The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter Chapter 238: The Hollow in the Heart

Easter~

For three days, life felt exactly the sa. Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

Each morning started in my familiar little haven—our sun-dappled house tucked beneath whispering trees in a quiet, picturesque neighborhood. Light slipped through the sheer curtains in golden streams, dancing on the wooden floor. The air slled like pine needles and damp earth, and the birds outside chirped their usual cheerful song. Nothing seed out of place.

And then ca Rose, as always—my little ray of warmth—climbing into my bed with her tangled curls and sleepy grin, her tiny fingers patting at my cheek.

"Mama," she whispered, her voice barely a breath against the quiet morning—the very first morning I started feel the edges of my world shift. Her warm cheek nestled against mine. "Where’s Uncle Tiger?"

I opened one eye, brushing a few strands of her hair out of her face. "Uncle who, baby?"

"Uncle Tiger," she said, very seriously, sitting up and blinking at with those big green eyes. "And Uncle Jacob. And Alex. And Auntie Natalie. And Bubble. And Fox. And Eagle."

I let out a sleepy chuckle, ruffling her curls. "That’s quite the crew, sweetheart. Did they all show up in a dream?"

She didn’t laugh. Instead, she stared at like I was the one who’d gotten sothing wrong.

"No, Mama. They’re real. We live with them. We always play together. Don’t you rember?"

I forced a smile, kissed her forehead, and wrapped the blanket tighter around her. "You’ve got the wildest imagination, pumpkin."

But when she curled back into my arms, her brow still furrowed with frustration and concern, I felt... sothing. A flicker. A shift. Like a whisper in the back of my mind, or a tug on a loose thread I hadn’t noticed before. Just enough to make pause.

After that morning, nothing was quite the sa.

Breakfast still happened—oatal drizzled with honey, toast slathered in jam—but now, every al ca with stories. Rose would talk casually, as though picking up right where she’d left off. She spoke of her "Uncles" and "Auntie" and her best friend Alex like they’d just stepped into the other room.

She described them in detail that felt too vivid to dismiss: Uncle Tiger was huge and golden, with a deep voice and hands like a rock. He always got protective when soone upset her. Uncle Jacob, she said, had eyes "like warm soup" and a voice "that felt like marshmallows" (her words, not mine).

Alex was funny and always knew where to find the best hiding spots. Eagle would lift her onto his shoulders and fly through the clouds. Fly, she said. Like it was nothing. Bubble sang lullabies that made her very happy. Uncle Fox gave her cookies and winked when Mama wasn’t looking. And Auntie Natalie braided her hair just right.

"You should rember, Mama," she said on the third morning, standing barefoot by the window, staring into the trees like she expected soone—sothing—to walk out of them. "You said you love Uncle Jacob too. You always talk to Uncle Tiger about him."

My spoon clattered against my bowl.

"I—I what?" I laughed, trying to keep it light. "You’re silly. I don’t even know a Jacob."

She turned to slowly, blinking those big erald eyes that looked so much like mine. "Yes you do," she whispered.

I stood there, heart thudding a little louder than it should’ve. I opened my mouth to ask what she ant, but the words dissolved before they ford.

Because sothing in her voice—soft, matter-of-fact, sincere—wasn’t just pretend. It was... familiar.

Like I should rember.

Like maybe I did.

Once.

By the third day, I couldn’t shake it anymore.

There was a...hollowness in my chest. Not like sadness. Not like fear. It was a vacuum. A gnawing ache like sothing had been scooped out of with a spoon and left empty. Everything looked normal, sounded normal, was normal—and yet nothing felt real.

I went to my classes. I turned in my assignnts. I laughed when my classmates cracked jokes and even blushed when a guy nad Devin asked if I wanted to grab coffee soti.

But then I’d go ho. I’d watch Rose sleep. And I’d feel like soone had drawn a curtain over a window in my soul, and behind it was sothing vital, sothing I needed to breathe—and I didn’t even know what it was.

"Uncle Jacob," Rose whispered again that night. She was sleep-talking, her small lips moving like butterfly wings. "Don’t go..."

I sat beside her bed and cried silently, the tears slipping down my cheeks like I was mourning soone I didn’t know had died.

It was the fourth morning when everything changed.

I was walking down the gravel path that led from my house toward the main road—my worn canvas bag slung over my shoulder, a thermos of tea in one hand, and the early light brushing warmth across my face. I had just dropped Rose at kindergarten. She had been quiet that morning, clinging to tighter than usual, like she knew sothing. Her little face had pressed into my neck as she whispered, "Don’t forget again, Mama."

"Forget what, baby?" I asked, but she only looked at with eyes that were far too ancient for a three-year-old.

I was distracted, replaying that look in my mind, when it happened.

My toe caught on sothing hard—just a stone, barely sticking out from the path—and I stumbled. But this was no ordinary fall.

I went down hard.

One second I was upright, the next—crack—my knees hit the ground like twin hamrs, shredding through denim and skin. The sting was instant, raw and electric, but it didn’t stop there. Montum carried forward. I couldn’t catch myself. Couldn’t stop it.

I slamd face-first into the earth.

The wind shot out of in a brutal whoosh. My stomach—my baby—took the hit. My hands flew to my belly, instinct screaming louder than logic.

No. No, no, no... Please, God. Not this.

A wildfire ignited deep in my gut—blazing, rciless, alive. My muscles spasd. I tried to push myself up, but my arms buckled like wet paper. I couldn’t get air. Couldn’t think. All I could do was scream.

"AHHH!"

It tore out of like sothing feral. I clawed at the dirt, fingers digging into damp earth and brittle leaves. The taste of blood and grit coated my tongue. My body curled in on itself, protective, primal—because nothing else mattered now.

I had to shield the life inside .

My baby. My baby...

The edges of the world began to tilt, like gravity had snapped sideways. Trees bled into sky. Everything spun. Everything slipped.

And then—

Black.