He Left Me For My Sister Now He Begs For Me Back Chapter 07
The proposal Aunt Rebecca had accepted for me came from Gavin Mercer, the Alpha heir of the Westmoor Pack.
When I first heard the name, I thought she was joking.
The Westmoor Pack guarded the kingdom’s western border. Its current Alpha, Robert Mercer, commanded both the wolves of the territory and its border defense forces.
Gavin was twenty-three. He had entered the warrior youth training camp at fourteen and, at twenty, had been appointed commander of the western border defenses by the Alpha King himself.
Last year, when a rogue faction attacked a border supply line, he had led a small team to circle behind enemy lines, cutting off their weapons and provisions and saving three towns from attack.
In the kingdom of Asteria, you could line the capital’s widest boulevard with the young women who wanted to marry him.
And I was just the second daughter of a Royal Council official.
A girl whose fiancé had just left her for her sister.
I asked my aunt, “Does he know what happened with the Blacks?”
She gave me a dry look.
“Do you think the Westmoor Pack’s intelligence network is sleeping on the job? It’s all over the capital’s social channels.”
I pressed my lips together.
“Then why would he still be willing?”
“Why is he still willing to marry you?” she finished for me.
I nodded.
My aunt smiled.
“Because he’s the one who asked me to approach you in the first place.”
I stared at her, stunned.
She didn’t elaborate.
“The rest, you can let him tell you himself.”
I met Gavin for the first time seven days later, at a royal charity center near the castle.
My aunt explained that Clara Mercer, Luna of the Westmoor Pack, wanted to meet me first. She was the Alpha’s only acknowledged Luna and Gavin’s mother.
When I arrived, plum blossoms were blooming in the gardens outside the glass conservatory. A man in a black coat stood at the foot of the steps.
He was tall, with none of Sebastian’s gentle refinement. His brow was sharp, his nose straight, and his skin was a shade darker than most men from the capital.
The mark of years spent training on the border.
When he saw me, he paused for a fraction of a second, then extended a hand with formal courtesy.
“Adeline Crawford?”
“Gavin Mercer.”
Our handshake was brief.
He didn’t stare or try to charm me. Before we entered the reception room, he simply took a paper bag from a nearby guard and handed it to me.
I hesitated.
“What is this?”
“An apology.”
“What are you apologizing for?”
He glanced at me.
“Yesterday, my convoy passed your family’s car. The lead vehicle changed lanes too abruptly and startled your driver.”
I remembered.
A convoy of military SUVs had cut through an intersection. My driver had slammed on the brakes, a tire hitting the curb, and I’d ended up with a bruise on my elbow.
But I hadn’t seen who was in the cars.
“It was nothing.”
“To you, perhaps,” Gavin said. “But the fault was with my driver. Therefore, I should apologize.”
I paused, then lowered my eyes and opened the bag.
Inside was a small tin of ointment for bruises and a bag of pine nut candy.
I stared at the candy for a long moment.
He seemed to notice my stillness.
“You don’t like sweets?”
I shook my head.
“I do.”
It was just that no one had asked me what I liked in a very long time.
In the past, whatever people gave me, I just said it was fine.