Sofia stumbled toward the massive walk-in closet, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. When she had woken up that morning and seen the rows of designer dresses, the polished shoes, and the elegant bags, she had thought they were gifts—new items Alaric had bought to replace everything she lost in the apartnt attack.
But now...
Now she looked at them with wide, terrified eyes.
She grabbed a soft, cashre sweater from a hanger and pressed it to her face. It didn’t sll like a store. It didn’t have that crisp, chemical scent of new fabric. Instead, it carried a faint, lingering aroma—a mix of expensive perfu and dried lavender.
"No..." she whispered, her hands shaking as she dropped the sweater.
She knelt on the floor and pulled a pair of high-heeled shoes from the rack. She turned them over, her heart hamring against her ribs. The soles weren’t pristine. There were faint scuff marks on the bottom—tiny, subtle signs of wear that showed soone had walked in these shoes, danced in them, lived in them.
She checked another pair, then another.
The realization hit her like a physical blow. Alaric hadn’t bought her anything. He had opened the vault of his dead wife’s life and dressed Sofia in her skin. He didn’t just want her to look like his late wife; he was literally wrapping her in the dead woman’s identity.
"He’s insane," she choked out, backing away from the closet as if the clothes themselves might reach out and grab her. "Matthew was right. He’s completely lost his mind."
She looked back at the mirror. The gown she was wearing, the one that fit her so well, wasn’t just a gift. It was a relic. She began to frantically pull at the dress, desperate to get the dead woman’s clothes off her skin. She scrambled to find her own jeans and shirt and threw them on.
Just as she was trembling, trying to button her shirt, the heavy oak door opened.
Alaric stood there. He looked happy, his erald eyes scanning the room until they landed on her. He frowned when he saw her back in her old clothes, the expensive gown discarded like trash on the floor.
"Sofia? What are you doing?" he asked, his voice low and calm. "There are clothes in the closet. Why are you wearing those?"
"These are mine," Sofia hissed, her voice cracking with a mixture of fear and fury. She grabbed one of the shoes from the closet floor and held it out like a weapon. "The soles are scuffed, Alaric. The sweaters sll like lavender and old perfu. These aren’t new. These are her clothes."
Alaric went still. The warmth in his eyes died, replaced by panic. He didn’t move toward her; he just stood in the center of the room.
"This was Elizabeth’s room," he said quietly. "I haven’t changed a thing since the day she left this world. When I ca in last night and saw that you wore her nightdress, thinking I got it for you, I decided to let it be... I never intended for you to wear her clothes."
"It’s not just the clothes!" Sofia cried, stepping toward him, her blue eyes blazing. "Your daughter thinks I’m her mother! She told you promised the Moon Goddess would bring her back. You’re using to play a part in so sick fantasy!"
The silence that followed was suffocating. Alaric’s jaw tightened so hard a muscle pulsed in his cheek. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over her, making her feel small.
"I have never lied to my daughter," he pleaded. "If Serene thinks you are her mother, it is because her heart sees what my eyes see. Sofia, I cherish you." He tried to take her hands, but she pulled away.
"Cherish ?" Sofia let out a harsh, jagged laugh. "You weren’t cherishing last night, Alaric. You weren’t even seeing ."
Alaric stepped closer, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "What are you talking about? I was right here. I haven’t been able to think about anything but you since the mont I saw you."
Sofia felt the bile rise in her throat. "When you were inside ... when you were holding like I was the only thing keeping you alive... you didn’t call Sofia."
Alaric went deathly still. The air in the room seed to vibrate with his sudden tension. "I was caught in the mont, Sofia. I was—"
"You moaned her na!" she shouted, the truth finally spilling out. "You called Elizabeth. You whispered it into my neck over and over again. You told her you missed her!"
The silence that followed was terrifying. Alaric’s heart sank. He didn’t deny it; he saw no need to.
"I didn’t..." he started, his voice cracking for the first ti. He looked down at his hands, then back at Sofia, his chest beginning to heave. "I didn’t realize I said it aloud."
"But you did," Sofia whispered, her anger turning into a deep, hollow ache. "You were making love to a ghost, Alaric. And you used my body to do it. You don’t love . You love the fact that I have her hair and her eyes. You’ve turned into a living doll for you and Serene to play with."
Alaric didn’t lash out. Instead, he took a step toward her, his hand reaching out, trembling. "Sofia, no... it’s not like that. I feel things for you that I haven’t felt in years. The way my wolf reacts to you, the way I want to protect you—"
"Because you think the Moon Goddess gave you a second chance at your dead mate!" Sofia backed away until her spine hit the closet door. "But I’m a person, Alaric. I’m a girl who was tortured by your nephew, and who is trying to find her own way. I am not Elizabeth. I will never be Elizabeth. I am Sofia!" she scread. "I am not your dead wife! I am your nephew’s mate!"
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