Rejected By My Mate; Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets Chapter 139

Lisa's POV

I woke up to the soft warmth of sunlight spilling across my face. For once, I didn’t feel the sharp edge of exhaustion dragging me down. My body felt light, and my mind surprisingly calm, as if the chaos of the night before had been wrapped in cotton and pushed to the far corners of my memory. I stretched, slowly, savoring the silence of my room.

The window was slightly cracked, letting in the faint fragrance of dew on the grass and blooming flowers from the garden. I sat up in bed, pulling the sheets closer to me, and just stayed still for a moment. The quiet was rare here. Usually, mornings started with noise—guards stomping around, voices carrying from the courtyard, doors opening and shutting. But today, it was just me, and the muted sounds of nature drifting in.

I decided not to rush. No need to dive straight into the thick of whatever storm might be brewing outside. Instead, I washed up lazily, brushed through my hair, and put on a soft, light dress that fell against my skin like a sigh. Nothing dramatic, nothing for show—just comfort.

By the time I walked out of my room, the mansion was beginning to stir. I caught the faint sound of footsteps from upstairs, the distant clinking of dishes in the kitchen, and the low murmur of a few guards outside. I didn’t bother with breakfast inside; I wanted air. I wanted space.

So, I carried myself down the hall and out into the back garden.

The garden was one of my favorite spots here. It stretched out in neat rows of roses, lilies, and peonies, their colors weaving into a living tapestry. The air smelled sweet and rich, carrying the faintest buzz of bees at work. There was a small stone bench tucked beneath an old oak tree, and sitting there always felt like stepping into another world—a softer one, detached from everything else.

To my surprise, Calla was already there. She had a basket in her hand and was bending over to clip a few lavender stems, her dark hair falling forward in a messy braid. Calla wasn’t just any maid; she was warm, kind, and easy to talk to, almost like the older sister I never had. She noticed me right away, her face breaking into a bright smile.

“Lisa!” she called, her voice carrying in that cheerful way only she managed. “Good morning. You’re up earlier than I thought.”

I walked over, sinking onto the bench. “And you’re already out here working,” I said with a small laugh. “Do you ever rest?”

She shook her head, grinning. “Rest is boring. Besides, mornings in the garden are the best. Look—” She held up the lavender she’d just clipped, pressing it lightly under her nose. “Smells like peace. Try it.”

I leaned in as she brought it closer, inhaling the soothing scent. “Mmm. You’re right. I needed that.”

Calla set the lavender into her basket and settled down beside me. She brushed her hands off on her apron, then tilted her head toward me. “So… how are you today? You look… different. Relaxed, maybe?”

I smiled faintly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Do I? I don’t feel like I usually do. No heaviness today. Just… calm. It feels strange.”

“Strange in a good way?” she asked.

I thought for a moment. “Yeah. In a good way.”

She hummed, leaning back against the bench. “Then let’s not ruin it. Let’s talk about things that make you feel even lighter.”

I laughed softly. “Like what? Gossip? Or deep life talk?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Both. Always both.”

I nodded. “Fine. You start.”

Calla tapped her chin, pretending to think hard. “Alright. Life first. Lisa, do you believe in love?”

The question made me blink. “That’s… direct.”

“I know,” she said, smirking. “But I want to hear your answer.”

I looked down at my hands, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my dress. “Yes. I mean, I think I do. At least, I want to. Love feels like one of those things you’re supposed to believe in, even if it hurts sometimes. Maybe especially because it hurts.”

Calla studied me quietly. “That sounds like the answer of someone who’s been bruised by it.”

“Maybe I have.” My voice came out softer than I intended. “But I still… I don’t know. I want to believe it’s worth it.”

She sighed, leaning her chin into her palm. “You’re braver than me, then. I think love’s overrated.”

I looked at her in surprise. “Really? You don’t want it?”

“I didn’t say I don’t want it. I just don’t think it’s as magical as people make it out to be. Most of the time, it’s messy. Complicated. People fall in love, then fall apart. And the in-between is just full of confusion.”

I smiled faintly. “Maybe that’s what makes it beautiful. The mess.”

She laughed. “You’re too much of a romantic, Lisa.”

“Maybe,” I admitted. “What about you? Have you ever been in love?”

Calla’s smile faltered, and she turned her gaze to the flowers. “Once. A long time ago. It didn’t end well. Let’s just say it taught me why I call love overrated.”

I reached over, touching her arm gently. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be. It’s just life. Everyone has a story.” She glanced back at me. “Speaking of stories… what about you? You talk like you’ve been in love before.”

I hesitated. My mind flickered through moments, faces, feelings I wasn’t ready to put into words. “I’ve… felt things. Strong things. But I don’t know if I’d call it love. Not the kind that lasts, anyway.”

Calla smirked, nudging me with her elbow. “Maybe it wasn’t love because you’re saving the real thing for later.”

I chuckled. “You make it sound so simple.”

She shrugged. “Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s not.” She paused, then tilted her head. “Do you want the kind of love that lasts forever?”

The question hung between us. I thought carefully before answering. “Yes. Even if it’s rare. Even if it’s hard. I want something real, something that doesn’t just burn out when things get tough.”

Calla smiled softly at me, her eyes warm. “Then I hope you get it. You deserve it.”

The sincerity in her voice hit me harder than I expected. I swallowed, blinking quickly, and forced a smile. “Thank you.”

For a while, we sat in comfortable silence, just listening to the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of life around us.

Then, Calla broke it with a mischievous grin. “Alright, enough deep talk. Time for gossip.”

I laughed, grateful for the shift. “Okay, go on.”

She leaned closer, lowering her voice as if anyone could overhear us here. “Did you know Maris, one of the kitchen girls, has been sneaking out at night to meet a boy from the village?”

My eyes widened. “No! Really?”

Calla nodded, grinning. “I caught her once. Thought she was sneaking bread again, but nope—she was fixing her hair and sneaking out the back door. She came back hours later, looking like she’d just run a marathon.”

I gasped, covering my mouth. “And she didn’t tell anyone?”

“Of course not. She probably thinks she’ll get scolded. But honestly, I think it’s sweet.”

I shook my head, smiling. “You call love overrated, but here you are, enjoying other people’s little romances.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Hey, I never said I don’t enjoy watching the mess.”

We both burst into laughter, the sound echoing softly through the garden.

The rest of the morning slipped away like that—light conversation, laughter, moments of unexpected honesty. We talked about everything: her childhood stories, my silly fears, dreams we never told anyone else. Calla confessed she sometimes wished she could run away from all of this and live in a quiet little house by the sea. I admitted I sometimes felt like I didn’t know who I was supposed to be, caught between expectations and my own heart.

And somehow, sitting there with her, all of it felt easier to say.

By the time the sun climbed high overhead, our voices were hoarse from so much talking and laughing. Calla stretched, groaning dramatically. “Alright, enough soul-baring. Let’s get some lunch before I faint.”

I laughed, standing up with her. “Deal. But next time, I’m bringing the gossip.”

She grinned, looping her arm through mine as we walked back toward the house together.