002

SERENA’S POV

That night I lay awake for hours, eyes fixed on the ceiling while the pale moonlight stretched long, restless shadows across the walls. The quiet did not soothe me. It pressed down like a physical weight on my chest, heavy and unyielding. I shifted from one side to the other, the sheets whispering against my skin in the otherwise silent room. Where was Thorne? Why hadn’t he returned?

The clock on the nightstand marked each second with merciless precision. Midnight bled into one o’clock, then two. My heart refused to settle, keeping its own uneven rhythm—a constant, anxious drumbeat of uncertainty and fear. More than once I considered going to the guest room to look for him, but I told myself he needed space to calm down, even though I was the one left shattered and bleeding on the inside.

When sleep finally took me, it was shallow and broken—more a reluctant surrender than true rest. Morning arrived too quickly, sunlight cutting through the curtains with cold indifference. My eyes opened to the empty half of the bed beside me. The hollow ache in my chest clenched tighter, like a fist closing around my heart.

Without thinking I pulled on my robe and stepped into the hallway. The cold floorboards beneath my bare feet grounded me just enough to keep moving forward. The guest room. Maybe he had gone there. Maybe last night’s argument had driven him to seek distance.

My fingers trembled as I pushed the door open. My breath caught in my throat. The bed remained perfectly made, the room sterile and silent, as if no one had stepped inside at all.

“Thorne?” My voice cracked and was immediately swallowed by the heavy stillness. I turned and descended the stairs, each step heavier than the last, the weight of unanswered questions settling deeper into my bones.

In the living room one of the staff, Marisol, was straightening the cushions with her usual brisk, precise movements. She glanced up when I entered, her eyes flickering over me with clear hesitation.

“Marisol,” I began, my voice little more than a strained whisper. “Have you seen Thorne this morning?”

Her hands paused mid-motion. The brief flash of discomfort across her face told me everything I did not want to hear.

“The Alpha left last night, Luna,” she said softly, her gaze dropping to the floor. “He hasn’t returned.”

The words struck me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. Left. Thorne never left—not like this. Not without a word.

I stumbled back to my room, hands shaking as I reached for my phone. The screen lit up. I dialed. The ringtone felt like a cruel mockery of hope. Voicemail. Again. And again.

“Thorne, please,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Just… call me back.”

Silence settled over the house like an unwelcome guest that refused to leave, lingering in every corner and every empty room.

That morning I sat at the dining table staring at the untouched breakfast laid out in front of me—toast, eggs, coffee. It felt foreign, as though it belonged to someone else’s life entirely. After forcing down a few bites I remembered the doctor’s appointment. Last week I had not been feeling well, and it was Thorne who had insisted I see a physician. His concern had seemed genuine then—so different from the man who had walked out on me only hours ago.

I grabbed my bag and left the house, my heart weighed down by worry. As I drove toward the hospital the questions refused to quiet. Where was Thorne? Why hadn’t he come home? And what would today’s results reveal?

I sat in the hospital lobby, fingers fidgeting restlessly with the hem of my blouse. The air carried the faint, sharp scent of antiseptic. Distant conversations murmured around me. Every few seconds I glanced at my phone, silently willing it to light up with a message or a call from him. Nothing. Not a single text. Not one returned call. My messages remained unread, and every attempt to reach his number went straight to voicemail.

I sighed, fighting the lump rising in my throat. The ache in my chest felt unbearable, yet I kept telling myself he would call back, that he could not ignore me forever. I stared at the screen again, thumb hovering over the call button, debating whether to try one more time.

“Serena Vale?”

The nurse’s voice pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. I quickly slipped the phone into my bag and stood.

“That’s me,” I answered, forcing a polite smile as I followed her into the doctor’s office.

Dr. Ana greeted me with her usual warm expression and gestured for me to take the chair across from her. I sat, my stomach twisting with nervous anticipation. Thorne’s harsh words from the night before still echoed in my mind, raw and unforgiving. What if the results confirmed something was wrong with me?

“I hope you’re feeling better,” Dr. Ana began as she opened my file.

“I am,” I replied, though my voice came out quieter than I intended.

She scanned the papers for a moment, then looked up at me with a smile that caught me completely off guard. Rising from her seat, she extended her hand toward me.

“Congratulations, Serena,”

she said warmly, her eyes bright. “You’re pregnant.”