Chapter 9

(Mia’s POV)

“Sean, please walk Miss Mia out,” Norman said with calm authority.

I didn’t argue.

Reid’s company still needed funds, and I wasn’t about to rack up a hospital parking bill out of pride.

(Shawn’s POV)

I arrived moments after she left, trailing behind the Healer and the Pack Doctor.

“Norman!” I called out, feigning concern. “The Healer said someone barged in and caused trouble.”

The Pack Doctor rushed forward, his panic evident. “Alpha Norman, let me examine you. Just to be sure—”

Norman raised his hand, waving him off. “I’m fine. It was… a misunderstanding.”

The Healer, however, was not ready to let it go. “Misunderstanding? She was sticking needles in your skull! That is no minor—”

Norman gave her a look.

She went dead silently.

I narrowed my eyes. Needles? Sounded like ancient magic. Dangerous, unregulated, and unpredictable. Exactly the kind of thing that could shatter an alliance.

“Norman,” I began cautiously, “you know how important Moon Pack is to us. I’ve already spoken to my third son—he’s studying medicine. He could help when he returns. You should not trust just anyone.”

That’s when I noticed it—a worn canvas bag on Norman’s bedside table.

A relic from another world. One that didn’t belong in this high-rise hospital suite filled with polished chrome and sterile wealth.

Norman followed my gaze. Then he looked up and met my eyes.

I knew that look. Judgment. Disgust.

He wasn’t just thinking about the bag. He was thinking about her—my daughter, the one I’d ignored, undervalued, cast aside.

“I’ll handle my health on my own, Shawn,” Norman said coldly. “You can see yourself out.”

I clenched my jaw, but there was no arguing with him. I turned on my heel and walked out.

(Mia’s POV)

As soon as the car door shut behind me, I peeled off my disguise—the glasses, the frumpy coat, the whole clumsy-nerd act. My long hair fell down my back, and Sean actually gulped when he looked at me.

“You really think you can cure my dad?” he asked, eyes still flicking over my face like he couldn’t decide whether to believe me or fall at my feet.

I gave him a sidelong glance. “Of course. And I can cure you, too.”

He choked on his breath, the car swerving so hard we nearly hit the median strip.

“W-What?!”

“You heard me,” I said casually, tapping his cheek. “Your condition isn’t subtle. Any competent Pack Doctor could’ve spotted it. You’re impotent.”

His face drained of color. He slammed the brakes, heart pounding like I’d pulled a gun.

“Nobody knows that” he hissed. “Nobody. How did you—?”

“I see things.”

I sent him a prescription via text. “Take one dose tonight. It’ll work tonight. But for a full cure, you’ll need more.”

Sean stared at the message. He didn’t say anything, but he saved it. Quietly. Secretly. Like a lifeline he wasn’t ready to admit he needed.

The rest of the drive was dead silent. Sean avoided eye contact like I’d stripped him naked.

When we pulled into the villa district, he didn’t even wait for me to say goodbye. Just dropped me off and drove off like the gates of hell were on his heels.

I scaled the wall like always—but something was different. The crumbling stone base I usually used was gone, replaced with smooth bluestone slabs.

Did he pave this for me?

I could’ve used the front door, sure. But sneaking in was safer—and besides, it was a habit now. A secret between us.

Kane wasn’t by the second-floor window like usual.

I sprinted up the stairs and found him in the bedroom, sitting in his wheelchair, eyes dark and distant.

My heart twisted. “What’s wrong? Did someone piss you off?”

He looked down, avoiding my eyes. “No.”

That was a lie.

I knew it. He was hurting again—emotionally, this time. And it made something sharp twist in my chest.

I sat beside him and pulled two paper packets from my bag. “I made these for you. This one’s itching powder. That one knocks people out. Use them if someone tries to hurt you.”

I pressed the packets into his hands. They were large, warm that used to carry me, shield me, hold me.

When I brushed his palm with my finger, something in him stilled.

“No one’s trying to hurt me,” he muttered.

“Really? Then what happened to your face?”

His silence was the answer enough.

“They’re not people,” he said at last.

I bent down and cupped his jaw, forcing him to look at me. “Then they are garbage. And they don’t get to win.”

His breath hitched. His whole body tensed.

I leaned in, closer and closer, my voice low, sultry. “Stop squirming. I’m just checking your wound.”

When he didn’t move away, I carefully peeled back the gauze. The cut was healing nicely.

“Once that’s better, we’ll start the herbal baths. Acupuncture, healing soaks, maybe even therapy. You’ll be walking again soon.”

He nodded. “Tell me what herbs you need. I’ll have them delivered.”

That simple trust cracked something open in me. I would not fail him again.

As I re-bandaged his forehead, my gaze flicked to his hair.

A mess.

“Want me to wash your hair?”

He looked scandalized. “No, I— That’s not necessary.”

“It’s decided.”

I wheeled him into the bathroom before he could argue. Adjusted the recline so he could lean back. Draped a towel around his shoulders. Kept everything professional.

Or at least I tried to.

I turned on the water, testing the temperature—and then the pressure surged unexpectedly.

A jet of water blasted out.

I panicked and turned the showerhead toward myself, soaking my T-shirt instantly. The fabric clung to my skin, revealing every curve, every inch.

Kane’s eyes snapped shut like a slammed door. His face flushed deep red, the blush creeping down his neck.

His fingers clenched the armrests of his chair like they were the only thing tethering him to earth.

I bit my lip to hide a smile.

Serve him right.

We were fated, after all.