Chapter 3: Doppelganger

Cora's POV

Just as doubt creeps into my mind, a sudden wave of dizziness knocks the breath out of me.

Gasping for air, I stumble toward the loveseat, barely able to steady myself. My limbs feel awkward, numb, almost foreign. Before I can catch my balance, a violent surge of nausea rises from deep inside me. Clutching my stomach, I lurch toward the bathroom.

I barely manage to flip the toilet seat open before vomiting uncontrollably.

Groaning, I cling to the sides of the bowl, my body shuddering with each painful heave. Another wave of nausea hits, forcing me to empty my stomach once more. I can’t tell how long I stay there, trembling and weak, but eventually the sickness begins to ebb, leaving me drained.

Wiping my mouth, I stagger to the sink. Cold water splashes across my face as I stare into the mirror—my reflection pale, my eyes wide and glassy, my lower lip trembling.

Something feels wrong. This doesn’t feel like ordinary stress. This isn’t just sadness or fear twisting my stomach. It’s something deeper, something out of my control.

And then, like a lightning bolt, the thought strikes me—

Could I be pregnant?

My heart leaps into my throat. It feels reckless to even hope, but the possibility lodges itself firmly in my mind.

If I’m pregnant… maybe Liam will finally care.

Maybe he’ll finally see me—not just as an obligation, but as someone important.

Even if it’s only for the sake of our child.

I press my trembling hands to my stomach, feeling a surge of protectiveness rise inside me. I can’t afford to get my hopes up without proof. I need answers.

I’ll go to the hospital myself. Quietly. If it’s true... I’ll surprise Liam with the news tonight.

Mind made up, I wipe my face, straighten my clothes, and head out the door. The pack hospital sits right beside the pack house, and my footsteps quicken with every step.

At the front desk, I can hardly stay still. My nerves are stretched thin as a nurse finally calls my name and leads me into a small, sterile exam room.

“We’ll run a blood test and a urine test to check if you’re pregnant,” the nurse says kindly.

“If you are, we’ll schedule an ultrasound and a full check-up. If not…” She shrugs. “We can talk about fertility treatments.”

My throat tightens. “Alright,” I manage, my voice shaking slightly.

She wraps a tourniquet around my arm and draws blood with practiced ease. I barely feel the sting of the needle. After bandaging the tiny puncture, she hands me a small cup.

“For the urine sample,” she says. “We’ll have the results in about two hours. Please try to stay nearby.”

I nod and make my way to the bathroom, my hands clammy. After handing over the sample, I realize that sitting around waiting will only make me more anxious.

I decide to take a walk.

The hospital is large, and I haven’t explored much of the Snowcrest pack yet. Maybe stretching my legs will help calm my nerves.

I wander through the wide, polished hallways, passing by bustling nurses and the occasional gurney. Patients with far heavier burdens than mine lie quietly, surrounded by machines and monitors. A pang of sympathy tugs at my heart.

As I turn down another hallway, a familiar figure catches my eye.

My mother.

I freeze.

She’s hurrying around the corner, her face drawn with distress, her hand furtively wiping away tears.

Confusion swirls inside me.

My parents—Alpha and Luna of the Bloodthorn Pack—have no reason to be here, in Snowcrest territory.

Before I can think better of it, I step forward, instinctively wanting to call out to her. But she doesn’t see me. Instead, she rushes into a nearby VIP hospital room, the door swinging shut behind her.

Unease gnaws at me.

Is she sick? Is something wrong?

Without a second thought, I follow her. I slip inside the room just before the door closes.

And what I see stops me cold.

A girl lies in the hospital bed, hooked up to what feels like an endless web of wires and machines. Her face is pale, her body frail, but she’s alive.

Sitting beside her, gently spooning food to her lips, is Liam.

My husband.

But it’s not just his presence. It’s the tenderness in his every movement. The way his gaze softens as he watches her. A kind of gentleness I’ve never seen from him—not once—not even on our wedding night.

My mother stands near the bed, her expression heavy with concern. My father too, his Alpha’s mask nowhere to be seen, replaced by something raw and heartbreaking.

I blink, willing the scene to make sense.

And then my gaze shifts.

I see the girl’s face clearly for the first time.

She looks exactly like me.