---- Chapter 39 Damien POV: Alpha Alaric and Luna Seraphina stayed for the first month, a period of sacred rest for a new mother in our kind. | remained in the kitchens, a shadow moving amongst the pots and pans, my existence defined by the meals | prepared. Each dish was an apology. Each herb was a prayer for forgiveness. | poured my soul into nourishing her, into strengthening the White Wolf blood that flowed through her and our son. The day her parents were set to leave, | overheard them in the main hall. "That new chef is remarkable," Alpha Alaric's voice boomed. "His cooking has the taste of the old ways. True nourishment." "| agree," Luna Seraphina added. "Elara's recovery has been swift. The balance of the meals has been perfect for restoring her strength." My heart swelled with a strange, painful pride. They were praising me, the man they despised, without even knowing it. "You know," Elara's voice, now strong and clear, chimed in, "I have been thinking the same thing. My appetite has never ---- been better." | froze, my hand hovering over a bowl of herbs. "I've never even met him," she continued. "He's so quiet, like a mouse. | think | should thank him properly before you go." Panic seized me. | wasn't ready. | looked at my reflection in a polished pot lid. My face was thinner, my eyes haunted. | smelled of Omega-masking herbs and cooking smoke, not of pine and storm, the scent of an Alpha. | was a fraud. A coward hiding in a kitchen. A moment later, a maid entered. "The Princess wishes to see the chef," she announced My blood ran cold. The spoon | was holding slipped from my nerveless fingers and clattered to the floor. This was it. The moment of truth. | was terrified she would see through my disguise, that she would look at me with the same horror and disgust she had in the Moon Temple. But a foolish, desperate part of me hoped she would see my regret, my penance. That she might, for a fleeting second, see the mate she once loved. Straightening my simple tunic, | took a deep, shuddering breath. | wiped my sweaty palms on my trousers and followed the maid out of the kitchen and up the stairs, each step feeling like a walk to my own execution.