Chapter 22
Raina POV
I sit quietly in the room that smells like her—sandalwood, citrus, and something earthy like cedar. Mirelle.
This has to be her bedroom. I glance around, trying not to snoop, but everything here feels like a clue. A way to understand her. A way to convince myself I'm doing the right thing.
The room is large but not cold. The floors are dark polished wood. The walls are painted a warm off-white, and there's a long window that lets the afternoon sunlight fall in golden ribbons across the floor. The bed is massive, pushed against the wall with a wide, carved wooden headboard. I spot old, faded scratches near the base—words or shapes etched in by a much younger hand. It's lived in.
There's a sitting area with two chairs and a round table, and beyond that, wide glass doors lead out to a private balcony. I step outside, needing air. The sky is starting to shift—lavender bleeding into peach, the sun halfway down the horizon. Below, the ocean sparkles. It's the kind of view you don't speak through. You just sit and breathe.
I take a seat in one of the iron balcony chairs and pull my coat tighter around myself.
The curtain rustles.
I turn.
Noelle Alden steps through.
He's breathtaking, even up close. He's younger looking than I expected, but his presence feels ageless. Regal without trying to be. His smile is gentle and surprisingly warm.
"May I?" he asks, motioning toward the empty chair beside me.
I nod and rise quickly. "Please."
He sits beside me with grace I can only describe as… floaty. It's like his movements are woven from light.
"I wanted to apologize for earlier," he says after a beat, folding his hands neatly in his lap.
I blink. "You don't need to."
"I do. The way Mirelle shared the news was… dramatic." He sighs with a faint smile.
"You deserved a better welcome."
"It's fine. I understand. The news was… a lot. And given who I am, I didn't expect it to go well anyway."
His brow furrows. "Who you are?"
I hesitate. "I'm Jericho Langston's niece."
Noelle stares at me blankly.
"The president of the Hunter Association?" I clarify.
He tilts his head. "Ah. That one. Right."
He shrugs. "We don't really care about that here."
The words hit me like a slap. Not because they're cruel—because they're so casual. So indifferent. He's not faking it. He genuinely doesn't care.
"I suppose not," I murmur, suddenly unsure what to say.
He glances at me.
"After speaking with Mirelle, she said the proposal was your idea."
My chest tightens. "Yes. It was."
He studies me quietly.
"You don't need to marry her," he says.
"You're carrying our grandchild. You'd be protected regardless. You, your mother, your siblings—you'd have a home here."
"I know. I appreciate it. More than I can say." I take a breath.
"But I want to do this. I want to marry her."
"Even if she drives you up the wall?"
I laugh, startled. "She already does."
He grins, and the tension between us eases just a little.
"I know I'm not what you expected," I say softly.
"But I'm serious about this. About her. About raising this child."
He's quiet for a long time.
Then he smiles.
"For what it's worth," he says, "I believe you."
I blink.
"And more importantly," he adds, rising to his feet and brushing invisible dust from his lap, "I'm proud of Mirelle. She has good instincts. They've never failed her. So if she chose you—then you're already part of this family."
I stare at him, heart caught in my throat.
"Thank you," I whisper.
He winks. "Dinner is in an hour. If she tries to skip it, drag her by the ear."
And then he vanishes back inside.
I sit in stunned silence, blinking at the open door.
That was it? No threats? No disapproval? No quiet judgments?
Just… welcome?
I look back out at the horizon. The last of the sun dips below the ocean.