CHAPTER 223: WALLS UP

Hailee’s POV

Peter wanted to argue, but I stopped him by shaking my head.

"Don’t worry," I said softly. "Let me hear what he has to say."

Peter’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking toward Nathan like a warning, but he nodded reluctantly. "Five minutes," he muttered, his voice low.

Nathan gave him a brief look before turning to me. "Outside," he said simply.

I followed him through the quiet hallway and out into the hospital garden. The night air was cool, brushing gently against my skin. The faint scent of jasmine mixed with the sterile tang of disinfectant. The moon hung low and bright above us, casting silver light across the benches and trimmed hedges.

Nathan walked ahead a few steps, his hands shoved into his pockets. For a moment, he said nothing. He just stood there, looking out at the trees swaying softly in the breeze.

Then, without turning around, he spoke. "Sit," he said quietly.

I hesitated, then lowered myself onto the stone bench nearby. A moment later, he joined me, close enough for me to feel the warmth of his body but far enough to keep a space between us.

The silence stretched until it felt like it might break me.

Finally, he turned his head slightly, his voice low and strained. "We haven’t talked," he said. "Not really. Not since... everything happened."

I swallowed hard, my fingers twisting in my lap. "Nathan, this isn’t the time—"

"It’s exactly the time," he cut in, his tone sharp but not angry—pained. "Because if I don’t say this now, I might never get the chance."

I turned toward him slowly. His eyes were darker than usual, full of questions and hurt.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" he asked quietly. "Why didn’t you tell me who you really were?"

My breath caught.

He exhaled heavily, shaking his head. "All those years, Hailee... I thought I knew you. I trusted you. I would’ve done anything for you. And yet you hid everything—your past, your bloodline, your truth. Was I really that unworthy of your trust?"

His words sliced deep. I looked down, my voice barely a whisper. "It wasn’t about trust. I was protecting you—protecting the three of you. If I’d told you—"

He interrupted, his voice breaking slightly. "If you’d told me, I would’ve protected you too! Damn it, Hailee, I thought we had something real. I thought you believed in me."

Tears stung my eyes. "I did," I whispered.

He gave a short, bitter laugh. "Then why did you run?"

I couldn’t answer. The truth was tangled in too much pain, too much history.

Nathan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together tightly. "You know what hurts the most?" he said quietly. "That even after everything, my feelings for you haven’t changed."

I froze.

He turned toward me fully now, his gaze locking with mine. "I tried, Hailee. I tried to hate you for what you did. For hiding the truth. For taking our son away. But every time I look at you, every time I hear your voice... it’s like none of that matters anymore."

I looked away, my heart pounding, but he reached out and gently caught my chin between his fingers, turning my face back toward him. His touch was warm, steady, and familiar.

"I don’t understand it," he whispered, his eyes searching mine. "But I still love you. I still want you."

My breath hitched.

Before I could speak, he pulled me closer—slow at first, testing my reaction. My palms pressed against his chest instinctively, but I didn’t push him away. His scent filled my senses, wrapping around me like a memory I’d tried to forget.

"Nathan..." I breathed, but the word barely escaped before he drew me onto his lap.

I gasped softly, my hands gripping his shoulders to steady myself. His arm slipped around my waist, firm and dominant, holding me there. The heat between us was immediate and tense.

"Tell me you don’t feel this," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "Tell me you don’t still want me too."

My heart hammered so hard I thought he might hear it. Every inch of my body remembered him—the strength in his touch, the smell of his skin.

I should have pulled away.

I knew I should have.

But instead, I stayed frozen—trembling, torn between the past that still burned inside me and the future I was too afraid to face.

"Nathan..." I whispered again, my voice breaking.

His forehead rested against mine, his voice low and rough. "You don’t have to say it. I already know."

"Nathan..." I breathed, my voice trembling. "We can’t—"

"Then stop me," he murmured, his tone low, rough, and filled with desire.

And before I could think—before I could find a reason—his lips found mine.

The world vanished.

It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. Years of anger, heartbreak, and longing collided in that one moment. His hand cupped the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and I found myself clutching his shirt like I might drown if I let go.

The kiss deepened—hungry, breath-stealing. I could feel every ounce of emotion he’d been holding back—regret, love, possessiveness—pouring into it. When he drew me closer, I gasped softly against his mouth, trembling under the weight of everything that had been left unsaid.

"Nathan..." I whispered again, my words barely a breath between kisses.

He only pulled me closer, his voice rough and full of longing. "I’ve missed you... more than I can stand."

And just then, his hands went to my ass, and he squeezed, making me release a soft moan, not minding that we were in a hospital garden and anyone could see us. Nathan deepened the kiss again while squeezing both sides of my ass, and I kept releasing soft moans until a voice cut through the night like ice.

I froze.

Nathan’s hand stilled on my ass. We both turned toward the sound.

Peter stood a few feet away, his eyes sharp and cold. "Five minutes," he said quietly, though his tone carried the weight of a threat. "That was the deal."

I scrambled to my feet, my heart pounding so hard I could barely breathe. Nathan rose slowly behind me, jaw clenched, his wolf simmering just below the surface.

Peter’s gaze flicked between us—taking in our closeness, our flushed faces—and something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "You move fast for a man claiming he just wanted to talk," he said dryly.

Nathan’s growl was low. "You watching us now, Your Majesty?"

Peter’s lips curved faintly, though there was no amusement in his eyes. "Hailee is my sister. I watch her so wolves like you don’t prey on her."

The air grew electric again. Both men were standing now—close, tense, their power pressing against each other like opposing storms.

I stepped forward quickly, my voice shaking. "Stop it. Both of you."

Peter didn’t look at me. "Go inside, Hailee."

Nathan’s glare deepened. "She’s not your soldier to order around."

"She is my sister," Peter shot back.

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut through the air.

For a moment, I thought one of them would attack.

But then, with visible effort, Nathan stepped back, his eyes still locked on Peter’s. "This isn’t over."

Peter’s expression didn’t change. "It never is."

Nathan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak again. He turned his gaze from Peter to me—just long enough for me to see the anger still raging behind his eyes—and then he walked away.

I stood there, frozen, the cool night air suddenly feeling far too thin. My chest rose and fell quickly, my heartbeat still wild from everything that had just happened.

Peter spoke. "What is happening, Hailee?"

The way he said my name—calm, clipped, and disappointed—made my stomach twist.

I couldn’t look at him. My gaze stayed fixed on the path where Nathan had disappeared. "Peter, I..."

The words died in my throat. Shame burned hot in my chest.

How could I explain it? How could I tell him that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t think clearly when Nathan was near? That one look, one touch, and everything inside me came undone?

"I don’t know," I whispered finally. "Every time he’s close, I lose control. It’s like my heart forgets everything—the pain, the past—and all I can feel is him."

Peter sighed heavily, rubbing his temple. "You’re smarter than this, Hailee. You have to be."

I stayed silent, fighting the sting in my eyes.

He stepped closer, his tone firm but not cruel. "I’m not saying you don’t care about him. I can see that you do. But right now, caring is a weakness you can’t afford. You have children to protect. You have a name to rebuild. And most of all, you are fighting against him... against them for the custody of your children."

I looked up at him, my voice small. "I know."

"I think you forget it every time he’s near," Peter said bluntly. His gaze softened just a little, but his voice stayed sharp. "You have to control your emotions, Hailee. If you can’t control yourself, they’ll use that against you—all of them."

I swallowed hard, guilt and frustration knotting in my chest. "I didn’t plan it, Peter. It just... happened."

He gave a short, humorless laugh. "Things like that don’t just happen. You let them happen. And you need to stop before you make everything worse."

His words hit like cold water.

I turned away, hugging my arms around myself. "You make it sound easy."

"It’s not," he said simply. "But you’re not that frightened girl anymore. You’re stronger than this—so start acting like it."

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The night was quiet again.

Peter’s voice softened slightly. "Hailee, I don’t trust them. Not Nathan, not the others. They might say they care, but when power and bloodlines are involved, affection becomes a weapon. Don’t give them one to use against you."

I nodded slowly, staring at the ground. "I know."

He reached out, gently lifting my chin so I’d meet his gaze. "Then prove it. Keep your heart guarded. And for once, little sister... learn to keep your walls up."

I took a deep breath, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall.

"I’ll try," I whispered.

Peter studied me for a moment longer, then gave a small nod. "Good."

He turned and started walking back toward the hospital.

I stood there alone in the garden, staring after him, my heart still aching.

Part of me wanted to follow Peter’s advice—to stay strong, to build my walls higher.

But another part—the one that still remembered Nathan’s touch, his voice, his eyes—whispered that it was already too late.