For an instant, I thought I saw a crack in his armor of pride. His eyes, which normally radiated authority and calculated coldness, now seemed to reflect a deep confusion, an internal struggle between duty and an affection that he himself seemed to have buried. The mention of the surrogate mother, of my own "curse" of origin, had struck a sensitive nerve, a reminder of the hypocrisy that he himself perpetuated.

Finally, he broke the silence, but his voice was no longer the thunder of before, but a rough murmur, laden with resignation.

"She... does not represent our bloodline. She doesn't have the lineage that our family needs to recover the strength we lost."

His words, though attempting to justify his contempt, only confirmed my suspicions.

It wasn't about the curse itself, but about the image, about the purity of blood that he valued so much, about political convenience. Marcela was an obstacle to his vision of a restored kingdom, a symbol of my own "imperfection" that he could not tolerate.

"Strength does not reside in blood, but in the heart. Marcela gives me the strength you never gave me. She gives me a purpose beyond a crown that you yourself snatched from me. She is my wife, and I will not renounce her for a crown that I never wanted in the first place."

I turned around, feeling the need to leave that room, that atmosphere charged with reproaches.

As I crossed the threshold, I heard his voice once more, this time with a tone that, although still harsh, contained a note of something akin to despair.

"Leandro, you are making a mistake that you will not be able to undo."

I left his study, leaving behind the echo of his words. The injustice still burned me, but now, alongside the rage, there was a new resolution.

My father could have the crown, he could have the title, but I had something much more valuable: Marcela's love and the conviction that my own path, although different from the one he had planned, was the right one for me.

The battle for the crown was over for me; the battle for my own happiness, that one, had just begun.

I left my father's office with my heart beating strongly, the bitterness and rage still fluttering inside me.

The echo of his words about the "bloodline" and the "lost strength" resonated in my ears, but the image of Marcela, her gaze full of unconditional love, was the beacon that guided me.

I walked through the familiar hallways, now strange and cold, until I reached the door of my old room.

I stopped.

I didn't feel the urge to enter, to relive the ghosts that inhabited those walls.

I just stood there, standing, with the weight of the past oppressing me.

It was then that I saw her: our nanny's granddaughter, a young woman with a kind face and curious eyes, who was coming out of a nearby room.

"Excuse me." She turned, surprised by my presence. "I need a favor. Could you go into my old room and collect all the photographs and letters where I am with Ana? All of them. And burn them. I don't want to see any of that."

The young woman nodded without hesitation. "Of course, Prince Leandro," she replied with a discreet bow, and headed towards the door of my old bedroom.

As I watched her disappear behind the door, I felt a pang of relief, as if I were getting rid of an unbearable weight. I took a couple more steps, trying to get away from that place, from that time. But destiny, or perhaps the cruel irony of life, had other plans.

"Leandro," a kind and familiar voice broke the silence. I turned to find Camilo, leaning with a natural calm against the doorframe of his room.

"I see you're putting your memories in order. It's a good decision. There's no point in continuing to carry all that. Especially now that you are building a new path." He made a subtle gesture towards the general direction where he knew Marcela's room was. "Keeping all that in sight, so close to your new life... would be a mistake. It's better to leave the past where it belongs."

His words are spoken with a sincerity that pleasantly surprised me, they were an unexpected balm. Camilo, with his usual respect, not only validated my action, but reinforced it. He understood the complexity of the situation, the delicacy of having Ana, now his wife, so close to my new life with Marcela. His comment, far from being an attack, was a tacit recognition of the difficult transition we were all experiencing, and a way of showing me that, despite the circumstances, he understood the need to close chapters.

For an instant, I felt that I was not completely alone in this tangle of loyalties and intertwined pasts.

I nodded, trying to pass by, but he spoke again. "How did your wife wake up?"

I turned to look at him more closely, with a pang of annoyance running through me. The way Camilo referred to Marcela, that attention that I felt she received from him, I didn't like it at all.

I wanted him to stay out of it, to take care of his own wife.

"My wife," I replied, my voice acquiring a firm and possessive tone, "is perfectly fine by my side. And I suggest that you focus on yours as well. Marcela is mine, and I don't appreciate you taking so much interest in her personal life." The tension became palpable in the air. Camilo's gaze changed subtly, a spark of defiance peeking out in his eyes, but before he could respond, the nanny's granddaughter came out of my old room, and the last thing I wanted was for her to hear us arguing.

We had to keep a low profile, and despite the fact that the last thing I wanted was to confront my brother, I had to do it, I didn't like seeing him getting close to my wife, and all this is confirming to me the need to get away from that place and that conversation...

POV MARCELA

I left the room, feeling the need for fresh air and a bit of solitude. The majestic garden of the palace, with its lush vegetation and the intoxicating aroma of flowers, offered me solace.

I walked among the paths, admiring the variety of colors and shapes, when my attention was caught by a figure among the rose bushes.

It was a woman of singular beauty, with hair as blonde as the sun and blue eyes as deep as the sea. She moved with a natural grace, caressing the petals of the flowers with a delicacy that denoted a genuine love for them. She was absorbed in her task, smelling and examining each flower with palpable concentration.

Although my instinct was not to interrupt her moment of peace, it was too late. She had seen me, or at least perceived my presence, as she turned her head towards me, her blue eyes meeting mine.

"Excuse me, I didn't mean to disturb you," I said, feeling a bit clumsy for interrupting her.

She gave me a warm smile. "No problem. I was just looking for the right flower."

"And what would that be?" I asked, my curiosity piqued by her concentration.

"I'm looking for the missing ingredient to complete one of my new perfumes," she replied, her eyes sparkling with a creative spark.

Without thinking, I approached and, guided by an inexplicable intuition, tilted my head to smell one of the roses nearby.

"The Damask rose," I stated confidently. "It's the essence that's missing, the one that will give that deep, velvety layer to your creation."

The woman looked at me with genuine surprise, and her blue eyes widened a little more. "How do you know that?"

"I don't really know," I admitted, shrugging my shoulders. "I just perceive it. It's as if the flower is talking to me."

A smile appeared on her lips, a smile that radiated ancient wisdom.

"I like that way of perceiving things. And you, who are you?"

"I'm Marcela," I replied.

"Marcela," she repeated, savoring the name. "If things are as I believe, then you are Prince Leandro's fiancee, right?"

My heart skipped a beat. The connection I felt at that moment, beyond the conversation about perfumes, was unique and indescribable.

It was as if we had known each other all our lives.

"Yes, he is my husband," I confirmed, feeling a warmth spread through my chest.

She smiled even more, a smile that conveyed a deep complicity. "I am Eleonora Volkov. And I would love for you to stop by my house when you have time. I love creating new species in perfumes, and it would be a pleasure to have your help, I see that you have a gift, one very similar to mine." From her small bag she took out a golden card and gave it to me. "You can call me whenever you want to go and I will send someone for you, I would love for you to show me what you can do."

The invitation, so warm and genuine, resonated within me. I felt an immediate affinity with Eleonora, a connection that went beyond words.

It was like finding a soulmate in an unexpected place, a "wolf woman" worthy of admiration, whose presence radiated strength and a deep connection with nature.

She smiled even more, a smile that conveyed a deep complicity.

"Of course! I would love to," I replied, carefully putting away the card.

At that moment, a palace employee approached. "Miss Marcela, Prince Leandro is waiting for you."

"Thank you," I replied, nodding. And I turned to Eleonora. "It has been a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Eleonora. I will call you soon."

"The pleasure has been mine, dear," she replied, her gaze full of warmth. "But just call me Eleonora."

I said goodbye to her and headed towards where Leandro was waiting for me. Upon seeing me, his expression softened.

"Ready to go home?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied, feeling immense relief at the thought of leaving behind the tension of the palace and returning to our own home.

Together, we left the palace, leaving behind the echoes of the court and delving into the tranquility of our home.

As I crossed the threshold of our home, a wave of tranquility enveloped me. The magnitude of the house, with its high ceilings and spacious halls, dissipated before the intimate and welcoming atmosphere that emanated from every corner. It was our sanctuary, a space where the formalities of the palace vanished, allowing the true essence of our life together to flourish.

As soon as we took a few steps through the main hall, two women, impeccably dressed and with a serene expression on their faces, came forward and greeted us with a respectful bow.

"Welcome home," they said in unison, their voices resonating with a warmth that invited relaxation.

Leandro gave me a knowing smile, his eyes reflecting the same happiness I felt. Then, addressing me, he explained sweetly: "They are Elena and Sofia, they will help us with all the household chores, so you won't have to worry about anything."

A slight blush rose to my cheeks as I heard his words.

"But you know I like to do it."

He came closer, his presence comforting. And this time he spoke to me and treated me with a tenderness that disarms me, with his hand he brushed away a rebellious lock of hair that had slipped over my face.

"I know, little one, and I admire your dedication. But I don't want you to exhaust yourself. I do it thinking of you and our little one, so you have all the rest you deserve."

His words, laden with a protective love and deep consideration, dispelled any trace of resistance in me. I nodded, my heart overflowing with gratitude for his attention and care.

"If you want something specific to eat, you just have to ask them and they will take care of preparing it to your liking," he added with his gaze fixed on mine.

"Okay," I replied, "But for now, what they prepare will be perfect. I just want to go up and take a bath and relax a bit."

"Okay," he replied, "I'll see you in a while. I'm going to the office, I have some important documents to review."

With that promise of a reunion later, I said goodbye with a smile and set off towards the stairs, eager to immerse myself in the warm water and let the tiredness of the day dissipate, while Leandro headed to his responsibilities, knowing that our home awaited us, full of peace and love...

POV LEANDRO

The weight of the day slowly dissipated as I retreated into the solitude of my study. The aroma of leather and polished wood enveloped me, a balm for the soul after the demands of the palace. I took a glass of my favorite whiskey, the amber liquid reflecting the dim light of the desk lamp, and leaned back in the plush back of my chair.

I closed my eyes, allowing the silence to envelop me, a silence that was rarely truly mine.

Suddenly, a familiar and powerful presence manifested in the stillness of my mind.

It was Luck, my inner wolf, who rarely made himself known in these moments of calm.

*“I thought you had left me, old friend,”* I said, my mental voice tinged with a slight irony.

A deep, grave laugh echoed in my head, a laugh that only Luck could produce. *“Leave you? Never, Leandro. I had just taken a getaway for a good party.”*

My brow furrowed slightly. *“A party?”*

"“Yes,”* he replied. *“And from what I see, you have found the perfect company. You are in good hands with your wife. You must always trust her.”"

A smile spread across my lips, a genuine and warm smile. It was comforting to hear those words from my own being, a reminder of the strength we shared.

"“Marcela is the one,”* Luck admitted, his voice full of unwavering certainty. *“And so it is. She is.”"

The confirmation of my inner wolf, that ancestral instinct that rarely erred, reinforced the deep conviction I felt for Marcela. She was, without a doubt, the anchor that my soul needed.

"“I know,”* I said, mentally firm. *“And you know it better than anyone.”"

"“Just remember, Leandro,”* Luck continued, his tone becoming more serious, *“that this tranquility is a treasure. Protect it. She is the true heart of all this.”"

I nodded, absorbing his words as if they were a balm for my spirit. Luck's presence faded as subtly as it had arrived, leaving me with a renewed sense of purpose and a deep gratitude for the woman who had come into my life.

The echo of Luck's laughter still resonated in my mind when a new wave of thoughts, darker thoughts, began to stir.

The tranquility I had sought was marred by a familiar unease, a shadow that the whiskey failed to completely dispel.

"“I know what worries you, Leandro,”* Luck's voice broke in again, this time with a note of deep understanding. *“I know you keep comparing her. I know you're worried Marcela might be like Ana.”"

A knot tightened in my throat. It was useless to deny it to my own being.

"“I don't think Marcela is like Ana,”* he continued. *“And you keep making a mistake by comparing them. Ana abandoned you, yes. But Marcela... Marcela would never do something like that and you know it.”"

His words were a balm directly to my deepest fears. The wound left by Ana still burned, and the temptation to project that pain onto my present was strong. But Luck, with his pure instinct and unwavering loyalty, saw the truth with a clarity that I sometimes lost.

"“Ana is a shadow,”* he said. *“An illusion that faded. Marcela is light, Leandro. She is an anchor. Feel the difference. She chose you, she chose us.”"

The image of Marcela, her radiant smile, the sweetness in her eyes, came to my mind.

It was true.

The connection we shared was different, deeper, more real.

"“Trust that,”* Luck insisted, *“Trust her. Trust your instinct. What you feel is real.”"

A wave of gratitude washed over me. Having Luck by my side, reminding me of the truth when my own fears threatened to cloud my judgment, was an invaluable gift. The comparison to Ana faded, replaced by the certainty that Marcela was the present and the future that I had so longed for despite not being my destined mate.

POV MARCELA.

The warm water of the bath descended on my body, washing away not only the tiredness of the trip, but also any trace of restlessness. The delicate scent of the soap filled the air, creating a bubble of peace and serenity. As the steam caressed my skin, my mind wandered, thinking of Leandro, of his tenderness, of the way his eyes looked at me.

The house was beautiful, but it was his presence that really made it feel like home.

As I came out, I wrapped myself in a soft robe and looked in the mirror. My hair, still wet, fell in waves over my back. There was a calmness within me, a feeling of fulfillment that I had rarely experienced.

I walked down the stairs with light steps, the sound of my bare feet on the carpet barely audible. As I entered the main hall, I saw him sitting, his imposing figure silhouetted against the light from the windows. When he saw me, a genuine smile lit up his face, a smile that always managed to make my heart skip a beat.

"Are you done?"

"Yes" I replied, approaching him. There was an intensity in his gaze, one that we had never shared before. It was a mixture of desire, tenderness and something else, something that promised a deeper connection.

"Dinner is served" he announced, getting up and offering me his hand.

I took his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against mine. We walked together towards the dining room, where the table was elegantly set. We sat down, and as we began to enjoy the exquisite food, the silence between us was not uncomfortable, but complicit, full of a comforting energy.

After a while, Leandro put down his fork and stared at me, his eyes gleaming with contained emotion.

"Tomorrow, before we go to work, I want to take you somewhere"

"Oh yeah? Where?"

He gave me an enigmatic smile that made me blush.

"It will be a surprise"

Anticipation took hold of me. The way he looked at me, the promise in his words, everything created an atmosphere charged with an intensity that we had never felt before.

Things between us were getting better, flourishing, and tonight, in the stillness of our home, I felt that we were on the verge of something truly special...