MistNovel - Read Web Novel Stories & Fiction Online

The cottage sat on the edge of the Haverford estate like an afterthought, tucked between towering oak trees that provided both shade and privacy. It was small compared to the main house but larger and nicer than anywhere Brielle had ever lived. Hardwood floors gleamed in the afternoon light, and the rooms were filled with furniture that actually matched. The kitchen even had appliances that worked. She hated every perfect inch of it. A maid had helped her move her few belongings: three changes of clothes, some books, her old laptop, and a single photograph of her parents. Everything fit into two bags. The stark contrast between her meager possessions and the cottage's abundance made her feel even more out of place.

From the cottage’s front window, she could see the main estate where the triplets lived. Their mansion sprawled across manicured lawns, a statement of power built from glass and stone. As evening approached, she watched lights turn on, imagining them inside, hating this situation as much as she did. The bond hummed constantly beneath her awareness, a relentless messenger telling her exactly where each of them was. Devereaux was in what must be his office on the second floor. Thorne was somewhere on the grounds, probably at the pack’s training facility. Montrose was in a room that felt separate from the others, a quieter space.

A sharp knock on her door made her jump. She opened it to find Thorne standing on her small porch, his posture a strange mix of aggression and defense.

“Do not think this makes you special,” he said without any preamble, his words coming fast and harsh.

“You are still nobody. This bond is a mistake, and we are going to fix it.”

But even as he spoke, she felt him fighting the bond’s pull through their connection. His wolf wanted to get closer, to touch her and confirm she was real. This internal war made him hostile, causing him to lash out because he did not know what else to do.

“Are you done?” Brielle asked coldly. “Stay away from us at school. Do not talk to us. Do not look at us. Just pretend this is not happening.”

“That is my plan exactly.” Thorne’s jaw clenched. Through the bond, his frustration slammed into her, a wave of heat that made her own skin prickle. He turned and walked away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Brielle closed the door and leaned against it, her heart pounding. This was going to be a very long thirty days.

School the next morning was a nightmare. The entire student body knew about the bond. Conversations stopped when Brielle entered a room. Groups parted to let her pass, as if she were a disease they might catch. In the hallway, a girl named Madison deliberately bumped into her.

“Oops. I did not see you there.” Her tone made it clear the collision was intentional. Madison was one of the girls who usually fawned over the triplets, and her hostility was sharp and personal. Other students were more subtle, excluding her from conversations, turning their backs when she approached, and making sure she knew she was not welcome. The triplets’ friends were the worst, treating her like contaminated goods.

Lunch period arrived like a judgment. Brielle bought food from the cafeteria for the first time in years, using money from the small allowance Alpha Matthias had grudgingly provided. She carried her tray to her usual corner, expecting nothing different. Then, as she passed a table of popular students, someone stuck out a foot. Brielle stumbled, the tray tilting dangerously. She fought for balance, preparing for the familiar humiliation of food spilling across the floor. Before anything could fall, a wave of power flooded the cafeteria, a tangible force.

“Enough.” Devereaux’s Alpha command voice made everyone freeze. The student who had tried to trip her went pale and pulled his foot back immediately. Silence fell across the entire room. Brielle stared at Devereaux in shock. He stood near his table, his expression thunderous. She felt his instinctive protection through the bond, the Alpha in him responding to a threat against his mate whether he wanted it to or not. Their eyes met across the cafeteria. His jaw tightened, and he looked as surprised by his own action as she felt. “I do not need you to save me,” Brielle said clearly, her voice carrying in the silence. She straightened her tray and walked to her corner table without looking back. Through the bond, she felt his anger and confusion warring with that deep instinct. He did not want to protect her, but his wolf demanded it. The conflict was tearing him apart. Good. Let him suffer too.

The library became her refuge. Between classes, Brielle hid among the stacks where nobody went, trying to study despite her exhausted mind. The bond had made sleep nearly impossible. She was reading about pack hierarchies when she felt the familiar weight of guilt through their connection. Montrose had settled into a chair across the aisle. He did not speak or approach, just opened his sketchbook and began to draw. His presence was quieter than his brothers', less aggressive, but still invasive. Brielle tried to ignore him, reading the same paragraph four times without comprehending a single word. Finally, frustration overwhelmed her. “Why?” she asked without looking at him. Montrose’s pencil stilled. “Why did you just watch? All those times your brothers hurt me, you just stood there. You never stopped them, never said anything.” She finally turned to look at him. “Why?”

His face was troubled, his eyes dark with regret. He opened his mouth, closed it, then looked down at his sketch.

“I do not have a good answer.”

“Try.” “Cowardice,” he said softly. “Grief. Misplaced anger. Take your pick.”

Before she could respond, he stood and walked away, leaving his sketchbook behind. Brielle stared at it for a long moment before curiosity won. She crossed to his table and opened the notebook. The first page showed his mother, beautiful and elegant, smiling in a garden. Page after page revealed the same woman in different scenes. Then the images changed to his mother’s funeral, the three brothers standing beside a grave. The final sketch made Brielle’s breath catch. It showed her in the sacred grove, three golden bonds of light streaming from her chest. He had drawn her face with careful attention, capturing her defiance, her fear, and her strength. She closed the sketchbook with shaking hands, feeling Montrose’s guilt like a heavy, constant weight.