I forced myself to sit at the table, as far from the box as possible, and tried to calm my breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth, just like Margaret had taught me during my panic attacks in those first months after she and Tom adopted me.
This is just fear. Fear can't actually hurt you. You're safe in your home…but I didn't feel safe. I felt exposed, vulnerable, likesomeone had reached into my carefully constructed sanctuary and left a mark I couldn't ignore.
My phone buzzed with another message, and I almost didn't look. But curiosity won out.
Garrett: Also, Levi wanted me to tell you that if you have any suggestions about bread or baking or literally anything else you want to teach him or talk about to message him. I think he just likes to talk about it with someone who knows what he is saying.
Despite everything—the dead plant, the threat, the fear coiling in my stomach—I felt a small, surprised laugh escape. The normalcy of the message, the casual humor, the reminder that not everything in my life right now was threatening or complicated.
I typed back quickly:Tell Levi I'll keep that in mind. And thank you.
The response came almost immediately:Always. Have a good day.
Wednesday. Dinner with the pack. Twenty-four hours ago, that had been the scariest thing I could imagine. Now, with Trinity's threat sitting on my kitchen table, it felt almost comforting. At least with the pack, I knew what I was walking into. At least they were direct about their intentions.
The sound of a car on my road made me jump, but it was Viola's sedan, arriving exactly when she'd said she would. I unlocked the door and stepped onto the porch as she parked and climbed out, her expression fierce and protective in a way that made my throat tight.
"Show me," she said without hesitation, climbing the steps. She looked like she was on a mission…and I guess in a way she was. I led her inside, pointing to the box on the table. She moved closer, examining the dead plant and the note without touching either, her mouth pressed into a thin line.
"This is harassment," she said flatly, her lip curling as a small growl left her. "This is someone trying to intimidate you into backing off from the guys.."
"I know." I stood near the counter, my arms wrapped around myself again. . "But I can't prove it was Trinity. There's no return address, no signature, nothing that connects it to her directly."
"We know it was her." Viola pulled out her phone, taking photos of the box, the plant, the note from several angles. "And they need to know about this."
"No." The word came out sharper than I'd intended. "I don't want to bother them with this. They're already dealing with enough because of me—the gossip, the drama at the market. I don't want to add more problems."
Viola turned to look at me, her expression softening slightly. "Daphne, this isn't adding problems. This is someone threatening you because they think you're a threat to what they want. They have a right to know that."
"They'll feel responsible." I moved to the window, looking out at my garden—my safe space, my sanctuary, now tainted by the knowledge that someone had deliberately tried to scare me here. "They'll feel like they need to fix it or protect me, and I don't want that. I don't want to be someone who needs protecting."
"Wanting support isn't the same as needing protection," Viola said gently, coming to stand beside me. "And I hate to break it to you, but you called me for help. That's progress, even if you're not ready to call them yet."
I let out a shaky breath, a small smile on my face as I looked at her. "I called you because yesterday you said we were friends. And because I didn't want to be alone with... with this."
"Good." Viola squeezed my shoulder, her smile lighting up her face, "That's exactly what you should have done. But Daphne, Trinity sent this because she sees you as a threat to herplans with the guys. That makes it pack business, whether you want it to be or not."
I knew she was right. Logically, rationally, I knew that keeping this from Garrett and the others was a bad idea. But the thought of adding more drama, more complications, more reasons for them to reconsider whether I was worth all this effort—it made my stomach twist with anxiety.
"What if this makes them realize I'm too much trouble?" I whispered. "What if they decide that dealing with Trinity's jealousy and harassment isn't worth it for someone as difficult as me?"
Viola was quiet for a moment, then she took my hand and led me back to the table, making us both sit down—away from the box and its ugly contents.
"Okay, I need you to really hear what I'm about to say," she started, her voice firm but kind as she looked at me. "If the pack decides you're too much trouble because someone else is harassing you—something that is completely not your fault—then they're not worth your time anyway. But I don't think that's going to happen."
"You don't know that." I argued back, biting my lip as I tried to push the uncertainty away. I didn’t know them too well, so in my mind it was a real possibility.
"I know what I've seen and heard. I know that Garrett has been asking about you around town. That Levi lights up when he talks about your baking advice. That Oliver made it very clear at the market that they weren't interested in Trinity and haven't wavered on that position." She squeezed my hand. "These aren't people who are going to abandon you because someone else is being a problem."
"But—"
"But nothing. You need to stop assuming the worst about people who've given you no reason to doubt them." Viola'sexpression turned more serious. "I get it, Daphne. I really do. You've been hurt before, and your brain is trying to protect you by predicting all the ways this could go wrong. But you can't build a relationship—any kind of relationship—on the assumption that the other person is going to leave. At some point, you have to take the leap and trust."
I pulled my hand back, wrapping both arms around myself. "That's easy for you to say. You haven't—" I stopped, realizing I was about to be unfair.
"Haven't what? Been abandoned? Been hurt?" Viola's laugh was bitter that it took me by surprise. "Daphne, I've got my own scars. We all do. The difference is I decided that those scars don't get to write my future. And neither should yours."
We sat in silence for a moment, the dead plant on the table between us like a physical manifestation of all my fears. Someone out there wanted me gone, wanted me to disappear back into my isolation where I couldn't threaten their plans or their desires.
