Mated to My Fiancé’s Alpha King Brother novel Chapter 208

208 Chapter 208

The car stopped.

I stared at the house through the windshield. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“We’re here,” Damien said quietly.

Here. Home.

Except it wasn’t my home anymore. Hadn’t been for three years.

The house looked exactly the same. Same stone facade. Same dark wood door. Same perfectly manicured lawn.

Like I’d never left.

Like three years hadn’t passed.

“Sera.” Damien’s voice pulled me back. “You ready?”

No. God, no. I wasn’t ready. Would never be ready.

But I nodded anyway.

He got out first. Walked around to my side. Opened the door like we were on some normal date. Like this was fine. Like everything was

fine.

I forced my legs to move. One foot on the ground. Then the other. Standing felt like climbing a mountain.

Damien pulled out his keys. The sound of metal against metal seemed impossibly loud. Each click of the lock echoed through my skull.

The door swung open.

And I stepped inside.

Oh God.

The entryway looked the same. Same marble floors. Same chandelier. Same table where we used to drop our keys.

There were toys scattered near the stairs. Bright plastic things that definitely weren’t there three years ago. A small pink backpack hung

on a hook that used to hold my jacket. Tiny shoes lined up neatly by the door–some with sparkles, some with dinosaurs.

My children’s shoes.

Child I’d never watched grow. Never seen take her first steps.

My throat closed up.

“The living room,” Damien said. “We can wait there.”

I followed him like a ghost. Through the hallway I’d walked down a thousand times. Past the kitchen where I used to make coffee every morning. Into the living room where—

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208 Chapter 208

I stopped dead.

The couch was the same. Same dark leather. Same throw pillows.

But the coffee table was covered in coloring books. Crayons everywhere. A half–finished puzzle showing some cartoon character I didn’t

recognize.

On the wall, new picture frames. Dozens of them.

Adrian’s school photos. Year by year. Watching him grow from five to eight. And Lily. Baby pictures. First birthday. Second birthday. Third birthday. This tiny person I’d carried inside me. This little girl who’d been barely six months old when I left.

I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop staring at these snapshots of lives I’d missed. Moments I’d never get back.

“Sit down,” Damien said.

I sank onto the couch. My legs gave out. If I’d tried to stand another second, I would’ve collapsed.

Damien checked his watch. “They’ll be here soon. The nanny picks them up from school on Fridays.”

I looked around the room again. Trying to memorize everything. Trying to understand what their lives had been like without me.

A toy box in the corner overflowing with stuffed animals. A bookshelf filled with picture books and early readers. A small table with two

chairs where they probably did crafts or homework.

All without me.

“I kept your things,” Damien said suddenly.

I looked at him. He was standing by the fireplace. Not looking at me. Staring at the photos on the mantel.

“What?”

“Your things. Your clothes. Your books. That stupid mug you loved.” His voice was flat. Empty. “I couldn’t throw them away.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know if there was anything to say.

“Adrian used to sleep with one of your sweaters,” he continued. “For the first year. He’d cry himself to sleep holding it. Breathing in your

scent until it faded.”

The words were knives. Each one cutting deeper.

“I had to take it away eventually. It was making things worse.” He finally looked at me. His eyes were empty. “He was seven years old and

he couldn’t let go of a piece of clothing because it was all he had left of his mother.”

“And Lily.” His voice cracked. “Lily doesn’t remember you at all. She sees pictures and I tell her stories, but to her, you’re just… a

character. Like a princess in a book. Not real.”

Tears burned behind my eyes. I blinked them back furiously. If I started crying now, I wouldn’t stop.

“So yeah.” Damien turned back to the fireplace. “I kept your things. Because throwing them away felt like admitting you were never

coming back. Like giving up.”

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Silence fell between us. Heavy. Suffocating.

Time crawled. Each minute felt like an hour.

I sat on the couch. Hands clasped in my lap to hide the shaking. Eyes fixed on the door. Waiting

My mind raced through every possible scenario.

Outside, I heard a car door slam.

My entire body went rigid.

“That’s them,” Damien said unnecessarily.

I stood up. Sat back down. Stood up again. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. With my body. With any part of myself.

Voices outside. High and young and achingly familiar even though I hadn’t heard them in years.

The door opened.

I stopped breathing.

Footsteps in the hallway. Small feet running. A woman’s voice calling after them to slow down.

My heart hammered so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.

Then she appeared.

Lily.

She burst into the room like a tiny hurricane. Dark hair in pigtails. One shoe untied. Her backpack sliding off one shoulder.

She was so big.

So much bigger than the six–month–old baby I’d left behind. When had she gotten so big?

She skidded to a stop when she saw me. Her mouth formed a perfect O of surprise.

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