(Olivia Vane's POV)
I walked away from Andrew, feeling his gaze burning into my back. The servant led me through the familiar corridors of Emerald Heights Estate, their footsteps measured and precise ahead of mine.
The grand dining room opened before me, its opulence unchanged after three years. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the long mahogany table where the Obsidian family elders were already seated.
At the head sat Elder Obsidian Senior-Andrew's grandfather-his imposing figure commanding respect despite his advanced age. His eyes, the same amber as Andrew's, lit up when he saw me.
"Olivia! Come, sit by me," he called, gesturing to an empty chair.
I felt a small measure of relief. Elder Obsidian Senior had always been kind to me, even when the rest of the family treated me with thinly veiled contempt.
Andrew entered behind me, taking his place beside his grandfather. His father, Arthur Obsidian, sat opposite, his expression as reserved as ever. Andrew's mother-Elder Obsidian-settled nearby, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval.
"You're looking well, my dear," Elder Obsidian Senior said, patting my hand. Despite nearing seventy, he radiated vitality and strength. "Too thin, perhaps. You healers work too hard."
Before I could respond, he turned to Andrew, his expression hardening.
"And you, grandson. Three years managing pack affairs abroad? You've almost forgotten your own pack roots."
Andrew's smile was easy, practiced. "I was expanding our influence, Grandfather. The Silvermist Pack's reach extends further than ever."
The old Alpha's stern expression softened slightly, but concern lingered in his eyes. He glanced between Andrew and me, the rift between us as obvious as a physical wound.
"Andrew," he said, his voice carrying the weight of decades of leadership, "you must treat your mate well. The pack expects its Alpha pair to live together harmoniously."
Andrew's expression grew solemn. "I understand, Grandfather."
His eyes slid to me as I quietly picked at the venison steak on my plate. With deliberate care, he placed another piece of venison onto my plate.
I coldly set it aside with my fork, refusing to touch his offering. The gesture wasn't lost on anyone at the table.
After dinner, Elder Obsidian Senior rose with a slight groan. "These old bones need rest. Goodnight, children."
As soon as he disappeared upstairs, the atmosphere at the table turned caustic.
"Olivia," Elder Obsidian began, her voice dripping with false concern, "you've grown so thin. Are you not eating properly? Or perhaps the stress of your... position... is too much for you?"
I endured her barbs in silence, knowing from experience that resistance only prolonged the ordeal. Once, I might have retorted, but three years had taught me the futility of fighting back.