The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven - Chapter 413

Chapter 413: Father Knew
[Wanda]

The sound of a clock ticking pulled me from sleep.

I blinked up at the ceiling, disoriented for a moment, then turned my head toward the clock on the nightstand.

It was already seven.

My brows furrowed as I actually came to that realization. ‘Seven?’

“Unbelievable,” I muttered under my breath, pushing the covers aside. The sheets were still warm from sleep, and my muscles ached faintly from last night’s training, but irritation overrode the fatigue.

Not one servant had come to wake me. Not one.

Had everyone in this house forgotten how to do their jobs?

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, the silk hem of my night robe brushing my knees.

Breakfast was at eight, and Father would already be in the dining room by then. He hated lateness, and so did I.

I stood, slipped my feet into the waiting slippers, and crossed to the bathing chamber only to be met by at the door.

A servant knelt beside the bath, pouring in a vial of oil, the scent of lavender filling the air.

The girl startled when she saw me. “Miss! You’re awake already.”

“Obviously,” I said sharply, folding my arms. “Why wasn’t I woken up? It’s past seven.”

The servant dropped her gaze immediately. “Forgive me, my Lady. I wanted to finish preparing your bath first, then—”

“Then you forgot what your duty was,” I cut in. “Next time, I expect to be woken before the bath is drawn.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Leave.”

She bowed before hurrying out. The door closed softly behind her.

For a moment, I just stood there, the anger pulsing low and steady beneath my skin. Servants these days had become careless.

I untied the sash of my robe and slipped it off, letting the silk fall in a whisper to the floor. The bath water shimmered faintly, steam rising in delicate swirls. I sank into it, the heat closing around me until the tension in my shoulders loosened.

The quiet pressed in. Only the faint crackle of candles and the drip of water from the spout.

I tilted my head back, eyes half-closed, and let my mind wander to the only man who occupied the deepest part of my heart.

Draven.

His name surfaced like a reflex I hadn’t yet trained out of myself.

What is he doing now?

Did he ever think about me?

A bitter smile touched my lips. Probably not. Not when he had that cursed bitch clinging to him

I scoffed softly, dipping a hand into the water, watching the ripples stretch across the surface.

After a while, I stood, dried myself off, and put on a simple black dress that fit snugly at the waist. There was no need for embellishment; even simplicity bowed to elegance when worn correctly.

When I stepped into the hall, the manor was already stirring, the clinking of dishes and footsteps echoing off polished floors.

I started down the staircase and heard laughter floating up from the corridor leading to the kitchen.

I stopped, frowning. ‘These servants are definitely asking to be punished.’

Without wasting a second, I followed the sound, my heels silent against the floor. The laughter grew clearer, joined by snippets of conversation.

Then, just as I neared the doorway, one name froze me in place.

“…Alpha Draven…”

My pulse skipped. I leaned slightly toward the open door, and the scent of freshly baked bread wafted into my nostrils.

“…yes,” a voice said—one of the kitchen maids, her tone hushed and excited. “I heard it myself. They are said that he came back this morning with a convoy of cars, all the way from the Human city—”

The rest blurred behind the rush in my ears.

Draven? Draven has returned? How?

Before I could think, I was moving. I stepped through the doorway, and the maids’ chatter cut off like a blade.

All three froze where they stood with eyes wide. One still held a basket of eggs midair.

“Where did you hear that from?” I demanded, my voice low but sharp.

The one with the basket stammered. “My Lady—I—uh, I only heard it in passing. People in the local store were talking, that’s all.”

For a moment, I stared at her, my pulse steady but heavy, a thousand thoughts swirling behind my eyes.

“Get back to work,” I said finally.

They scattered without a word.

I turned sharply and walked out of the kitchen, my footsteps quick and controlled.

It felt surreal that the man I’ve been thinking about for months would return home, and I would only learn about it in passing.

My mind doubled at the reality and truths of what this meant.

The corridor stretched ahead, and at its end, the tall doors of Father’s study waited—closed, as always.

However, I still had to confirm the news for myself, and there was only one person I could ask at the moment.

—

When I entered the dining room, the long table was already set. Silverware polished to a shine, the aroma of roasted meat and bread warm in the air.

I took my usual seat on the right side of the table, just below where Father sat.

I folded my hands in my lap, keeping my expression composed even as my thoughts swirled with Draven’s return.

The idea unsettled something deep in me—anger, maybe, or something far more dangerous.

The servants filed in quietly, setting dishes in front of me, arranging the goblets, and lighting the final candle. I ignored them, eyes fixed on the tall door at the end of the room.

A few moments later, the door opened, and my father stepped in.

Even after all these years, his presence filled the room before he spoke a word. He crossed to the head table without glancing at me.

I rose quickly, head bowed. “Good morning, Father.”

He gave a small nod, neither warm nor cold, and sat. Only then did I sit as well.

The servants hurried to pour wine into his goblet and arrange his plate. I kept my gaze lowered, waiting, silent until he picked up his knife and began to cut into the roast.

“Father,” I said softly, choosing my tone with care. “I heard something this morning.”

He didn’t look up, but I saw the slight pause in his hand as he sliced through the meat.

“Draven has returned to Stormveil.”

That got his attention. His knife stopped midway. Slowly, he looked up at me.

The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. Then, without changing his expression, he asked, “And what about it?”

My heart gave a small, traitorous lurch. ‘Father knew?’

I tried to keep my face neutral, but my voice trembled slightly when I asked, “You already knew?”

His gaze hardened. “Of course I did.”

The air in the room shifted.

“Then… why didn’t you tell me?”

The question slipped out before I could stop it. The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them because the next second, his palm struck the table, the sharp crack echoing off the walls.

My fork jumped slightly on my plate.

“You forget your place,” he said, his voice low but cutting. “You will not question me about what I choose to share.”

I flinched, instinctively lowering my gaze. Heat rose to my cheeks, but I didn’t dare speak again.

“Yes, Father,” I murmured, my fingers tightening around the edge of my napkin.

For a long moment, he stared at me, then picked up his knife again as if nothing had happened.

I forced myself to breathe, lifting my own cutlery with hands that trembled slightly. The silverware clinked softly against the plate.

Outwardly, I was composed. But inside, something sharp and cold had settled behind my ribs.

‘So, father knew all about this and deliberately kept it from me? Why?’