183 The Ghost In Her Home
Mara
Martha broke down again, sobbing openly now, but her voice cut through the tears.
“So yes, I brought Lacy here to catch Lucian’s eye. That’s how we survive in Goldenpeak. We either prostitute ourselves or find wealthy mates. It’s our way of life.”
She looked at Darian with wild eyes, as if daring him to judge her.
“Your father gave everything to Lucian. What about us? What about me and you? Did we deserve nothing?”
She laughed again, bitter and unhinged.
“Goldenpeak is a wasteland. No land, no resources, no future. Women leave to survive. I was lucky. Alaric was an Alpha’s son. He had a mark, but he was broke, violent, and cruel. I stayed with him because I had no choice.”
Her breathing slowed, like she was sinking.
“Vander saved me once. Just once. That’s all it took. I fell in love with him, even though he was married. Three years later, when Natasha was gone, I saw an opening. I offered to care for Lucian just so I could stay close to Vander.”
She paused, broken now.
“I didn’t know what kindness was until your father. But even then, I was still living in someone else’s shadow.”
She looked up, her eyes glassy.
“I had to pay Alaric to stay quiet. And after I had you, the price went up. Because it wasn’t just my reputation on the line anymore, it was yours, too.”
Then she sank into her chair, shaking with quiet sobs.
No one moved.
No one had to.
She’d just detonated every secret she’d spent two decades hiding.
“There are days I just want to end it,” Martha whispered, voice cracking under the weight of her words. “I hate Mara… simply because she has everything I ever wanted.”
She looked up at Darian, her face hollow.
“Look at the way you treat Tiffany. The love, the care… My life was never that sweet. You have no idea what I had to do to
survive.”
She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Her next words came quieter, but no less heavy.
“I don’t know where Alaric is. If I did, I would’ve had him assassinated just to find peace. But he’s dangerous, Darian. Evil.
You can’t imagine the things that man has done. I’ve lived in fear for decades.”
Her voice trembled.
“I thought your father could protect me. But I was wrong. If it came down to it… he’d hand me over in a heartbeat to save
Lucian.”
And just like that, the dam broke again. She buried her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t answered Darian’s questions. Not fully. But this wasn’t manipulation,
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183 The Ghost In Her Home
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at least not entirely. This was a woman unraveling. A woman who’d built her life on shaky ground and now felt the earth splitting beneath her.
Still, I saw it clearly: she was choosing what to share. Carefully. Selectively. She wasn’t confessing everything, just enough to keep Darian close. Just enough to survive this moment.
She was still hiding things.
“You’re wrong, Martha,” I said quietly, my voice steady. “He may not show it the way you need, but Alpha Vander does care about you. He loves you in his way.”
She didn’t respond. Just kept weeping.
“I know this,” I continued, “because I saw it. The way he tried to force me to do something, something out of character, just to make you happy. When I told him about the blackmail, he was shaken. That kind of reaction doesn’t come from
indifference. It comes from love, conflicted or not.”
Still, no reply. But she’d heard me. That much was clear.
And I couldn’t let Darian believe his father was the villain in all of this. Because he wasn’t. Vander might never have loved Martha the way he loved Natasha, but he had given her something. Stability. A name. A place. And judging by what she’d
admitted today, that had been everything to her.
But now? That place was slipping through her fingers. And it wasn’t our words making her cry, it was the reality setting in.
She would be alone. Truly alone.
Vander had washed his hands of her.
Lucian would no longer protect her.
And Darian… well, even he had started to see through her.
As much as I pitied her, I couldn’t waste more energy on this spiral. I was pregnant. I was starving. And I had no intention of letting a perfectly good breakfast go cold.
I picked up my fork and started eating.
“You’re breastfeeding, Tiff. Better eat,” I linked Tiffany, who had been sitting silently beside Darian.
I didn’t need to say it twice. She nodded quickly and followed my lead.
We were used to the chaos now. Used to the confessions, the drama, the unraveling of the people around us.
But breakfast was still breakfast.
And we were numb to their emotions.
