For a long moment, Trinity just stared at me. I could see the calculations happening behind her eyes—weighing options, assessing risks. Then her expression shifted into something that looked almost like respect, though it was tinged with hatred.
"You're different," she said quietly. "A week ago, you would have just stood there and taken it. What changed?"
"I stopped believing I deserved to be treated badly." The answer surprised both of us, I think. It was the truest thing I could have said—truer than any of the defiant words I'd thrown at her, truer than the false confidence I'd been projecting. Something had changed. Something fundamental. I wasn't just pretending to be stronger anymore. I was actually beginning to feel it.
Trinity's jaw tightened. "This isn't over."
"Maybe not." I picked up my basket, gathering the scattered threads of my composure. "But whatever happens next, it won't change anything. The pack chose me. I chose them. And nothing you do is going to change that."
I walked away before she could respond, my legs shaky beneath me but carrying me forward regardless. At the register,Mrs. Morrison looked up with concern as I set down my items. "Everything alright, dear? You look a bit pale."
"I'm fine." I forced a smile. "Just ran into someone I'd rather avoid."
Mrs. Morrison's eyes flicked toward the back of the store, where Trinity was still standing in the produce aisle, her expression thunderous. "Ah. That one." Her voice dropped. "She's been causing trouble around town. Asking questions about you, spreading rumors. My husband's keeping an eye on her."
"I know. The pack told me." I paid for my groceries, my hands only trembling slightly as I counted out the bills. "Thank you, Mrs. Morrison. For watching out."
"It's what neighbors do." She handed me my bag with a warm smile. "You're part of this community, Daphne. Whether you realize it or not. We look after our own."
The words stayed with me as I walked back to my truck, the paper bag clutched against my chest like a shield. Part of this community. Our own. Such simple concepts, but they'd been foreign to me for so long that I'd forgotten what they meant. I was loading the groceries into the passenger seat when I heard footsteps behind me. I spun, heart hammering, but it wasn't Trinity. It was Viola, her face flushed like she'd been hurrying, her dark curls escaping from their usual topknot.
"I saw Trinity," she said without preamble. "In the store. I was going to intervene, but by the time I got over there, you were already at the register and she was just standing there looking like someone had slapped her." Her amber eyes searched my face. "What happened? Are you okay?"
"I'm okay." And surprisingly, I meant it. "We talked. It wasn't pleasant, but... I stood my ground. I didn't let her make me feel small."
Viola's expression shifted from concern to something like pride. "Daphne. That's huge."
"It didn't feel huge." I leaned against the truck, suddenly exhausted. "It felt terrifying. My hands are still shaking."
"That's okay. Bravery isn't about not being scared—it's about doing the thing anyway." She pulled me into a quick hug, fierce and warm. "I'm so proud of you. A week ago, you would have run. Today, you fought back."
"I'm not sure I'd call it fighting back. I just... refused to crumble." I said with a forced laugh, feeling a bit sick for standing up for myself like that.
"That's the same thing, sometimes." Viola released me, stepping back with a grin. "Come on. I have thirty minutes before I need to be at an appointment. Let me buy you a coffee and you can tell me everything."
We walked to the small café on the corner, Viola ordered for both of us—some complicated espresso drink for herself, a simple lavender latte for me because she remembered what I liked. We settled into a corner booth, and I found myself recounting the encounter with Trinity in more detail than I'd expected. Viola listened intently, her expression shifting from worried to angry to proud and back again.
"She's unhinged," Viola said flatly when I finished. "Like, genuinely unhinged. The way she talked about Oliver—'the Oliver I know,' like they have some special connection…it's delusional."
"I think she really believes it." I wrapped my hands around my mug, letting the warmth seep into my cold fingers. "That they're meant to be together. That I'm just an obstacle."
"Which makes her dangerous." Viola's voice was serious. "Delusional people don't respond to reason. They just keep pushing until something breaks."
"I know. The pack is documenting everything. They've talked to the sheriff." I took a sip of my latte—sweet and floral, the lavender subtle enough to complement rather than overwhelm. "I'm not facing this alone anymore."
"No." Viola smiled. "You're not." We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the morning light shift through the café windows. Outside, Haven's Rest continued its quiet rhythms—people walking dogs, cars passing slowly, the ordinary life of a small town that I'd held at arm's length for so long.
"Can I ask you something?" Viola said speaking up after a few minutes of quiet.
"Of course." I blinked not knowing what she could want to ask.
"How does it feel? The courting, I mean. Having four men who want to be with you, who are actively pursuing you." She leaned forward, her expression curious but not prying.
I laughed despite myself. "It feels surreal. Like I'm going to wake up and discover it was all a dream." I paused, searching for better words. "But also... right? In a way I didn't expect. Each of them is different—Oliver is steady and protective, Garrett is patient and grounding, Levi is warm and playful. And Micah..." I hadn't spent much time with Micah yet, but I'd seen glimpses. "Micah is sharp and analytical, but there's gentleness underneath."
"And they all want you." Viola shook her head in wonder. "You, Daphne. The woman who spent five years convincing herself she didn't need anyone."
"I know. It's ridiculous." I snorted softly as I looked down at my drink.
