A Father's Unspoken Regrets

VANESSA

I paused outside my father's study, hand hovering over the door. Through the heavy oak, I could hear nothing, but I knew he was in there. It was where he always retreated when the weight of leadership—or family—became too much to bear.

I knocked softly, then entered without waiting for permission. Some habits from childhood never quite fade.

My father sat behind his massive desk, but for once, he wasn't reviewing documents or writing decrees. Instead, he stared at a framed photograph, his powerful frame somehow diminished in the late afternoon light filtering through the windows.

"Dad?" I said softly.

He looked up, startled from his thoughts. In that unguarded moment, I saw more clearly than ever the toll that recent events had taken on him. Fabian West, the formidable Alpha of the Moonstone Pack, looked utterly defeated.