today," he said, his expression carefully neutral.

Isabella’s room was exactly as I remembered—walls painted a soft woodland green, ceiling decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars I’d arranged into accurate constellations. My little astronomer had been fascinated with the night sky since she could first look up.

She was already tucked into bed, her favorite stuffed wolf clutched against her chest. Her dark hair—so like Silvano’s—fanned across the pillow, and her eyes, heavy with sleep, brightened when she saw me.

"You came!" she said, as if she’d doubted my promise.

The simple statement broke something inside me. When had my own child started to question whether I’d be there for her?

"Of course I did, little wolf." I sat on the edge of her bed, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. "I’ll always come when you need me."

"Can you stay tonight? Please?" Her small fingers curled around mine. "I sleep better when you’re here."

"I’m staying," I promised, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "Do you want a story?"

She nodded eagerly. "The one about the wolf who found her magic."

I smiled, settling more comfortably on the bed as Isabella snuggled against me. This story—a tale I’d created about a young wolf who discovered her own unique powers—had become her favorite over the past year.

As I began the familiar tale, Isabella’s warm weight pressed against my side, her breathing gradually slowing. I wove the story with practiced ease, watching her eyelids grow heavy.

"And even though the other wolves didn’t understand her magic at first," I continued softly, "she never stopped believing in herself. She knew that what made her different also made her special."

Isabella’s eyes fluttered closed, her breathing deepening into sleep. I continued the story anyway, taking comfort in the familiar rhythm of the words and the precious weight of my daughter against me.

"The magic was always inside her," I whispered, gently stroking her hair. "She just needed to be brave enough to use it."

In sleep, Isabella looked so peaceful—unburdened by the tensions between her parents or the complicated politics of pack life. I stayed beside her long after she’d fallen asleep, treasuring these quiet moments.