CHAPTER 127: STRANGERS

Hailee’s POV

Mother pulled away and flashed me one of her usual charming smiles, but I didn’t respond. I just had a blank look on my face. I saw no need to pretend to be happy when clearly I was not. Mother must have noticed the blank look on my face because her smile died down and was replaced with a look of concern. She cupped my face and studied it, her sea-blue eyes—which I inherited from her—staring right into me.

"You don’t seem happy to be back home after all these years," she whispered.

I frowned, my chest tightening with old, buried anger. "And why should I be happy, Mother?" I spat the word like poison. I hated calling her that. A mother wouldn’t have hardened her heart to the cries of her own daughter the way she had. A mother wouldn’t have left me feeling like an orphan even while she lived. To me, my real mother was Violet—my nanny. She was the one who held me when I cried, who listened, who cared. She was more of a mother than my own blood could ever be.

Father, who had stood in silence until now, suddenly spoke. His deep, commanding voice echoed in the air. "Watch your tone, Hailee." Calm, but heavy with authority.

I shifted my gaze past my mother and locked eyes with him. His presence always commanded respect, but I refused to bow under it. My frown deepened as I held his stare, forcing him to see how much hate and anger I had for him.

His jaw tightened. Then, with a sharp turn of his head, he looked away from me and addressed Violet, who lingered quietly at the side, her hands clasped in front of her.

"How did you train her for those four years?" His tone was sharp, dismissive, almost accusing. "She doesn’t look one bit like my daughter."

I scoffed, and it seemed my scoff angered Father even more because he groaned, turned around, and walked away.

The silence he left behind was suffocating. The air was thick, heavy with tension. I knew everyone around me hadn’t expected this side of me. They thought I’d come back meek, silent, obedient. But this—this was just the beginning. They were yet to receive the most shocking news of all.

Mother’s lips curved faintly, though her eyes carried sadness. "I know you are angry at us, Hailee... but we did what we had to do." Her words were soft, almost pleading.

I wished I could believe her. I wished I could just forgive her and let it go. But I couldn’t. Not when they were the very reason my life had turned into this chaos. If they hadn’t sent me away as punishment, I wouldn’t have grown up carrying this burden. I wouldn’t have been "Hailee, the omega who fell in love with three men and shattered their hearts." I would have simply been Hailee Stone—a Lycan King’s daughter.

My chest ached with the weight of it all. My body felt drained, my spirit worn thin. I drew in a deep breath, and when I spoke, my voice came out low, tired, in a language I hadn’t allowed myself to use in four years.

"Je suis fatiguée... le voyage a été long." I am tired... the journey was long.

When I spoke in French, the words felt strange on my tongue. I hadn’t used the language in four years. Mother’s smile faded. She looked hurt, but she only nodded slowly.

"Alright, Hailee," she said softly. Then she turned to the head maid standing nearby. "Show her to her room."

I lifted my head. "My old room?"

"Yes," Mother said after a small pause. "It’s still yours."

I flashed a weak smile. "No need," I said firmly as I walked past her. "I know the way myself."

I walked into the mansion, my steps weak against the shiny floor. The place looked almost the same. Only a few changes here and there—the walls painted fresh, the lights brighter. But it still felt like the house I once knew, the house that never felt like home.

As I passed the hallway, a memory came back. I was younger, standing right here, crying after Father shouted at me. I had run upstairs, but no one followed me; no one cared. The memory stung, making my chest feel heavy.

I forced myself forward and climbed the stairs slowly. Each step felt harder, but I didn’t stop. When I reached the top, I went straight to my room.

My hand paused on the doorknob for a second before I pushed it open.

Inside, it was just like I had left it. The pale curtains swayed gently as the evening breeze slipped through the window, carrying with it the faint scent of roses from the garden below. The wooden floor gleamed as though someone had polished it daily, refusing to let a single speck of dust settle in my absence. The bed was perfectly made, draped in silk sheets that shimmered under the soft light, untouched yet too pristine to ever feel comforting.

My dresses still hung neatly in the wardrobe, lined up by color just as I once kept them, though the sight of them now felt foreign, like relics belonging to another girl I no longer knew. On the shelves sat books and little trinkets from my childhood—porcelain dolls, seashells I had once collected, and sketches I had drawn long ago. Everything screamed of care and preservation, as if the room had been frozen in time, waiting for me to return.

I let out a long sigh and lowered myself onto the edge of the bed. Despite its perfection, the room felt overwhelming, suffocating, as though its very walls whispered memories I wasn’t ready to face. I sat there, small and fragile in the middle of the big, perfect room, swallowed by a space that looked like mine yet felt nothing like home.

My mind drifted back to them—Nathan, Callum, and Dane.

Did they notice I was gone?

Did they even care?

The thought of them made my chest ache. Nathan with his fierce protectiveness, Callum with his calm nature, and Dane with his fire. I missed them, even though I tried not to. They had been my comfort and my pain, all at once.

I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the sting of tears. I couldn’t cry here. Not in this house. Not in front of them.

A knock broke the silence.

My heart jumped. Slowly, I lifted my head as the door opened.

Father stepped inside.