"Can you tell me more about yourself? Besides your artwork, do you have friends? A boyfriend? Any ideas about what you want to do after high school?"
Lila looked at her with something that might've been surprise, her head tilting slightly as if she was reassessing Harper's intentions.
"You're not like any of the other therapists I've had," she said slowly. "None of them would've let me have a session in my room. None of them asked about me like they actually wanted to get to know me. They just sat there with notebooks and pens, looking clinical and detached."
Harper smiled. "My approach is probably unconventional, but I've found that trust and honesty and comfort are more important than following rigid protocols. If those things aren't present, it's hard for real healing to happen."
Lila studied her face again, that searching look that Harper knew was checking for authenticity, for signs that this was just another adult who would disappoint or abandon her.
"I had some good friends," Lila said finally. "And there was this boy I had a crush on. But after the attack, after Dorian went all overprotective and controlling, I just shut everyone out. It was easier than trying to explain why I couldn't hang out anymore, why I couldn't be normal."
The pain in those words hit Harper squarely in the chest. She was seeing such clear parallels between Lila's situation and her own teenage years—the way trauma could make you feel responsible for managing everyone else's emotions, the instinctto make yourself smaller and more manageable to avoid causing additional stress.
"Maybe you could reach out to them," Harper suggested carefully. "See if any of them want to hang out."
Lila let out a bitter laugh. "Dorian won't let that happen. The big Alpha who knows everything, who controls everything."
"Maybe I could talk to him," Harper said. "See if he's willing to work with us on this."
Lila's eyes widened. "You would do that? No one stands up to my brother. Ever."
"I'm not too worried about him," Harper said with more confidence than she felt. "I think I know how to get through to him."
"Good luck with that," Lila muttered, but there was something in her expression that might have been hope.
"How about we end here for today?" Harper said, sensing that she'd pushed as far as she could in this first session. "We can meet tomorrow if you're up for it."
She expected Lila to push her away, to retreat back into the defensive shell that had protected her for months. Instead, the girl looked at her with something approaching curiosity.
"Sure," Lila said.
Harper stood, pleased by the small victory. "Great. And if you want to talk to me outside of our sessions, you certainly can. I'll be staying here for the next few weeks, so there's no sense in acting like strangers or avoiding each other, right?"
Lila actually smiled—a small, tentative expression that transformed her entire face. "Right."
As Harper left the room, she felt a cautious optimism building in her chest. Maybe she had gotten through just enough to this traumatized girl. Maybe she really could help Lila find her way back to herself.
But as she closed the door behind her, Harper couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that helping Lila was going to require navigating the complex dynamics of this family—particularly the intensely protective Alpha who seemed determined to shield his sister from any possibility of further harm, even if that meant keeping her trapped in a prison of his own making.
SIX
DORIAN
The morning sun filtered through the towering pines surrounding the estate, casting dappled shadows across the wraparound porch where Dorian sat on the swing he'd built three summers ago. The dark henley stretched across his broad chest as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers interlaced so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
Every fiber of his being felt stretched to the breaking point.
Surrendering control had never been an option in Dorian's world. Not when he'd been thrust into leadership at seventeen. Not when he'd held his infant sister through her first fever while learning to manage a grieving pack. Not when Ronan's pack had tested his borders year after year, looking for any sign of weakness.
Control meant survival. Control meant protection. Control meant everyone he loved stayed breathing.
But sitting here, listening to the muffled voices drifting from Lila's bedroom window above, Dorian felt that ironclad control slipping through his fingers. Harper was up there with his sister, operating under her own methods, following her own instincts, completely outside his influence or direction.
This is impossible.
He'd allowed other therapists and healers into their home before, but always under his strict supervision. He'd dictated the parameters of their sessions, outlined what topics they could explore, even positioned himself within earshot to intervene if necessary. His way. His rules. His complete and utter control over every variable that might affect Lila's fragile emotional state.
But clearly, his approach had been a spectacular failure. Lila had grown more withdrawn with each passing week, more brittle, more unreachable. The bright girl who used to fill their home with laughter and arguments and teenage drama had retreated so far inside herself that some days Dorian wondered if she'd ever find her way back. His wolf paced beneath his skin, agitated by the conflict between duty and instinct.
