CHAPTER 181: CHAPTER 181 "I DON’T WANT YOU TO BE MY MOM"

Freya

I watched as Isabella pouted on her bed, her small face a mixture of resignation and defiance. This was our morning ritual now - a battle of wills over the simplest things like getting ready for school.

"I know," she muttered sullenly, making no move to actually get up.

After a moment of lying there, she looked at me with those eyes - so like her father’s - and said, "Mom, you help me squeeze toothpaste."

"Hmm," I agreed, swallowing down the familiar ache. Once, I would have reminded her she was old enough to do it herself, but these days I took whatever scraps of connection I could get.

I went into the bathroom and prepared her toothbrush. Through the open door, I saw Isabella grab her phone, quickly typing something with a small smile on her face. That smile - the one I rarely saw directed at me anymore. Selene whined softly inside me, missing the days when our pup looked at us with adoration.

When Isabella finally joined me in the bathroom, I handed her the toothbrush and then dampened a towel with warm water, wringing it out carefully before offering it to her to wipe her face. These small maternal gestures were all I had left.

I opened her wardrobe, surveying the clothes I’d carefully selected based on what I thought she might like. "Which one should you wear today?" I asked.

Isabella’s face closed off immediately. "Mom, I’ll change myself. You go out first."

"Good," I replied, closing the wardrobe door and stepping out of the room.

After I left, I stood in the hallway for a moment, pressing my palm against the wall to steady myself. Through our faint bond, I could sense Isabella’s excitement spike. Whatever she was planning to wear clearly wasn’t from the selection I’d provided.

"Bella? Are you packed?" I asked, gathering her school things. "It’s time to go downstairs for breakfast."

Her head snapped up, eyes flashing with sudden irritation. "I know, Mother. Can you not always talk, talk, talk? It’s very annoying."

The words hit like physical blows, but I kept my expression neutral. This wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. She snatched up her bag and stormed past me toward the stairs.

I followed silently, noting the unfamiliar clothes once more. Since Isabella had spent time with Silvano in the northern territories, her entire aesthetic had changed. Gone were the soft colors and playful patterns she once loved. Now it was all dark colors, edgy cuts, and "cool" styles.

Because of Aurora.

Accomplished, athletic, charismatic... everything I supposedly wasn’t. According to the pack gossip, she excelled at everything from skateboarding to rock climbing to paragliding. And somehow, she’d become my daughter’s idol.

I’d tried to adapt, buying clothes that matched Isabella’s new preferences, but she barely glanced at them. She only wore things Aurora picked out for her now. Another woman dressing my daughter, another woman receiving my daughter’s admiration.

But I said nothing. What right did I have? At least someone was making Isabella happy.

Downstairs, Maria hadn’t risen yet, but Silvano’s grandmother was already at the breakfast table.

"Freya and Bella up so early?" Luna Victoria remarked, her keen eyes taking in Isabella’s outfit and sullen expression.

I managed a smile. "Good morning, Luna Victoria."

Isabella mumbled a greeting, her mood clearly dark as she slumped into her chair.

"Bella is not happy this morning?" Luna Victoria asked. "What’s going on?"

When Isabella didn’t respond, the housekeeper intervened with a diplomatic smile. "She was probably woken up before she was ready and is in a bad mood."

Luna Victoria nodded, then looked around. "Where is Silvano? Hasn’t he gotten up yet?"

I kept my expression carefully neutral. "Silvano went out last night."

I didn’t miss the way her face darkened. After all these years in the pack, I could read the elder Moretti’s expressions like a book. She understood immediately what that meant - another night spent away from his mate and child. But with Isabella present, she held her tongue.

After breakfast, Isabella remembered she’d forgotten something and ran back upstairs. I waited in the entryway, my hand absently smoothing down the front of my dress - one of the few habits from my old life I couldn’t seem to break.

A soft chime broke the silence. Isabella had left her phone on the entry table, and the screen had lit up with a notification.

The contact name flashed clearly: "Kiss Kiss Aurora Aunty."

I froze, my fingers hovering over the device. In all the years since Isabella had gotten her phone, I’d respected her privacy completely. I’d never once looked through her messages or calls.

But something in me - the desperate mother, the wounded mate - reached for the phone before I could stop myself.