Chasing Emory: The Hidden Princess

Chapter 2: Homecoming

GELLER'S POV

Six years.

Six long years since I packed my bags and left for college. I'd been waiting for that moment. To escape from my family. Six years spent burying old memories, burying who I had been, and building a new life.

And now, I am heading back.

My dad had been pushing me to come back as soon as I graduated, but I kept ignoring his requests. I couldn’t bring myself to return to the place where everything had fallen apart. The home I once knew was gone, replaced by Olivia and Emory—the new life my father had built without me.

So, I stayed away. I threw myself into one of the family companies, keeping my distance and trying to drown everything in work. Occasionally, when the loneliness became too much, I’d go out with she-wolves to fill the void.

Lately, I’ve been spending time with Phoebe: a gorgeous, tall, brunette, and the daughter of an Alpha from one of the packs in the Myranthia Kingdom. But I guess I’ll have to end things with her now that I’m going back.

A few months after I graduated, I received some disturbing news. Olivia had been brutally murdered while she was away on an outreach program. The reports didn’t say much. Just a few lines about her death, a vague mention of how she’d been tortured before being killed. But that didn’t reveal much. I knew my father, and I knew this wasn’t just another tragedy. It was personal.

As sorry as I felt for Olivia, and the bit of sympathy I had for Emory—because, despite everything, no one deserved to lose their mother—it still didn’t make me want to come back. Even though I knew my father would be shattered, I didn’t feel ready to face him. He loved Olivia. She had been his fated mate.

I didn’t hate Emory any less, though, and I didn’t want to play the dutiful son.

Still, my curiosity, that nagging itch I couldn’t ignore, pushed me to dig a little deeper. I searched online, hoping for something more, but the information on Olivia’s death was sparse, almost suspiciously so. There was nothing concrete, just empty words and vague details.

What really stood out, though, was how my father had been acting in the months since. He had become overly protective, almost obsessive about Emory. Not only did he shield her from any media attention, but there wasn’t a single photo of her anywhere. No interviews, no social media accounts. Nothing. She was a ghost, and my father seemed determined to keep it that way.

But why?

I couldn’t help but wonder what had really happened. What was my father hiding?

For a brief moment, Dad stopped nagging me. Until a few days ago, when I received a message that made my blood run cold.

It was from my father. But this time, his demand was more urgent than ever. He wasn’t asking me to return to the pack, he was ordering it. He told me that if I didn’t come back to take over as Alpha, he’d give the position to my best friend, Knox, who had always been by my side and who was soon to become the future Beta.

One thing about my father: he never makes an empty threat.

He was done waiting.

As much as I wanted to stay away, as much as I dreaded the idea of facing a home I no longer recognized, I packed my bags. I couldn’t let Knox take what was mine.

I braced myself for what was to come. The trip home felt endless, each mile a reminder of the place I was about to return to. One that had been turned upside down. There was no turning back now. I was about to walk into a house full of ghosts, and the last person I ever wanted to see: Emory.

It was already past noon when I finally reached home. As soon as I stepped out of the car, I saw Dad waiting by the front door of the mansion. He looked older, so much older than I remembered. The weight loss, the lines etched deep into his face, and the faint stoop in his shoulders were jarring. Guilt suddenly hit me. He took losing Olivia hard, and I wasn’t there when he needed me most. Instead, I’d been cold and dismissive for years, ignoring his calls and brushing off his attempts to reach out.

“Welcome back, son,” he greeted me with a warm smile, his voice steady but softer than I recalled. “How was your drive?”

“It was fine,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral. “Just a little tired from the trip.”

“I had your room prepared,” he said, gesturing for me to follow as he led me inside.

The mansion was quieter than I remembered. The halls seemed almost lifeless, the only sounds coming from the kitchen, where two maids were bustling about, likely preparing for dinner. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of someone stepping out from the kitchen.

“Nana Bertha,” I said, a flicker of genuine warmth in my voice.

“Geller! Look at you!” she exclaimed, her face lighting up as she waddled over to me. She reached out, pinching my biceps with a grin. “Look how much you’ve grown—so strong now! Welcome back, dear boy.”

I gave her a nod and a small smile. Seeing her felt like a sliver of the old life I missed.

Dad didn’t stop, and I followed him upstairs.

“Where’s the little brat?” I asked suddenly, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice.

Dad paused but didn’t seem surprised by the question. “Your sister has schoolwork to finish, but she’ll be home in time for dinner,” he answered evenly. Then, with a faint smile, he added, “And she’s not little anymore.”

“So… a bigger brat, then?” I quipped.

He ignored the remark, his expression unchanged as we reached the door to my old room. “I’ll be in my office if you need anything,” he said before turning and walking away.

I stepped inside and was greeted by a wave of familiarity. Not much had changed. The sheets and curtains were new, but the rest of the room was exactly how I’d left it. My old things were still in place, like frozen memories waiting for me to return.

The exhaustion of the trip hit me all at once. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, I sank into my bed. The mattress felt like an old friend, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to feel the comfort of being back home—back to the time before Olivia and Emory transformed my home beyond recognition.

My eyes grew heavy, and before I could stop myself, sleep pulled me under.

A persistent knock on the door jolted me awake. I blinked, disoriented, realizing that the room was bathed in the dim light of evening. I had slept longer than I’d planned. It was already past sundown.

“Geller, you have to come down for dinner!” Nana Bertha’s familiar voice called from the other side of the door.

“I’m coming, Nana,” I yelled back, shaking off the lingering grogginess.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching out the stiffness from my unexpected nap. If I didn’t hurry, I’d get an earful from Nana Bertha. She wasn’t one to mess with, especially when it came to mealtime.

Not wanting to tempt fate, I quickly left my room and headed down the stairs, taking two steps at a time. The savory aroma of dinner wafted through the air, guiding me to the dining room.

When I entered, Dad was already seated at the head of the table, his usual spot, looking calm and collected as ever. He glanced up as I approached, offering a faint smile. I nodded in return and took my usual seat to his right, a place I hadn’t occupied in years.

The maids, Sally and Rita, began serving the food, but Dad hadn’t touched his plate. I was about to ask him why when his head lifted, his gaze snapping toward the sound of the front door creaking open.

“You’re late,” Nana Bertha’s sharp voice carried from the entrance. Her tone was her signature blend of scolding and concern. “Get in there. Dinner’s already being served.”

And then I heard her voice, soft and familiar, yet different somehow.

“Sorry, Nana,” Emory apologized. “I missed the bus and had to wait for the next one.”

I nearly choked on the chicken strip I’d just swallowed when I heard it. His precious princess taking a bus?

I stared down at the food on my plate, refusing to look up. I didn’t need to see her. I didn’t want to see her. I wasn’t about to let her ruin my appetite.

“Your sister is here,” Dad announced, a warmth in his tone that hadn’t been there all day. He sounded genuinely pleased, almost relieved.

I gave him a curt nod, biting my tongue to keep from saying what I really wanted to. She’s not my sister.

The sound of a chair being dragged across the floor snapped my attention for a moment. Her school bag thudded onto the floor, followed by the soft scrape of her pulling out the chair across from me.

“Sorry I’m late, Dad,” Emory said. Then she paused, her voice softening. “Geller… welcome back.”

I finally looked up, expecting a smirk, a sneer, maybe some sarcastic comment that would remind me of the brat she had always been. But what I saw instead stopped me cold.

She was smiling. Not the mischievous grin I remembered, but a gentle, innocent smile.

And she wasn’t a child anymore.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. Her features were no longer the soft, round edges of a kid but sharp, refined, almost striking. She had curves in all the right places now, graceful and feminine. The only things that remained were her expressive blue eyes and her big, curly auburn hair.

For a second, I just stared, confused. Not confused, stunned.

The Emory I remembered wasn’t there.

Her smile faltered when I didn’t respond. Slowly, she looked away, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her napkin.

“How was school, princess?” Dad asked, his voice breaking the silence and easing the awkward tension settling over the table.

“Busy,” she replied simply, keeping her head down.

That was it. No endless chatter, no annoying stories, no loud interruptions that made me want to storm out of the room. Just one word. Busy.

She spent the rest of the meal like that: silent, reserved, her gaze fixed on her plate.

I couldn’t understand it. I had spent years knowing her as an insufferable chatterbox, someone who could never sit still or keep quiet. And yet here she was, acting timid, almost meek.

It unsettled me more than I cared to admit.