Dorothea Caddel, is born into a wealthy family that can easily give her a plane or a planet to her wishes but what if something deep is hidden in the mask of a perfect family, a devil that she fears but soon learns to accept as love. That story chan...
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Finally, Carlisle, Dorothea, and Esme arrived at their destination with their last witness, Alistair. The air was cool and crisp as they stepped out of the vehicle. Carlisle and Esme, ever composed, scanned the familiar surroundings of their temporary home. Alistair and Dorothea remained in the backseat for a moment, their gazes distant.
"Try not to make a scene, Ally," Dorothea warned with a knowing smile, the weight of her words more playful than serious. Alistair chuckled softly, glancing at Dorothea with a wry smile. His eyes, dark and contemplative, met hers for a brief moment, his unease palpable.
"I can't believe I got myself into this mess," he muttered, his tone sarcastic but laced with frustration. "How is it I can't say 'no' to you?"
Dorothea's lips twitched into a small smile, amusement flickering in her eyes. She knew it wasn't genuine hostility—it was Alistair's anxiety talking. He had always been a bit of a lone wolf, never quite fitting in with the Cullen family's dynamic. But she didn't take it to heart. Instead, she stepped out of the car, her movements graceful as she adjusted her coat.
Alistair followed suit, his hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze never fully leaving the ground. As they walked toward the house, they were met by Bella and Edward, who were already chatting with Carlisle and Esme. Alistair barely acknowledged them, his focus solely on Carlisle.
"We're all going to be on Aro's list now," he grumbled, his face contorted in distaste. "Centuries on the run. That's what you've brought me into. Some friend, Carlisle."
Dorothea let out a quiet, almost melodic laugh at his words, the sound light but with a hint of sharpness. "Come now, Ally. Don't pretend you're not secretly enjoying this," she teased, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. But Alistair just shot her a look that was more exasperation than amusement.
"Alistair, come meet everyone," Carlisle said, his voice calm, though there was a trace of an unspoken plea for peace in his tone. He tried to loosen the tension, but Alistair's eyes narrowed.
"I already told you," Alistair said firmly, "if it comes to a fight, I won't stand against the Volturi." His words were blunt, his voice carrying a weight of finality that hinted at long-held mistrust.
Carlisle, ever the diplomat, responded without missing a beat. "It won't come to a fight," he reassured, though the doubt was evident in his voice.
It was clear that, despite their shared history, Alistair and Carlisle had never truly meshed. Dorothea could see the underlying tension between the two—one that went beyond simple disagreement. But that wasn't her concern. She glanced at Alistair, who was already heading toward the attic without a second word. Before he disappeared from sight, she called out to him, her voice light and teasing.
"Be careful up there, Ally!" Her words seemed almost playful, but there was something in her tone that made it clear she was genuinely concerned. Alistair gave her a simple wave, his back already to them as he continued on his way.
