A Warrior's Second Chance (Faye and Alexander) novel Chapter 91

FAYE

I had never felt so unprepared in my life. As Alexander’s car rolled to a stop in front of his mother’s house, I could barely keep my palms from sweating.

The place was enormous, elegant in a way that carried both authority and warmth. Not like some mansion meant to intimidate, but graceful and commanding, the kind of house that told you its owner belonged to a legacy older than you could wrap your mind around.

I could immediately see where Alexander got his taste. It was a beautiful sight. Still, none of that beauty did anything to calm the nerves thrumming through me. Meeting his mother… under these circumstances? It was almost cruel.

When the door opened, I braced myself. I had imagined a woman draped in regal severity, someone older, with gray hair swept up in a stern bun, the type of mother who could burn holes through you with a single disapproving glance. What I saw instead almost made me

blink twice.

She was younger than I had pictured, far younger. Her long hair was glossy, her features striking, and her smile radiant enough to light up the grand foyer behind her. The warmth–it was so familiar. In her brightness, I could suddenly see Irene too.

Her eyes landed first on her son.

“Well, well,” she said, voice rich and smooth with just a touch of playful sarcasm. She leaned

in and kissed him on the cheek. “Look who remembered where his mother lives after an entire year.”

Alexander let out a small sigh, as if bracing for this very jab. “Mother-”

“Don’t you ‘Mother‘ me,” she cut in, smirking, not giving him the chance to defend himself. “I already know, you’re busy. You’re always busy. You don’t need to finish the sentence.”

He pressed his lips together in a way that made me want to laugh. For once, the almighty Alpha looked like a boy caught red–handed. She smirked again, clearly pleased to have disarmed him, then waved a hand as if to say she’d circle back later to scold him properly.

That was when her eyes turned on me.

I nearly melted under the weight of her gaze. My throat went dry, my legs heavy. For all her warmth, there was no mistaking her sharpness. She didn’t just look at me, she looked into me. And for a terrifying moment, I thought this was it–that she’d see right through me to

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every fear I carried, to the strange illness, to the gnawing doubt about whether I was strong enough to stand by her son.

But to my complete shock, her first words weren’t cold or suspicious. They were… kind.

“Oh, my dear,” she said, stepping forward slightly, her eyes softening. “You are more beautiful than I imagined. I have been dying to see you.”

My lips parted in disbelief. “I’m honored to meet you,” I managed. It sounded dumb to me…why didn’t I say something more natural?

“You can’t imagine how many times I tried.” Her gaze flicked to Alexander, and she gave him a look full of mock reproach. “But of course, a certain someone decided it wasn’t my right to

meet my own son’s mate.”

Alexander smirked, his expression halfway between irritation and amusement. He almost rolled his eyes, but restrained himself.

Something about their little exchange, their rhythm, was so absurd that a laugh bubbled out of me before I could stop it. Nervous laughter, but laughter all the same.

“Come,” she said, motioning gracefully. “Sit. You must be tired.”

I obeyed, perching on the edge of the soft cream–colored sofa. Alexander remained standing beside me, but before I could settle into this strange dynamic, his phone buzzed sharply. He glanced at the screen, frowned, then muttered an apology.

“I need to take this,” he said quickly. “Just a moment.”

And just like that, he slipped into the hall, the door clicking behind him.

Panic crawled over me. Of course. Of course he’d leave me alone with her.

Despite the warmth in her welcome, despite her compliments, there was still the unshakable awareness that this was Alexander’s mother. A woman of power, knowledge, legacy. A woman who had likely already formed a thousand opinions about me in the short time she’d been looking my way.

I wished–oh, how I wished–that Alexander would walk back through that door and spare me. At least his presence was familiar, grounding. Without him, I felt like a child left alone in front of a teacher who already knew I hadn’t done my homework.

Was she aware of why we had come? She didn’t look like it. She hadn’t given me that piercing, otherworldly stare that screamed she already knew I was sick, already knew what lived in me or what cursed me. I had almost expected her to take one look at me and launch straight into explanations, unraveling the mystery before I could even open my mouth.

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Instead, she sat down across from me, graceful as a queen in her own domain, and poured herself a cup of tea from a porcelain set on the low table between us.

The silence pressed down on me, and I fought the urge to fidget. Should I say something? Should I thank her? Should I ask if she knew why I was here?

I opened my mouth, but the words stuck.

Mercifully, just before I could stumble through something awkward, Alexander returned. Relief rushed through me like air into starved lungs.

He slid his phone into his pocket, his jaw a little tense from whatever call he’d taken, but he gave me a quick reassuring glance before his mother stood and clapped her hands lightly together.

“Dinner is ready,” she announced. “Come, let’s head to the dining room.”

And just like that, the audience I’d been dreading was postponed.

After dinner, Helen guided me to a room upstairs, her hand brushing lightly against my arm as though to reassure me. “This will be yours for the night,” she said warmly. “Freshen up, relax, and I’ll see you later.”

I smiled and murmured my thanks, relief flooding me when I realized she hadn’t simply assumed Alexander and I would share a room. Maybe some mothers would have done that…teased us or made light of it…but Helen seemed too refined for such assumptions. It was a kindness I hadn’t expected, and I was grateful for it.

The room was spacious, softly lit, the walls painted a calming shade of cream. A massive window opened to the garden below. Everything was neatly arrange…towels by the bath, folded sheets neat as though they’d never been touched. It should have made me feel at home, but instead, it deepened the strangeness of it all.

I showered, the warm water chasing away the remnants of dinner conversation, then slipped into my nightwear. The fabric was light, airy. I brushed out my hair slowly, deliberately, as if stalling the emptiness of the room itself.

That was when the knock came.

“Come in,” I called.

The door opened, and Alexander stepped inside. For some reason, seeing him framed in the doorway was more grounding than anything else tonight. He closed the door behind him and asked, “Are you comfortable?”

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I gave him a small smile. “As comfortable as I can be in a strange environment.” I let out a light laugh. “It’s… different here. And I’m just waiting for your mom to address the reason we came. Did you even tell her?”

He nodded, moving a little further into the room. “I did. But my mother doesn’t rush into things. She never has. Everything with her is timing and order. You’ll see.”

So that was it. Timing and order. A polite way of saying patience. I tried to exhale some of the restlessness clinging to me, reminding myself that he was right. Helen had exuded control in every word, every gesture. If she meant to delay, it was deliberate, not forgetfulness. I just hope I don’t have another episode right under her roof tonight.

“I understand,” I said quietly. Then, after a pause, “She’s sweet, though. Warm. Not what I expected.”

Alexander’s mouth tilted into the faintest smile. “Yes, she is.” He studied me for a second, then he nodded. “Try to get some rest. If you need anything, call me. I’ll be in the room down the hall. I’ll be checking on you anyway.”

I nodded too, pretending that was enough. But when he turned to leave, something inside me sank. The room suddenly felt colder, and I felt… empty. Maybe it was the unfamiliarity of the house. Maybe it was the exhaustion of the whole situation. Or maybe it was simply him…the only familiar figure here…about to step out and leave me behind.

Before I could stop myself, before I could even think twice, the words slipped out.

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