The next morning sunlight streamed into her room, painting the curtains gold. Charlotte rubbed her eyes, sat up, and grabbed her phone. She dialed her parents first, and her Mrs. Mavurian's warm voice filled the line.
"So, how was the party, my darling?"
Charlotte smiled faintly. "It was good, Mum. I enjoyed myself, and I got to talk with the teachers and a few students."
Mr. Mavurian chimed in from the background. "That's our girl. We're proud of you."
Then Abby's eager voice came through, bright and chirpy. "Did you dance, Rea? Did you eat cake? Tell me everything."
Charlotte laughed. "I'll tell you later, when you return home."
She ended the call and stretched… her heart, a little lighter after speaking with them.
Jenny appeared at the door with a tray. "I brought your food for you."
"Jenny, you spoil me," Charlotte teased. She slid the tray onto her desk, then moved to her closet. She picked out a white crop top and loose baggy jeans that showed off her slim waist. Her designer Coach tote bag completed the look. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, and smiled faintly at the confident young woman staring back.
By the time she stepped outside, her driver was already waiting by the sleek black car. She slipped inside, her bag on her lap. The drive to campus felt longer than usual, her mind drifting back to the strange conversation she had with Charles.
When she arrived, the moment her heels clicked against the tiled hallway floor, students' eyes turned. Conversations hushed, and whispers filled the air. Heads swiveled as if she were a celebrity walking a red carpet.
Her palms grew damp. She kept her head low, hugging her tote tighter to her side. As soon as she could, she pulled out her phone and typed quickly into her friendship group chat with Adora and Michael.
Are you guys here? Please tell me you're here.
No reply from Michael. His profile was inactive.
Adora's message came instead. Michael is not coming yet. Something happened, and I'll explain later. I'm in ballet class. Our lecture for today was canceled. Do you want to come?
Charlotte hesitated for a moment. Yes, please. I didn't even get the information.
She waved her driver over and asked him to take her to the ballet studio.
The studio was bright and airy, with tall mirrors lining the walls and sunlight spilling through wide windows. Soft piano music floated in the air. Charlotte stepped inside, her eyes immediately catching Isabella and her little circle of friends stretching gracefully at the barre. Their movements were fluid, their faces perfectly composed, as if they were born to perform.
Adora waved from across the room. "Reana! Over here."
Before Charlotte could make her way to her, the ballet teacher, a slim woman with sharp eyes and hair pulled neatly into a bun, approached her.
"You are new here," the teacher observed. Her voice was calm but firm. "Would you like to learn?"
Charlotte blinked, surprised. Everyone's eyes seemed to shift toward her, curious, waiting. She could feel Isabella's gaze most of all, assessing.
Her throat went dry, but she straightened her shoulders. "Yes," she said quietly, though her voice held a spark of determination.
The ballet teacher clapped her hands lightly. "Positions, everyone."
The students hurried to their places at the barre. Charlotte lingered for a moment, uncertain where to stand, until Adora tugged her toward an empty spot beside her.
Isabella's eyes followed the movement, her lips curving into a smile that did not reach her eyes. She leaned close to one of her friends and whispered something. The friend covered her mouth to hide a laugh.
The teacher adjusted the piano volume and called out, "First position."
Charlotte placed her feet carefully, copying Adora. Her hands trembled slightly, but she tried to focus on the smooth rhythm of the music.
"Relax your shoulders," Adora murmured beside her, offering encouragement.
Across the barre, Isabella spoke loudly enough for others to hear. "Not bad for someone who's never taken ballet classes. But then again, not everyone can be graceful. Some people just… manage." She smiled sweetly in Charlotte's direction, pretending it was a compliment.
Charlotte's cheeks warmed. She wanted to snap back, but she held back instead.
The teacher walked by, observing each student. When she reached Charlotte, she paused. "Lift your chin. Breathe with the music. Yes, like that." Her tone softened slightly, as if she saw potential in her.
Charlotte obeyed, straightening with new confidence. She caught Isabella's reflection in the mirror. Isabella's smile had faltered, just a little, her jaw tightening before she returned to her practiced expression.
Adora nudged Charlotte gently. "You're doing great. Don't mind her."
The music swelled, and the students bent gracefully, arms arcing overhead. Charlotte followed, her movements awkward at first but smoothing as she lost herself in the rhythm. For a brief moment, she forgot about Charles, forgot about the stares in the hallway, forgot about Isabella's watchful eyes.
When the exercise ended, Isabella approached her with that same polished smile. "You were… surprisingly good," she said, voice dripping with honey. "I didn't expect that from you."
Charlotte forced a polite smile, though her heart gave a quick, defiant beat. "Thanks, Isabella. I'll take that as a compliment."
Isabella blinked, her smile tightening. She had lost the upper hand.
The ballet class ended, and students spilled out of the studio, chattering as they slipped into their shoes. Isabella walked with her friends, chin tilted proudly, her laugh sharp enough to draw attention.
Charlotte gathered her bag, preparing to leave with Adora, when the sound of a car pulling up caught her ear. A sleek black sedan glided to a stop just outside the glass doors. The driver's side opened, and Charles stepped out, tall and composed, his gaze scanning the studio entrance.
Charlotte's breath caught in her throat.
But before she could move, Isabella froze mid-step. Charles's eyes locked with hers, and for a moment, it was as if the two shared a history no one else understood. His gaze was firm, unreadable, while Isabella's lips pressed into a tight line. She huffed, turned on her heel, and stalked away, though she glanced once more at Charlotte before disappearing with her friends.
Charles's expression softened when he turned back to Charlotte. "Charlotte," he greeted.
"Charles, don't let anyone hear you call me that." Her voice came out smaller than she intended, but her smile grew when he opened the passenger door for her.
"Adora," Charlotte asked quickly, "are you coming with us?"
Adora shook her head. "No, don't worry about me. I'll find my way home. Michael's mom might come pick him up, so I'll just wait around for them." She gave Charlotte a reassuring smile. "You go."
Charlotte nodded and slipped into the car.
The city blurred past the windows as Charles drove. His knuckles tightened slightly on the steering wheel.
"I want to take you to my house," Charles said, his tone calm but edged with something deeper. "We can talk about everything there."
Charlotte's brows lifted, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Your house?"
A faint smile tugged at his lips as he glanced at her. "Yes. Unless… you're afraid."
Her pulse skipped, but she quickly shook her head, lips curving in a nervous smile of her own. "I'm not scared. It's just that you wanted us to meet up at the cafeteria to talk and now, you want us to go to your house."
"Yeah, but I figured it would be better for us to talk at my house."
The car turned onto a private road lined with towering trees. At the end stood a large estate, elegant yet shrouded in mystery. Its stone walls stretched high, ivy climbing across them like veins, and iron gates creaked open as if the place itself recognized Charles. Warm lights glowed from the tall windows, though the house seemed to carry a weight of history that pressed against the night air.
Charlotte stepped out of the car, her breath catching at the sheer size of the place.
The front door opened, and Diego appeared. He leaned casually against the doorway, a grin tugging at his lips. His presence was magnetic, his eyes sharp like he could see straight through her.
"Well, look who finally made it," Diego drawled, his tone a mix of charm and mockery. "Welcome, Charlotte."
"Diego," Charles muttered, his expression hardening.
Inside, the living room spread wide, its ceiling high and vaulted, a massive chandelier dangling above like a crown of glass. The air smelled faintly of cedar and smoke. They sat together, though the atmosphere was tense from the start.
Diego lounged back on the couch, his gaze fixed on Charlotte. "So, Charles told me he was going to pick you up from school." His grin widened, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. "Isabella must be thrilled."
Charlotte blinked, caught between confusion and unease. Charles's fists curled at his sides.
"That's enough, Diego." His voice cut through the room like a blade.
"What? I'm only telling her the truth," Diego said smoothly, spreading his hands.
Charles shot up from his seat, anger blazing in his eyes as he charged towards Diego. The chair scraped loudly against the floor. Diego only leaned back further, grinning as if provoking Charles was his favorite game.
Charlotte jumped to her feet, rushing between them. "Stop it! Please, stop!" Her voice shook. Charles's chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. His eyes lingered on Diego a moment longer before softening when they landed on Charlotte. Without a word, he turned and beckoned her. "Come with me."
He led her down a quiet hallway, away from Diego's smirk and the charged air of the living room. The silence pressed close around them, broken only by their footsteps against the polished wood floor. They entered a side wing of the house, a guest house connected to the main building.
The air here was calmer. The walls were lined with portraits, their golden frames catching the faint glow of lamps. Charlotte slowed, her eyes fixed on the paintings.
A man and woman stared back at her from the canvases. They were regal, their garments embroidered with gold, their crowns gleaming with jewels. Yet their faces held warmth, as though they carried both the weight of power and the softness of care.
Charlotte's breath caught. "Charles… who are they?"
He stopped, his gaze resting on the portraits. For a long moment, silence hung between them. Then his voice came, steady but tinged with something deeper.
"My adoptive parents," he said.
Her eyes widened. "Oh really?"
"Yes." He stepped closer to the painting, his hand brushing the frame. "They trained me, sent me abroad, taught me everything I needed to know." His voice lowered, "Then I came back. To watch over our family's properties."
Charlotte swallowed, her heart quickening. The gold crowns in the painting seemed to glimmer faintly in the dim light, almost alive.
"They look like royalty," she whispered.
"They are," Charles admitted. His jaw tightened. "And they've shown me things about this world that no ordinary person could ever understand."
She turned to him, her voice soft but trembling. "What exactly did they teach you?"
His eyes met hers, glowing faintly in the shadows of the hallway. "The truth about who we are."
They walked in silence until they reached a door at the far end of the hallway. Charles pushed it open, and the hinges groaned as though they hadn't been touched in years.
The bedroom inside was heavy with neglect. A thick layer of dust coated the mahogany table, its polished surface dulled by time. Cobwebs stretched across the corners like faded curtains of their own, and the floor creaked under their steps. Heavy black drapes smothered the windows, leaving only a thin trickle of gray light to seep through. The air was dense with the scent of old wood, and though it was daytime, the room felt like it belonged to another hour—closer to midnight than morning.
As Charlotte stepped inside, the weather shifted. A breeze had followed them through the cracked windowpane, but now it was joined by the rhythmic patter of raindrops, first light, then heavier, like the sky itself wanted to listen to whatever was about to be said.
Charles motioned toward the bed, its frame carved from the same dark wood as the table. "Sit," he said softly.
Charlotte hesitated, her eyes flicking around the forgotten room. Something about it unsettled her, but she obeyed, lowering herself onto the edge of the bed beside him.
Charles brushed his hand across the blanket, leaving a faint streak in the dust. He gave a short, almost apologetic laugh. "Sorry about this guest room. Nobody really stays here. We hardly ever have guests. Sometimes I even wonder why it was built." His gaze drifted toward the darkened window. "But… I come here when I need to be alone."
The way he said it carried weight, like this room wasn't just abandoned—it was sacred to him somehow.
Charlotte folded her hands on her lap, her voice gentle. "You spend time here… to think?"
"To think. To remember." His eyes met hers, softer now, vulnerable. "
The rain outside thickened, tapping harder against the glass, and a flicker of lightning flashed through the curtains. For a heartbeat, Charlotte saw his face illuminated—his golden eyes catching the light in a way that made her chest tighten.
Her curiosity spilled out before she could stop herself. "Charles… I want you to tell me what this is all about."
Charles inhaled slowly, leaning back against the headboard, his gaze still fixed on the trembling curtains. His voice dropped, deep and steady. "Yeah I'll tell you. But once I do… nothing might ever feel the same again."
Charlotte's fingers tightened around the bracelet on her wrist. "Just tell me."
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the storm outside.
Charles leaned closer, his voice low, almost reverent. "You've always felt… different, haven't you, Charlotte? Like there was more to you than everyone else saw. That pull in your chest, those moments you couldn't explain. The way your bracelet burn warm sometimes, as if alive."
Her lips parted, shock flickering across her face. "How do you…?"
"I know because I feel it too." His words cut through the heavy air. "Because you and I… are the same."
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. The room, the storm, his gaze—it all seemed to close in on her at once.
"Charles," she whispered. He turned to her fully now, his eyes burning with that strange light she had glimpsed before.
She searched his face, half-expecting him to admit it was all some elaborate joke. But his expression remained steady, grave, unshaken.
"Promise me you'll be calm," he said again, his voice dropping lower, intimate, as though the shadows themselves were listening.
Charlotte's breath caught. "I'll try…"
Charles lifted his right hand slowly, turning it palm-up between them. For a heartbeat, it looked completely normal—long fingers, pale knuckles, a faint scar across the base of his thumb. Then, before her eyes, the change began.
At first it was just prickling, like goosebumps. Then dark hair sprouted along the back of his hand, growing thicker, denser, until his skin seemed to ripple beneath it. His nails sharpened, lengthening ever so slightly into curved points.
Charlotte's eyes widened. She pressed back into the bed frame, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. "Charles…" Her voice trembled. "What's happening to you?"
He didn't move closer, as if afraid to startle her. But she wasn't afraid, she was just curious to see more. He kept his hand steady between them, letting her see every detail. The faint glow in his eyes grew brighter, gold flecks sparking like embers.
"This is what I am," he said softly, though his voice carried a rougher edge, as if the change touched even his throat. "This is what we are."
The rain outside thundered harder, rattling the glass. Charlotte's hands clutched her knees, torn between fear and awe.
She whispered, barely audible. "This is real…"
Charles gave a small nod, his eyes never leaving hers. "It's real," he whispered. "And this… this is only the beginning."
Before she could say a word, she saw it—the hair rising along his forearms, the roughness crawling up his hands, his features sharpening with something raw and dangerous. Her breath caught, but before the fear could fully reach her, he pulled it back. In an instant the beast vanished, and he stood before her again in his familiar form, chest rising and falling as though it had taken everything in him to contain it.
Then he stepped closer, drawing her into his arms. "I will never hurt you," he murmured against her ear, his voice steady but heavy with emotion. "And I won't let anyone else touch you either. You're safe with me."
Charlotte froze, not because she wanted to pull away, but because the warmth of his body against hers left her overwhelmed. He tilted her chin upward until her eyes met his. For a moment, she thought he was only going to kiss her—and she wasn't going to stop him.
His lips brushed hers, light at first, but then he deepened it. His hand slipped to the back of her neck, steadying her as his mouth searched hers, his tongue teasing against her own in a way that made her heart stumble. She had never been kissed like this before—never been kissed at all—and every touch sent unfamiliar shivers racing through her.
His hands moved restlessly, tracing over her arms, her shoulders, the curve of her back as though memorizing her. She didn't know what to do, how to respond, but she trusted him enough to let him lead. All she could do was close her eyes and let the moment sweep her away.
His hands roamed with a restless hunger, no longer content with the safety of her hair or the gentle line of her neck. When his palms pressed against her chest, cupping her softly through the thin fabric of her crop top, Charlotte gasped. A strange, tingling sensation swept through her body—new, overwhelming, and unlike anything she had ever felt before.
Charles kissed her harder, as if he couldn't hold back, his mouth trailing from her lips down to the delicate skin of her jaw and throat. The world outside seemed to vanish—only his breath, his warmth, and his touch existed.
Before she could fully grasp what was happening, he guided her back until she was lying on the bed, his shadow falling over her as his lips wandered across her face, her neck, the rise of her chest.
"Charlotte…" he whispered between kisses, his voice rough, pleading, almost breaking. "Let me have you… let me taste you."
Charlotte could feel the connection between them. It was like a natural force, an invisible pull, an aura of attraction that she couldn't resist. She didn't fully understand the strange feeling, but there was something deep inside her that wanted to be devoured by him. The rain outside grew heavier, each drop echoing against the windows, and the cold in the room only made the moment more intense, amplifying everything she felt.
Deep down, she longed for him to touch places within her that even she had never discovered. She was new to everything he was doing, unprepared yet drawn in. A loud moan slipped from her lips when his fingers glided down her trousers, fumbling with the button. Charles's breathing grew heavier, his jaw tightening as he looked at her with hunger in his eyes. His pupils widened, almost glowing in the dim light, as if he was fighting the urge to completely lose control.
Her body tightened instantly. Mentally, she didn't want him to stop—but physically, she knew everything was happening too fast.
This was Charles. The boy who had once been like a brother and friend, back when they were both children. One moment he had been adopted, taken away from her life, and now—years later—he had returned…and now, here he was, holding her, kissing her, touching her in ways she had never imagined. His lips trembled as they lingered on her skin, his brows furrowing as though he, too, was torn between desire and restraint.
It couldn't be a normal attraction. It felt too consuming.
So even though a part of her wanted desperately for him to continue, she quickly pushed him away. Charles froze, his chest rising and falling rapidly, confusion and longing battling on his face. His eyes searched hers desperately, as if hoping she would change her mind. Her voice trembled as she whispered,
"Charles… we shouldn't be doing this."
The storm outside seemed to echo her words, a low growl of thunder rolling across the sky. She slid off the bed, her hands trembling as she reached for the doorknob.
But before she could leave, his hand caught her wrist. Gently, not forceful, just enough to stop her. "Charlotte—wait." His voice cracked with urgency. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… I moved too fast."
She turned, her eyes wide, caught between the lingering heat of his touch and the heaviness of what had just happened. He looked broken, his golden eyes dimming, his chest still heaving as though he'd been fighting more than just himself.
"I wasn't trying to hurt you," he said, stepping back as though giving her space. "I just… lost control for a moment. It's never been this hard before."
Her heart softened despite herself. She didn't leave. She waited.
Charles raked a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. "When I kissed you, Charlotte… I felt whole. Like every piece of me had been waiting for that one moment." He swallowed hard, his eyes locking on hers with fierce honesty. "It's because you're my mate."
Her breath hitched. "Mate? What do you even mean?"
His lips parted, then pressed shut, as though he wasn't sure where to begin. Finally, he stepped closer, his voice steady, low. "In our world… the world of wolves, the Moon Goddess chooses for us. She decides what is to become of us before we're even born. And when she made you, she made you for me."
Charlotte blinked, her mind spinning. "That sounds… silly."
"It is real," he said firmly, his eyes glowing faintly again. "Charlotte you are my Luna. My other half. The one destined to save me from my curse." His voice cracked on the last word.
Her brows furrowed. "Curse?"
Charles turned away for a moment, running a hand over his face. The storm outside roared louder, lightning illuminating the tension carved into his features. When he looked back at her, his eyes held both desperation and pain.
"The Moon Goddess warned me. If I don't mark you and claim you as mine, terrible things will happen to me. At first it's bearable. I only hurt when I'm away from you. But if I wait too long…" His voice dropped, trembling with the weight of the truth. "The pain will become permanent. I'll live in endless torment. My body will tear itself apart from the inside until there's nothing left."
Charlotte's stomach twisted, her fingers tightening against her bracelet. "You mean… you'll die?"
He shook his head. "Nah... Worse. I'll exist in constant agony, reduces to an ordinary omega for being an Alpha who got rejected by his mate. Such an Alpha can't be worthy of leading his pack." His voice softened, breaking. "And I don't want that. But more than that… I don't want to lose you."
The silence between them was heavy, punctuated only by the pounding rain.
Charlotte's lips parted, her voice unsteady. "But Charles… you said I was your mate. If that's true… why don't I feel it the way you do?"
He took a slow breath, closing the space between them inch by inch, careful not to startle her. "Because you haven't turned yet. You're still human in so many ways. But when the time comes… you'll feel it. And I hope that you turn soon…maybe only then you'll understand this better." He said as he traced his fingers along the silver bracelet on her wrist.
Her chest rose and fell in sharp breaths, her heart caught between fear and something dangerously close to longing.
Charles reached for her hand, lifting it gently to his chest where his heart thundered beneath her palm. His voice was low, raw, pleading. "You don't have to give me an answer now."
Charlotte searched his face, torn between the storm of emotions inside her. His warmth, his sincerity, his pain—it was all too much, too fast. And yet… she couldn't bring herself to pull away.
Outside, the thunder rolled again, as though the sky itself was waiting for her reply.
Charlotte drew in a shaky breath, her eyes lowering. "Charles… I can't give you an answer now. I need time. I need to think about all of this."
For a long moment, he didn't move. Then he nodded slowly, though the strain in his jaw betrayed how much it cost him. "Okay," he whispered. "I'll wait. Take all the time you need."
He released her hand and stepped back, the golden glow in his eyes dimming to something softer, almost mournful. Without another word, he opened the door and guided her back through the shadowed hallway.
The storm had eased outside, leaving only the steady drip of rain from the eaves. As they crossed the main house, the atmosphere shifted—warmer, noisier, though not welcoming. Diego was sprawled across the couch in the living room, his head tilted back, one arm dangling lazily as if he had been half-asleep.
Charlotte hesitated, then offered politely, "Bye, Diego."
He cracked open one eye, his gaze sliding over her with disinterest. "Bye," he muttered, cold, before letting his eyes close again.
Charles's expression hardened, but he said nothing. He only rested a hand lightly at the small of Charlotte's back, guiding her toward the door.
The drive back was quiet, the only sound was the hum of the engine and the occasional swish of tires over wet roads. Charles didn't press her, didn't speak at all, though his fingers drummed lightly against the steering wheel as if holding back words.
When they finally pulled up in front of her house, he turned to her, his eyes lingering. "Be safe, Charlotte," he said softly. "And… please believe everything I told you. Remember what you felt."
Her heart thudded, but she only nodded, unable to trust her voice. "Bye, Charles."
He waited until she was inside before driving away.
The heavy oak door clicked shut behind her, muffling the sound of Charles's car as it drove away. Inside, the familiar warmth of home wrapped around her like a blanket.
Jenny appeared almost instantly, her face lighting up. "You're back, Miss Reana! Should I bring your dinner now?"
Charlotte gave her a tired smile, slipping off her damp shoes. "Yes, please. And… Could you draw me some warm water later? I just need to eat first."
"Of course." Jenny hurried off toward the kitchen, her voice echoing down the hallway as she called for the other servants.
Upstairs in her room, she peeled off her rain-dampened clothes, exchanging them for a soft cotton gown. The fabric was comforting against her skin, but it did little to settle the whirlwind inside her chest. By the time Jenny returned with a tray of steaming food—lamb steak, and pineapple juice—her stomach reminded her how long it had been since she'd eaten.
"Thanks, Jenny," she murmured, forcing a small smile.
Jenny curtsied lightly. "Anything else, Miss?"
"Nah, I'm good. Thank you.."
Once the door closed, Charlotte ate quietly, each bite rewarding.
When the tray was empty, she reached for her phone. Her parents, and her Abby had still not returned yet. She needed to hear their voices.
The line clicked, and soon her adoptive mother's familiar warmth filled her ear. "Reana, darling! How are you?"
"I'm fine, Mum. I just… missed you."
Abby's voice chimed in playfully from the background. "We miss you too Reana and guess what?! You're missing out on a lot of fun by the way."
Charlotte laughed softly, though it was tinged with longing. "Maybe. How's everyone? Are you okay?"
"We're fine, my love," Mrs Mavurian assured. "And you? How was school today?"
Charlotte hesitated, then chose the simplest truth. "Fine. Some lectures were canceled in my department, so I came home early."
Mr Mavurian voice rumbled in the distance, calling her name, and Charlotte smiled as Mrs Mavurian passed the phone to him. They spoke for a few more minutes, until the ache of missing them dulled just enough for her to breathe easier.
When the call ended, silence returned. She set the phone aside and sank into her pillows, her arms wrapping around herself.
But no matter how hard she tried to think of her them, her mind kept circling back to Charles—his touch, his kiss, his eyes that burned like embers in the dark.
Her heart fluttered, uneasy and yearning all at once.
She buried her face in the pillow and whispered into the quiet, as though the walls themselves could keep her secret.
"Why can't I stop thinking about him?"
All she could think about was him—Charles's golden eyes glowing in the dark, the feel of his mouth against hers, the weight of his arms around her. The way he had said mate, as though the word was more sacred than love itself. She replayed every moment, every touch, every word, again and again, her pulse quickening each time.
Her fingers brushed her lips, still tingling from his kiss. No matter how much she tried to calm herself, the truth pressed in, undeniable.
She was caught. Entangled in something she didn't understand, something both dangerous and irresistible.
And as the storm clouds shifted above the city, Charlotte whispered into the empty room, her voice breaking with confusion and longing.
"What's happening to me?"