Chapter 11
191words
I decided to visit Thornfield Manor.
Alaric's father collected antiques. I'd found an 18th-century oil painting months ago but hadn't given it to him yet.
The estate was unusually busy today. Luxury cars streamed through the gates.
While hesitating at the entrance, I literally bumped into Dorian on his way out.
His cheekbone was swollen, his lip split open—fresh from a fight.
When he saw me, his usually composed face flickered with uncertainty.
"Aria." He blocked my path.
"You should head back home."
I glanced at his injuries. "Is Alaric back?"
"Did you two fight?"
Dorian said nothing, just guided me to his car and drove me home.
I didn't press him.
For years, werewolf society had called me "future Luna" to my face while treating me like a joke behind my back—
A delusional human girl who thought she could marry into their world.
Dorian was the only one who'd ever treated me as a genuine friend.
During our Brighton exile, he'd secretly helped us countless times.
At least, that's what I thought until I got out of the car.
