29: The Potrait
LENA
As soon as the lights are turned on, a portrait of a lady on the wall across the room flashes before my eyes. The lady sits on a chair, and looks back at me with a certain pride swirling in her green eyes,
her long midnight blue hair cascading down her slim neck. The lady in the portrait is me.
A gasp leaves my lips. Why am I in this portrait?
“Her name is Julianne,” Carlisle’s voice sounds heavy when he speaks beside me, “She was my mate, and my late wife.” There is sadness in his sapphire eyes as he stares at the portrait.
My jaw hangs in disbelief. Is he joking? Because Julianne looks exactly like me. The similarities are so strong that for one second, I started to wonder when I took a picture like this.
Carlisle slowly turns to me with a grimness on his face, “You are not my first mate either, Verena. We are both each other’s second chance mates,” He utters with not a single hint of playfulness in his voice. My mate died in a car accident two years ago. It was two months after our marriage,” he sighs heavily, a hollowness on his face.
My chest tightens at his words. “I’m really sorry. It must have been incredibly difficult for you,” I say, my gaze fixed on her portrait. “But how is this possible?” I ask, alternating between studying the painting and meeting his eyes. “She looks exactly like me.”
His jaw clenches as he returns my gaze. “That’s what I want to understand,” he says, his tone distant. “When we found you in the Iron Claw Pack, it felt like the Goddess had brought Julianne back to me in your form. But the more time I spend with you, the more I realize how different you are from her.”
I pause, choosing my words carefully. “Is that why you-” My voice trails off as he nods, confirming my unspoken question.
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“Yes. I want to get to know you better, to understand why you resemble Julianne so closely,” he says, sincerity evident in his eyes.
I massage my temple with two fingers, feeling a headache building as I try to process everything. None of this adds up.
“Perhaps she’s just a cheap doppelganger,” Beta Gareth’s voice interrupts the tension, and I find him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His eyes narrow disapprovingly at me. “There’s nothing special about her. She can never be equal to our Luna.”
Carlisle throws him a glare and argues, “It’s not about equality. Don’t you find it strange? Out of all people, Verena, who resembles Julianne, turns out to be my second chance mate?” he asks.
Gareth’s jaw tightens, and he looks away. Like us, he has no answer, so he remains silent.
I walk closer to the portrait, tilting my chin upward as my eyes trace her features. With each passing second, I start to notice the differences. Luna Julianne’s posture is confident, her gaze sharp. Immense pride with a hint of royalty emanates from her, a reflection of a life filled with power, admiration, and luxury. If I were in that portrait, I could never pull off that look because I don’t know what it means to live a life of comfort and power.
I feel Carlisle’s tall presence beside me, “Julianne was the daughter of Alpha Maddox of the RedStone Pack. They are alive, and still mourn their daughter’s death.”
I was right. She came from a powerful family.
I fidget my hands, a restless energy coursing through my veins. Without much thought, I ask, “Did her pack love her?”
He frowns at my strange question but replies nonetheless, “Yes, a lot. She was the apple of her parent’s eyes, and everyone in the pack admired her kind, empathic nature,” he runs his hand over the bottom of the portrait with the ghost of a smile on his lips. A smile filled with
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love and admiration for her.
It isn’t Carlisle’s emotions for her that make me feel a twinge of jealousy in my heart. Instead, it was the fact that Julianne had people who truly loved her and would want her even after her death. She had parents who cared for her, a husband who still loves her, a pack that admires her.
I can’t help but feel a little selfish, wondering what my life would have looked like if I had grown up with people who liked me. Growing up in a poor orphanage, the elders always insulted me, starved me, and beat me if I didn’t do my work properly.
Though it wasn’t like my life was always miserable. Elijah changed it. He wasn’t one to show affection openly, but he took care of me and stood up for me. He was there when I needed him, making me feel safe and loved as his wife. He was my home.
But he took it all away in an instant. My home is gone.
I touch my belly with my injured hand. My pup is the only home I have now, and I don’t want to lose it, no matter what it takes.
slowly turn to Carlisle. He has told me his secret, so it’s my turn now. “I am pregnant,” I say, my voice a soft whisper.
His lips part slightly as his brows shoot up at my revelation. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are enough to tell me that he did not expect this.
A minute later, he asks with a serious look on his face, “Is it his?” I nod gently in response, and he sighs heavily. There’s hurt swirling in his blue eyes, “So is this the reason why you wanted to run away? Because you thought I’d be furious about it?”
I shake my head, “It’s not just that. I am your mate and the pack knows that. My pup can stir up problems and controversies once everyone knows about it. Problems for both you and my pup.” I emphasize the last line.
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“Verena,” Carlisle takes a step closer, and my heart skips a beat at his proximity, “I told you we are friends. No matter what happens, I will help you. We can decide about the mating part later. For now, I want you to have a safe space, and it’s more important now since you’ll be a mother soon,” he meets my gaze with an assuring look in his eyes.
I smile in relief, “Thank you, Carlisle. In return, I will help you in whichever way I possibly can and try to be a good friend to you.”
Now that I have cleared things out with him, a heavy burden lifts off my chest. But I can’t help but feel a little worried about the part where he mentioned the ‘mating‘. Is he still considering mating with me when he knows I am pregnant with another man’s child?
His voice breaks my train of thoughts, “You can be a good friend by being my dance partner at the annual exhibition,” his demeanor is back to his playful self, and I can’t help but smile.
“Alright. I’ll be your dance partner,” I say, but then there is a nagging sensation in the pit of my stomach. Why do I have this bad feeling about the exhibition?