The Secret Heirs of the Lycan King (by Misha K) novel Chapter 59

**When Midnight Winds Carry Secrets Toward Worlds Yet Unknown**

The week that followed felt like a paradox, simultaneously dragging on and racing by. Each morning, I awoke with a sense of unease gnawing at my insides. To stave off this restless feeling, I threw myself into my work with an intensity that surprised even me, racing against the clock to complete every facet of my shop project ahead of schedule. The underlying motivation? I wanted to distance myself from Scott before I had to witness him with Tasha. Nancy and the twins seemed to pick up on my mood, their nervous glances a constant reminder of the turmoil brewing within me.

At the shop, I found myself obsessively checking the display racks, my fingers running over the familiar textures of fabric and wood. I rearranged shelves for what felt like the hundredth time and scrutinized pricing sheets until the numbers blurred together and a dull ache settled in my temples. Yet, no matter how busy my hands were, my thoughts drifted far from my work.

In just a few days, Scott would be heading to his land for Samhain. The mere thought tightened a vice around my chest. If the Elders pushed him hard enough, he would marry Tasha. It was the most rational choice for him, the one that would resolve all his problems—except for mine. I was the only one who would shatter under that weight. Waves of despair crashed over me, and I fought to keep myself from breaking down right there in the shop.

The idea of Scott marrying Tasha ignited a fiery rage within me that I had never known before. I had never experienced jealousy like this; it was raw and all-consuming. Each time I pictured Tasha’s hands on him, her laughter ringing in his ears, her being called his wife, a searing anger flared up inside me. I imagined yanking her hair, slapping her, scratching her face if she dared to take what was rightfully mine. The thought of her name alone sent a shudder of fury through me, and I wanted to scream.

These possessive feelings were foreign to me, a revelation I hadn’t anticipated.

I had always guarded my heart with fierce determination, never allowing anyone to get close enough to inflict pain upon me again. But Scott… he had somehow slipped past every barrier I had erected. I couldn’t quite grasp how it had happened. Perhaps it was the way he held me, making me feel like I truly mattered. Maybe it was how he defended me with unwavering conviction, never hesitating for a second.

Was I really yearning for him now? He was always so kind to my kids, eager to protect them. I wondered if that was a natural instinct for a biological father. But then I thought of my own father, who had willingly abandoned me.

I had never experienced anything like this before. My father had chosen to forget me, while Scott chose to remember every little detail about me and my children. I despised how much that realization affected me. I hated how desperately I wanted him. Yet, each night, I lay awake, thoughts of him swirling in my mind, missing him, needing him with an urgency that felt like a fever crawling beneath my skin.

Scott often visited the shop, arriving with coffee in hand, sometimes accompanied by snacks. Once, he even rolled up his sleeves to help me sort through a shipment. Every time he entered, my breath hitched in my throat. I longed to run to him, to touch him, to press my cheek against his chest and inhale his comforting scent. But instead, I maintained my distance, holding back the impulse with all my might.

And that was another thing I loathed.

I could see the confusion and hurt in his eyes. He tried to engage me in conversation, but I responded with curt, clipped answers. I didn’t want to push him away, but fear gripped me tightly. The thought of him leaving and returning with Tasha by his side as his wife was a heartbreak I wasn’t sure I could survive.

There were nights when I cried silently, biting my pillow to stifle the sounds of my despair. Sometimes, I dreamed that he would come into my room and lie beside me. I would curl into him, and he would wrap his arms around me, kissing my forehead and whispering promises that he would never leave, that I was his. “You’re mine. I’ll always take care of you…”

And in those dreams, I would drift off into a peaceful slumber. But with the dawn, his promises would dissipate like morning mist, and I would remind myself they were just figments of my imagination.

The tension between us had become unbearable. It was not merely emotional; it was charged with a palpable, simmering desire. I craved him—oh, how I craved him.

On Thursday, Troy strolled into the shop, balancing two lunch boxes and two bottles of juice. His grin was infectious as he waved at me, bowing slightly before dropping the lunch boxes onto the small table in front of me. “You look like you’re about to explode,” he remarked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

I chuckled softly, curious. “What’s this?”

“Lunch,” he replied. “Grilled chicken wraps and Caesar salad.”

With a resigned sigh, I opened the wrap and took a reluctant bite, aware that Troy was watching me closely.

“Okay,” he said, leaning in. “Why do you look like someone just stole your favorite shoes?”

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