Chapter 5

He was laughing with a few pack members near the counter, head tilted in that confident, effortless way he used to tilt it when he wanted the world to notice him. His shoulders straight, Alpha aura relaxed. A man who had everything.

Including the woman he betrayed me with.

My pulse thudded against my throat not from love. Not even close. It was the ache of remembering pain I’d buried months ago.

Marga followed my stare. “Wow. He looks...”

“Don’t say it,” I muttered, picking up my fork.

But it was too late.

He saw me.

His smile froze mid-laugh. Something like surprise sparked in his eyes before he excused himself from the group and walked toward us with that same arrogant confidence that used to charm me.

“Kahlia,” he said warmly, spreading his arms slightly as if expecting… what? A hug? A collapse? A breakdown?

None of those were happening.

I lifted my head, my expression calm and perfectly unreadable. “Alpha Ethan.”

He chuckled, trying to break the ice. “It’s been a while. I didn’t know you were back in the field. It’s… good to see you working again.”

“Thank you,” I answered casually, taking a sip of water. “And congratulations.”

He blinked. “For what?”

“For your child. I heard Camille Raine gave birth today.” I offered him a polite smile. “A healthy baby girl, right? That’s wonderful news.”

Shock flickered across his face, he didn’t expect me to know, let alone congratulate him.

“Yeah,” he breathed, shifting awkwardly. “Thank you. We’re… really happy.”

Then came the moment, the one every ex, cheater or not, feels compelled to say.

“I’m happier now than I ever was before,” he said, letting the words drop deliberately between us. “Camille makes me feel… things I never felt with you.”

Marga’s fork paused mid-air.

My lips curved not in softness, but in a bitter laugh that tasted like closure.

“That’s good,” I said smoothly. “You and Camille fit each other perfectly.”

His smile faltered.

I continued, my voice steady, polite, professional. “If she gives you what you were looking for, then you made the right choice.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

I set my fork down and stood, dusting invisible crumbs off my coat. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we need to eat our lunch before our next rounds.”

Ethan took half a step forward. “Kahlia...wait, I didn’t mean..”

“I know exactly what you meant,” I replied, keeping my tone light. “And it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

Then I nodded once, a clean, final goodbye without sadness, and walked past him with Marga.

Behind us, Ethan stayed frozen, caught between pride and whatever ghost of guilt he still carried.

Marga whispered as soon as we were out of earshot, “Holy sh*t. I think I just witnessed a live execution.”

I exhaled slowly, letting the sting of old wounds fade into the background. “No. Just a conversation that ended months ago.”

We found a quieter table farther from the crowd and finally sat down, but my heartbeat hadn’t completely settled.

Not from love.

Just from remembering how much I’d once suffered and realizing I felt nothing now.

I pushed my tray slightly forward, forcing myself to refocus on the food I had barely touched. The cafeteria noise faded into a dull hum, forks clinking, nurses laughing somewhere behind us, footsteps echoing from the hallway. But everything in my chest still felt tight, like my body hadn’t caught up to the reality that seeing Ethan shouldn’t matter anymore.

Marga stabbed a piece of grilled chicken, her eyes still glued to me as if she were watching a crime documentary’s most dramatic twist.

“I swear, lia,” she muttered, shaking her head with exaggerated disbelief, “if I had even half of your composure, I’d be dangerous.”

I let out a soft laugh and rolled my shoulders back, easing the tension that clung there. “Composure is a muscle. You build it after… several life lessons.”

Marga snorted. “Several? Try traumatic. That was your ex-husband. And you just...” she mimicked a slicing motion, “cut the man clean in half with your words.”

“It wasn’t intentional,” I said, picking up my fork again.

“Exactly!” She jabbed her fork toward me as if that somehow proved her point. “You’re a natural-born assassin. Calm, polite, and devastating.”

I exhaled slowly despite myself. “I just told the truth.”

“That’s the problem,” she replied with a grin. “The truth burns worse than lies.”

I shook my head, amused, ready to lift a spoonful of rice when she suddenly grew quiet. Too quiet.

When I glanced up and marga was staring right at me, her expression shifting from playful to serious, her fingers tightening around her fork.

“Anyway…” she said softly, leaning slightly closer, “I need to ask you something.”

I straightened. “What is it?”

She hesitated, biting her lower lip before speaking. “Can you really handle Alpha Jaron?”

I blinked.

She didn’t stop there.

“I mean...really handle him? His temper, his dominance, his unpredictability… everything.” Her voice was quiet but earnest, her brows pinched with worry.

“Don't get me wrong, okay? I know you’re strong. You’re damn strong. But he’s an Alpha who doesn’t listen, who challenges authority every time someone breathes wrong near him.”

She looked away briefly, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“And now you’ll be living under the same roof with him.”

I blinked at her, suppressing a sharp breath. “No. I won’t live under the same roof with him. I’m not moving into his pack house.” I leaned back slightly, letting my arms rest on the table, my voice calm but firm.

“My sessions are two hours a day, five times a week. That’s more than enough time to get him moving without becoming… part of his world.”

Marga’s eyes widened, surprise flickering across her face. “Oh… I thought you were moving in with him,” she said, voice softening, a hint of relief threading through her words.

I let out a short laugh, the sound light but laced with irony. “No, Marga. Some boundaries are sacred. I’ve learned the hard way.” She nodded, still processing, and we returned to our lunch, the clatter of cutlery and low hum of conversation filling the space between us.

The conversation shifted to more mundane topics,meal plans, hospital logistics but my mind remained tethered to the looming reality of Alpha Jaron.

Once our trays were cleared, we made our way back to Alpha Jaron’s room. The hallway felt quieter than usual, the echo of our footsteps oddly amplified. As we approached the door, we froze.

Dr. Collins was there, speaking to him in calm, measured tones. Alpha Jaron, who moments ago had seemed almost impenetrable, leaned back against the pillows, listening attentively.

“Ah, Dr. Ford,” Dr. Collins said, glancing at me as we entered, his voice neutral but carrying an unmistakable weight.

“Alpha Jaron's lab are cleared so I need you to get ready. Pack your things later. You’re coming to Alpha Jaron’s house tomorrow. You will live there with him until he fully recovers.”

I froze mid-step, the words hitting me like a slap. “Wait… what?” I managed, my voice steady despite the shock clawing at my chest.

"You heard me,"Dr.Collins said firmly.

“Dr.Collins, physical therapy rules are two hours a day, five days a week. That’s what’s allowed.” I insisted.

Dr. Collins took a deep breath before he spoke. 

“Special case, Dr. Ford. He’s an Alpha. This isn’t just about you or the hospital schedule. He requires special treatment. Alpha Jaron  needs  to recover faster for his pack.  That’s your job so You must do it.End of discussion.”