Mated To My Mate's Worst Enemy Chapter 121

ARIA

The words stung more because they were essentially the same things I'd been thinking. I hadn't earned trust. Hadn't proven myself. Hadn't done anything to deserve the faith that Ivory commanded so effortlessly.

"Nobody blames Ivory for what she did yesterday," Thomas continued. "If anything, people are praising her brilliance. Because if she hadn't set that trap exactly the way she did, Luna Aria would still be imprisoned. Or dead weeks from now when the evidence finally pointed definitively to the spy. Only it would have been too late by then."

"And if Alpha Kael had stood his ground on not executing Luna Aria?" the woman asked. "If he'd insisted on seeing evidence first, refused to approve Ivory's plan?"

"He would have been impeached," Thomas said flatly. "The elders would have declared him unfit to lead. Because choosing to doubt Ivory—questioning her integrity after fifteen years of absolute trustworthiness—that would have suggested the mating bond had compromised his judgment beyond repair."

"It wasn't fair to Luna Aria," the younger man said. "Putting her through that terror. Making her think she was actually going to die."

"No, it wasn't fair," the woman agreed. "But it was necessary. And Luna Aria needs to accept that sometimes leadership requires unfair but pragmatic decisions. Needs to understand that holding grudges over this will only make her situation worse."

"She also needs to understand what would have happened if Ivory had abused that trust," Thomas added, his voice grave. "If Ivory had lied about having evidence, if she'd used Kael's faith in her to actually get Luna Aria executed—Ivory would have been killed on the spot. That was the deal she made. She staked her own life on the certainty of her accusation."

"That's the difference between someone who deserves absolute trust and someone who doesn't," the woman said. "Ivory has proven, over and over, that she doesn't abuse the power that trust gives her. That she uses it only for truth and justice, not for personal gain or petty revenge."

"Luna Aria needs to build that same foundation," the younger man said. "Needs to prove she can be trusted with power, that she'll use her position responsibly, that she's worthy of the faith people place in Lunas."

"If she does that," Thomas said, "if she spends the next months or years actually contributing to the pack, actually earning respect through consistent action—then maybe the next time she's accused of something, people will give her the benefit of the doubt. Will rally to her defense the way they rallied for Ivory."

"But until then?" the woman asked.

"Until then, she's just the Luna who stumbled into the position," Thomas said bluntly. "The political convenience who brought chaos instead of value. The person who expects trust without earning it and then gets offended when people don't automatically believe in her innocence."

They continued talking, but I couldn't listen anymore. Couldn't stand there absorbing more brutal honesty about my failures and inadequacies. I turned and walked quickly away from the gardens, my vision blurring with tears I refused to shed where anyone might see.

They were right. Every word they'd said was right. I hadn't earned trust. Hadn't built the foundation that would make people believe in me during moments of crisis. Hadn't done anything to prove I deserved the position I held.

And holding grudges about yesterday—about being put on that platform, about the terror of nearly dying, about Kael's willingness to approve my execution—that wouldn't help. Would only make people resent me more, wish I was gone even more fervently than they already did.

I needed to find a way forward. Needed to start building the kind of trust that Ivory had spent fifteen years cultivating. Needed to become someone whose word mattered, whose integrity was beyond question, whose contributions made the pack stronger.

But I had no idea how to do that. No idea where to start. And the crushing weight of everything that had happened—the attack, the accusation, the near-execution, the realization of how completely I'd failed to integrate into this pack—made the prospect of trying feel overwhelming.

I found myself near the research wing without consciously heading there, drawn by some impulse I didn't fully understand. Maybe I needed to see Ivory, needed to talk to the woman who'd saved my life even while putting me through hell. Needed to understand how she'd built the kind of trust I so desperately lacked.

The door to Ivory's main laboratory was partially open, and I could hear voices inside. Margo's distinctive laugh, followed by Ivory's more restrained chuckle. They sounded happy, comfortable, engaged in work that mattered.

I should have walked away. Should have respected their privacy. But I found myself lingering in the corridor, listening to their conversation the same way I'd listened to the pack members in the garden.

"People have been greeting me all morning," Margo was saying, and I could hear the satisfaction in her voice. "Actually greeting me, welcoming me, thanking me for my part in getting the evidence needed. It's such a contrast to when I was working for Luna Aria."

"How so?" Ivory asked, distracted. I heard the clink of glass, the rustle of papers—sounds of ongoing research.

"When I served the Luna, people looked at me like I was tainted," Margo said bluntly. "Like working for her meant I was somehow suspect too. They'd acknowledge me politely enough, but there was always this distance. This careful neutrality, like they weren't sure if associating with me might reflect badly on them."

"And now?" Ivory prompted.

"Now they're congratulating me," Margo said. "Telling me how clever I was to flirt with that spy, how brave to retrieve those letters, how valuable my contribution was to catching him. People want to talk to me, want to know about the work I'm doing with you. I'm being treated like someone useful instead of someone just... there."

"Everyone has different jobs that help the pack function," Ivory said, and I heard gentle reproof in her tone. "Washing clothes and serving food are important work too. Someone has to do those things."

"I know," Margo said quickly. "I'm not saying those jobs don't matter. I'm just saying that I like this work better. Like feeling like I'm contributing something significant instead of just maintaining daily operations."

"You argued with Nina about the assignment," Ivory observed. "When you were first assigned to serve Luna Aria."

"For days," Margo confirmed, and I heard rustling that suggested she was organizing something—herbs or documents, probably. "I begged her to give me a different posting. Any different posting. Because serving Luna Aria felt like being punished. Like being sidelined from real pack work to attend to someone who didn't deserve the position she held."

"That seems harsh," Ivory said.

"It was honest," Margo corrected. "Everyone felt that way, they just didn't say it as openly as I did. And when Luna Aria finally sacked me—when she lost her temper and fired me for gossiping—it was the best thing that could have happened. For both of us, honestly."