Typically, Harper would have preferred meeting in a neutral location—an office, a comfortable common area, somewhere that didn't carry the weight of personal history and emotional baggage. But she understood the sensitive nature of this situation. Lila had been attacked, her sense of safety shattered, and pushing her out of her comfort zone too quickly could do more harm than good. Sometimes healing meant meeting clientsexactly where they were, not where the textbook said they should be.
The door opened, and Harper suddenly was looking at a girl who reminded her far too much of herself at that age. Lila was beautiful in the way that seventeen-year-old girls often were—all potential and promise wrapped in fragile packaging. But there was something in her blue-gray eyes, a wariness and guardedness that Harper recognized with painful clarity. The way Lila held herself, slightly hunched as if trying to make herself smaller and less noticeable. The defensive set to her shoulders. The careful way she assessed Harper's face, looking for signs of judgment or pity or false sympathy.
Broken. Frail. Guarded. A girl who was not sure how to manage these big emotions and complex trauma.
Harper had worn that same expression for years after her stepfather's abuse, had perfected that same careful distance that kept people from getting too close, from seeing too much.
"Lila, this is Harper Lane," Dorian said, his voice gentling. "She's the counselor we talked about."
Harper smiled, keeping her expression warm but not overwhelming. "It's nice to finally meet you, Lila. Would it be all right if I came into your room?"
Lila's gaze flicked to Dorian, and Harper caught the silent communication that passed between them. His slight nod carried the weight of expectation but there was also something softer there, a plea that spoke to how desperate he was to see his sister healing.
"Sure," Lila said finally, stepping back to allow entry.
Harper moved into the room as Dorian quietly closed the door behind her, leaving them alone. The space was unmistakably that of a teenage girl, but one with exceptional artistic talent. Drawings and paintings covered nearly every surface—landscapes that captured the wild beauty of themountain territory, portraits that revealed an eye for capturing emotional depth, abstract pieces that spoke to a complex inner world struggling to make sense of trauma and pain.
A handcrafted window seat drew Harper's attention, its clean lines and perfect joinery speaking to the same skilled craftsmanship she'd noticed throughout the estate. The cushions were covered in fabric that complemented the room's color scheme, and the whole piece had been designed to take advantage of the stunning view of the mountains beyond.
Dorian made this for her.
The realization hit Harper with unexpected force. This powerful Alpha had taken the time to build something beautiful and personal for his sister. The image of those large hands carefully measuring and cutting and sanding wood until it was smooth made Harper's traitorous body respond with a delicious warmth.
He's good with his hands,she thought before she could stop herself, then immediately forced her attention back to the task at hand.
Lila moved to the window seat and settled there, gazing out at the mountains rather than meeting Harper's eyes directly. It was a classic avoidance behavior, one Harper had encountered countless times with new clients. The desire to create physical and emotional distance, to avoid the vulnerability that came with direct eye contact and the possibility of being truly seen.
Harper chose the desk chair, positioning herself far enough away to give Lila space but close enough to demonstrate that she was present and engaged. The balance was crucial—too close and the client felt pressured, too far and they felt abandoned.
"I want to start by telling you a bit about myself," Harper said, settling into the chair with deliberate casualness. "I think it's important for you to feel like you can talk to me and trust me."
Lila continued staring out the window, her shoulders tense.
"I'm thirty-three years old, which might seem young for a therapist, but I've been doing this professionally for seven years now. I have my own private practice in Oregon, and I also volunteer regularly at a youth community center. I love helping others, especially kids who are working through difficult experiences."
Still no response, but Harper caught the slight shift in Lila's posture that suggested she was listening despite her apparent disengagement.
"I'm not a kid," Lila said suddenly, her voice carrying a note of irritation that Harper recognized as a test.
"Of course not," Harper replied easily. "You're a young woman, and from what I can tell, a very talented one."
Harper gestured toward the artwork covering the walls.
"Did you create all of these pieces yourself?"
Finally, Lila turned to look at her, and Harper caught that familiar expression—the careful assessment, the search for deception or ill intentions. It was a look Harper had perfected in her own youth and still found herself wearing more often than she cared to admit.
"Yes, I did all these drawings and paintings myself," Lila said, a note of pride creeping into her voice despite her guarded demeanor. "I even won a few awards for them."
"That's incredible," Harper said, and meant it. "You should be really proud of yourself. I'm sure your brother is really proud of you too."
The moment the words left her mouth, Harper saw Lila's entire body tense, her expression shuttering closed again.
"All my brother cares about these days is keeping me locked up in this house," Lila said bitterly. "And making Marty, his Beta, be my personal bodyguard whenever I go anywhere, like to school. I can't even breathe without someone watching me."
"I'm sure your brother just wants to keep you safe after the attack," Harper said gently.
The word 'attack' made Lila flinch visibly, her hands clenching in her lap. Harper immediately recognized the shutdown beginning and smoothly changed direction.
