Chapter 45

**Chapter 45**

**Aria’s POV**

Truth be told, I had always been a rather particular eater. It was a trait that had followed me throughout my life. Growing up in my grandmother’s home, I often found myself the target of playful teasing regarding my selective palate. My grandmother, Kate Osbourne, was a revered Elder in our pack, the Moonshadow pack, and her laughter often echoed through the halls of our home, especially when it came to my eating habits.

She would affectionately pinch my ear, a mischievous glint in her eye, and call me her “little food snob.” At the time, I would huff and puff, storming off in protest over some dish I refused to touch. Yet, deep down, I understood her intentions; she only wanted to coax a smile from me.

And laugh I did, even as I stomped away, grumbling about the culinary atrocities I had encountered. But without fail, Kate would emerge from the kitchen, a plate of her beloved tomato dishes in hand, crafted just for me.

Those dishes were always a delightful balance of sweet and sour, a symphony of flavors that I found utterly irresistible. Even during my most bratty moods, I couldn’t help but devour them with enthusiasm, relishing each and every bite.

But then came the years in prison. All of that—every bit of delicacy and joy—vanished. That version of me, the one who savored the simple pleasures of food, didn’t survive the harsh realities of the cellblock. During the year and a half I spent confined behind those unforgiving walls, I learned to swallow down meals I would have turned my nose up at before, adapting to a world that offered little in the way of comfort.