<b>Chapter </b>48
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The study inside the chateau was dim, the shutters drawn despite the sunlight outside. Shelves lined with old texts and leather–bound volumes loomed over a dark wood desk scattered with papers, files, and sealed
letters.
A faint scent of cedar hung in the air, mingling with something metallic beneath. Logan sat behind the desk, his hands loosely sped in front of him, elbows resting on polished wood.
Across from him stood the Imperial’s Doctor–Dr. in Voss. The man wore a charcoal suit and carried himself with practiced calm. Silver at his temples. Barely visible scars along his throat.
“Your Grace,” Voss said, adjusting his spectacles, “I’ve encountered pregnancies like this before. Rare, but they exist. In all cases, the pup perished. So did the human.”
Logan’s jaw flexed. “Even with royal blood?”
“Even more so with royal blood,” Voss said. “The body of a human wasn’t designed to withstand the strain. Not physically. Not gically. Especially not with the blood of a Royal.”
Logan tapped a single knuckle against the table. “She’s eight weeks. No symptoms. No fatigue. Her test results show nothing out of the ordinary.”
“That’s what puzzles me,” Voss said. He leaned forward slightly. “Unless… perhaps, you don’t truly want this marriage to happen. Maybe this is your way of hiding from her family’s influence. Convenient timing, no?”
Logan’s eyes lifted.
Voss chuckled, clearly unfazed. “Forgive me. I jest.”
Logan didn’t move. “My pup’s life is not a joke.”
“Of course not,” Voss said, clearing his throat. “But you already knew what to expect. You’ve read the old reports. So why are you still asking questions now?”
Logan exhaled slowly. “Because this isn’t what I expected.”
“Indeed,” Voss said. “Miss Vaughn is… an anomaly. Not only has she shown no signs of weakness, but her recent bloodwork and scans suggest she’s in peak condition. In fact, she is healthier than most human women her age. No inmmation. No elevated cortisol. No instability in hormone levels. Isn’t she simply too healthy?”
Logan narrowed his eyes. “What are you saying?”
“All I wanna say is…” Voss closed the folder in his hand. “Are you absolutely sure she’s human?<b>” </b>
Logan stilled.
“You’re suggesting she’s a werewolf. She doesn’t smell like one.”
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Voss gave a shortugh. “Are werewolves the only supernatural beings in this world? Come now. Even you don’t believe that.”
“Not many supernaturals can withstand our blood,” Logan said. “Especially not those tied to the human world.”
“True,” Voss said. “But ‘not many‘ doesn’t mean ‘none.‘ There are bloodlines out there–old, buried, undocumented. Some intermix better than others. Some survive what others cannot.”
Logan’s expression darkened.
“You think she’s something else.” That wasn’t a question. Logan knew that doctor’s reaction too well.
“I’m saying there’s something about her physiology that doesn’t match the average human response to werewolf conception. That makes her rare. Maybe even dangerous.”
Logan’s fingers tapped once more on the desk, slower this time.
Voss hesitated, then spoke again. “You’ve brought her into your world. If she is something else—and that child survives–you won’t just be dealing with your enemies. You’ll be dealing with ours.”
Logan’s gaze sharpened. “Let theme.”
Voss said nothing after that. The tension in the room didn’t lift. The doctor finally gathered his files, tucked them under his arm, and bowed his head slightly.
“I’ll run additional tests discreetly. In the meantime, Your Grace… I’d advise caution. But just enjoy your wedding. Sadly, your brother couldn’te. Still… he wishes you well.”
Logan didn’t respond.
He just stared at the closed folder on the desk, his expression unreadable.
The moment the door shut behind Dr. Voss, Logan mmed his fist into the desk. Papers jumped. A crystal pen holder tipped over, scattering its contents. He gritted his teeth and picked up the old–fashioned phone beside him.
“Bring him in. Now.”
A minuteter<b>, </b>the door creaked open. A man in dark clothing stepped inside and bowed his head.
“Your Grace”
“Did you find it?” Logan asked.
“Yes,” the man replied. “We double–checked everything. The earlier reports were wrong. Miss Vaughn was not mistreated by her grandparents. Not even slightly. In fact, she was well protected. Financial records, personal travel logs, even security detail cements suggest they were shielding her.”
Logan’s eyes remained on the edge of his desk. “Then why pretend otherwise<b>?</b>”
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“Unclear,” the man said. “But the deception seems intentional. They wanted the public–and likely the Vaughn girl herself to believe she was neglected. But inside, they ensured she was guarded from a distance. Quietly.”
Logan leaned back. “And her father?”
“That part was urate,” the man said. “Adam Bet kept his distance. There’s no indication of a close rtionship. No shared vacations. No family photos. Not even office records that suggest mentorship. He never included her in hispany session nning.”
“His will?<b>” </b>
“Nothing,” the man confirmed. “No shares. No trusts. No inheritance. He bypassed her entirely. It’s as if she was never his daughter.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not natural. Even the cruel ones acknowledge blood.”
“Agreed,” the man said. “But Adam Bet treats her like an afterthought.”
Logan’s hand curled into a fist. “And her mother?”
The man hesitated. “Little is known. Her name appears on the birth record, but that’s about it. She was a minor actress. Small roles. Not much press. She vanished shortly after giving birth.”
“Vanished?<b>” </b>
“Rumors say she was paid off by the Bets. Some im she left the country. Others say she died soon after. Nothing confirmed. No official death certificate we could find.”
Logan’s gaze darkened. “Photos?”
“Damaged. A few were in old theater programs, but most were torn or unusable. None clear enough to identify her.”
Silence filled the room. Logan stared at the reports on his desk.
“Dismissed,” he said.
The man bowed and left.
Logan sat in stillness for several seconds. Then he stood, walking slowly to the window. The vineyard outside was bathed inte afternoon light, quiet and picturesque.
But all he could think about was the hollow inside Emery’s file. The gaps. The silence where there should have been answers.
He clenched his jaw.
Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to hide who she really was.
Logan left the study without another word. The conversation with Voss still sat heavy in his chest. His steps were soundless against the marble floors of the Chateau, but he wasn’t headed anywhere specific until his
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assistant appeared near the stairs.
:
“Miss Vaughn is in the salon,” the assistant said. “Final fitting.”
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Logan nodded once, then made his way down the corridor. He was halfway there when he heard it–a squeal.
He paused.
Nina.
He didn’t need to be close. A werewolf’s hearing was precise. Sometimes, it’s too precise. Nina’s voice bounced down the hall, loud and bright.
“This one! This one, Emery! My gosh, you look so good! So pretty. So stupidly pretty. <b>I </b>swear, you better get married in this one or I’m fighting someone.”
A beat of silence.
“You think he’ll like it?” Emery’s voice.
Ninaughed. “Mr. Hayes? Are you kidding? Unless he’s blind and has zero taste, of course, he’ll like it. Not that he’s going to let it stay on you all night, but still. It’s gorgeous.”
Logan lifted an eyebrow.
He moved closer. The salon door was slightly ajar. He stopped just short of it.
From where he stood, he could see her.
Emery stood in front of the mirror, her hands adjusting the bodice of the gown.
The ssic A–line dress fit perfectly. Silk satin molded around her shoulders and waist, the off–shoulder neckline drawing just enough attention without being too much. Delicatece ran along the hem and sleeves, barely catching the light.
The back of the dress closed with a row of tiny pearl buttons. Her hair was tied in a loose, messy bun. A few strands had fallen free around her face.
She didn’t look styled. She looked natural. Effortless.
Logan blinked.
His hand hovered over the doorknob, unsure.
Then Emery’s eyes found him through the mirror.
Their gazes locked.
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t move.
Neither did he.
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Nina was <b>still </b>talking in the background, but Logan didn’t hear any of it anymore. The moment stretched.
Just them, and the reflection.