Seraphina’s POV
Emptiness consud . That’s all I was now—a hollow shell where life once grew. My chest felt crushed under an invisible weight, my heart ripped from its cage. Nothing remained but this aching void.
Julian lingered at the foot of the hospital bed like a phantom. He appeared broken, defeated, but I felt nothing for him. No pity stirred in my chest. No sympathy softened my resolve.
"Take ho." The words scraped past my raw throat, but they carried the force of an ultimatum. I fixed him with a burning stare, seeing only the man who had caged , who had watched wither in that cold stone prison.
He shifted uncomfortably, uncertainty flickering across his features. "Seraphina, you shouldn’t be moving yet. The doctor said you need rest."
Rest? How could I rest when my child was gone? How could I close my eyes when my world had shattered? I held his gaze without blinking, and sothing in my expression made his shoulders sag in surrender.
"Let carry you," he murmured. "I can get you fresh clothes before we leave."
His offer tasted like poison on my tongue. "No." The word cracked like a whip through the sterile air. "Don’t touch ." My eyes dropped to the crimson stain spreading across my hospital gown—a dark accusation painted on pale fabric. "I’m wearing this ho. I want you to see it. I want everyone to witness what I’ve lost."
Julian moved closer, his hand reaching out before jerking back. "Seraphina, there’s sothing I have to tell you." His voice carried the weight of confession. "You didn’t kill my father."
The revelation should have mattered. It should have lifted so burden from my soul. Instead, it only deepened my anguish.
A bitter laugh tore from my throat—harsh, jagged, empty of any joy. My baby. My innocent child. Dead for nothing. "My baby died for nothing," I scread, the words ripping through like glass. The cruel irony twisted deeper into my wounds.
Pain flickered across his face, his eyes pleading for forgiveness I couldn’t give. "I didn’t know about the pregnancy, Seraphina. If I had known, I swear I never would have locked you away. I know it sounds like an excuse, but the pack was furious. So wanted you executed. The dungeon was the only place I could keep you safe."
Safe. The word mocked , dancing through my thoughts like a taunt. "The dungeon isn’t the problem, Julian!" My voice cracked under the strain. "The problem is you never listened to ! I believed I killed your father. I truly thought I was guilty. But it was never intentional. I wanted to kill Dorian—that monster deserved death. But sohow your father was there instead, bleeding on the ground."
The mory surfaced like a nightmare, fragnted and surreal. "All I knew was that soone was dead, and Dorian convinced it was my fault. Then he vanished, disappeared like smoke while I stood there covered in blood."
Julian stepped forward, reaching for my arm. "Seraphina, I’m so sorry—"
"Don’t co near !" I recoiled as if his touch would burn. My body jerked away instinctively. I forced myself from the bed, legs trembling but holding my weight. I would walk out of here with my own strength, even if I had to crawl. Julian followed at a distance, a silent shadow trailing behind.
The hospital corridor stretched before us, unnaturally quiet. But word had spread. Fang mbers lined the hallways, their faces a mixture of shock and pity. I ignored their stares, keeping my eyes fixed ahead. Each step sent fresh pain shooting through , a reminder of what I’d lost. But I continued forward, my bloodstained gown trailing behind like a banner of grief, a silent condemnation of their judgnt.
The journey ho felt endless. Every footfall was agony. Julian maintained his distance, neither speaking nor attempting to touch . When we finally reached our front door, I stopped. I couldn’t enter like this.
Turning to face him, I spoke with dead calm, my voice stripped of everything except cold hatred. "I despise you, Julian. I can’t stand being near you." My gaze shifted to the house, to the life waiting inside. "But I have two incredible children in there." A flicker of warmth penetrated my frozen heart. "They’ll see the blood imdiately. They’ll see how broken I am. It will terrify them." The thought of their innocent faces witnessing my destruction was unbearable. "I won’t subject them to that." My voice hardened again as I t his eyes. "So you’ll carry . Shield them from seeing like this."
This ti he didn’t hesitate. He simply nodded, his expression heavy with sorrow I refused to acknowledge. He lifted carefully, as though I might shatter at his touch. Despite my anger, my body betrayed , accepting the comfort while my mind raged against it. Fortunately, the children were nowhere in sight. He carried upstairs, past the living room, past the sounds of normal life, straight to my bedroom.
He set gently on the bed’s edge. My sanctuary. My private space. But his scent lingered everywhere, making my skin crawl with revulsion.
"Remove everything that belongs to you from this room," I commanded, my voice steady and final. "I don’t want your sll anywhere near ." I stared him down, daring him to object. "If you can’t manage that, I’m taking the children and leaving. We’ll disappear where you’ll never find us."
His face crumpled with pain, but I felt nothing. I wouldn’t soften. I couldn’t. "The only reason I’m staying in this house," I continued, "is because Theo deserves to know his father. It’s unfair to take that from him. And Elena still needs to see us functioning as a unit so she’ll accept as her stepmother." My tone turned arctic. "But us? We’re nothing but co-parents and unwilling mates bound by wolf instincts. Most importantly, I’m still this pack’s Luna. Soday, my son will be Alpha, and this is his inheritance."
Deep inside, my wolf howled—a primal sound of heartbreak that threatened to tear apart. It craved its mate, yearned for healing, for connection. But I wouldn’t surrender. I wouldn’t repeat this cycle of betrayal and hollow apologies, pretending everything could return to normal.
Not this ti. Never again. I closed my eyes, sealing a promise in the depths of my shattered soul. This pattern ends now.
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